"Let's be friends," Hermione declared, extending her hand with a confident smile. "My name is Hermione Granger."
There was something refreshingly direct about her approach. Having apparently decided Jerry was worth knowing, she wasn't wasting time with hesitation. In the girl's experience, most classmates had found her enthusiasm overwhelming, but something told her this boy might be different.
"Jerry Carmen," he replied after a momentary pause, taking her offered hand with a genuine smile.
"Jerry, I need to go buy textbooks with my parents now," Hermione said, already moving toward the couple waiting by the door. "See you when school starts!"
"See you at school!" Jerry called after her as the Granger family departed Madam Malkin's shop.
Once they were gone, Jerry's face was puzzled. The Hermione he had just met didn't quite match the image from the films in his previous life. This Hermione had prominent front teeth and bushy, untamed brown hair, quite different from the polished appearance of her older counterpart, he remembered.
Yet looking beyond those superficial details, Jerry had noticed her striking eyes and the fine features beneath the childish appearance. With time and perhaps a bit of magical dentistry for those front teeth, she would grow into the formidable young woman he remembered. More importantly, even at eleven years old, her sharp intelligence and determination were already evident.
"All finished, dear," Madam Malkin announced, interrupting his thoughts as she approached with a neatly wrapped package containing his uniforms. "Everything's ready to go."
"Thank you," Jerry replied, paying for his purchases and carefully stowing the package in his trunk before wheeling his cart out of the shop.
Professor McGonagall was approaching from the direction of Flourish and Blotts, carrying a heavy bag filled with textbooks.
"Professor McGonagall!" Jerry called, waving to her.
"Perfect timing, Mr. Carmen," she said, adding the books to his trunk. "We have only two items remaining on your list: a pet and a wand. Since Ollivander's is at the far end of Diagon Alley, let's visit the Magical Menagerie first for your cat."
They continued their journey along the cobblestone street, the professor occasionally pointing out shops of interest. As they passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, McGonagall surprised Jerry by suggesting they stop.
"A small indulgence, if you'd like," she offered, and purchased him a Hundred-Flavour Ice Cream. This remarkable confection cycled through different tastes with each lick, from chocolate to lemon to oddities like earwax and grass.
As they savoured their treats, Jerry's attention was drawn to an imposing white marble building rising above the neighbouring shops. Two diminutive figures with clever, shrewd faces and unusually long fingers stood guard at the burnished bronze doors.
"That's Gringotts Wizarding Bank," McGonagall explained, following his gaze. "Goblins run it and is where wizards store their valuables. It's considered extremely secure... well, usually," she amended, her certainty faltering slightly.
Jerry nodded, aware that McGonagall's hesitation stemmed from recent news of a break-in, an attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone that would soon be relocated to Hogwarts for safekeeping. However, he was more fascinated by the goblins themselves. Their expressions of perpetual distaste for the wizards passing by spoke volumes about wizard-goblin relations.
As they continued walking, McGonagall's tone suddenly grew serious. "Mr. Carmen, I must warn you, should you visit Diagon Alley alone in the future, under no circumstances are you to venture into that alley." She pointed toward a narrow, shadowy passage branching off the main street opposite Gringotts.
"What is it?" Jerry asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"Knockturn Alley," McGonagall replied, her expression stern. "It is notorious for shops dealing in the Dark Arts and other unsavoury establishments. Not a place for young wizards under any circumstances."
"I understand, Professor. I'll stay away," Jerry assured her, touched by her concern.
He thought McGonagall's protective instinct toward her students was one of her finest qualities. Despite her often strict demeanour, her dedication to safeguarding those in her care was unwavering.
Seemingly satisfied with his response, the professor led them toward a small, crowded shop nestled between Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop and a side street leading toward Gringotts.
The Magical Menagerie was smaller than Jerry had expected, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in diversity. The walls were lined with stacked cages containing every manner of magical creature suitable as a pet. Purple toads croaked deeply as they consumed dead blowflies whole. Giant tortoises with jewel-encrusted shells crawled slowly across their enclosures. Sleek white rabbits transformed momentarily into silk top hats before reverting to their true forms. Cats of every color imaginable lounged on cushions, while ravens cawed from perches near the ceiling.
The cacophony of animal sounds, squeaks, croaks, hisses, and purrs—created a symphony of magical wildlife that filled the tiny shop.
"Professor McGonagall!" exclaimed a young witch wearing thick spectacles as they entered. "What a pleasant surprise!"
"Hello, Pafla," McGonagall greeted her with unexpected warmth. "I've brought a first-year student to select a pet for Hogwarts. How are you finding your position here?"
"Wonderfully well, thank you. My employer is quite generous." The young witch turned her attention to Jerry. "And what sort of pet would you like, young man? As a former student of Professor McGonagall's, I'd be delighted to offer you a twenty percent discount."
"I'd like a cat, please," Jerry replied, his eyes already scanning the feline options throughout the shop.
His gaze quickly landed on his target, a large, bandy-legged ginger cat with a squashed, grumpy-looking face observing the proceedings from atop a high cage. Its yellow eyes showed remarkable intelligence.
"This gray shorthair is very docile, perfect for a first pet," the witch suggested, lifting a sleek British Shorthair with pristine fur.
Jerry shook his head politely and pointed toward the ginger cat. "Actually, I'm interested in that one."
"Crookshanks?" Pafla's eyebrows rose in surprise above her thick glasses. The cat in question had been in the shop for years, repeatedly passed over due to its decidedly unusual appearance.
"Yes," Jerry confirmed with a smile. "I think he's perfectly ugly in the most charming way. Something about him just speaks to me."
What Jerry couldn't explain was his knowledge that this cat was part-Kneazle, a magical feline breed known for exceptional intelligence and an uncanny ability to detect untrustworthy individuals. Crookshanks would later prove instrumental in exposing Peter Pettigrew's identity, a fact that might prove useful given Jerry's foreknowledge.
"That's wonderful!" Pafla exclaimed with genuine delight. "I've worried about Crookshanks finding the right home. He's quite particular about people, you know."
As a former Hufflepuff with a passion for magical creatures, Pafla had developed a soft spot for the difficult-to-place cat. Her enthusiasm stemmed not from making a sale but from genuine concern for the animal's welfare.
"I promise to take excellent care of him," Jerry assured her sincerely, "even though this will be my first pet."
Once the purchase was complete, Crookshanks was remarkably compliant about being placed in Jerry's arms, immediately settling in with a rumbling purr that vibrated against his chest. The cat's amber eyes studied Jerry with unmistakable intelligence before apparently approving of his new owner and drifting into a contented sleep.
"Our final destination," Professor McGonagall announced as they approached a narrow, shabby shop at the end of Diagon Alley. Peeling gold letters over the door read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
"This is where you'll find your wand, or more accurately, where your wand will find you," McGonagall explained. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Carmen. That connection is essential for proper magical practice."
The shop's interior was tiny, with thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly to the ceiling. The very air seemed to tingle with secret magic. Jerry felt the hairs on his arms rise, and even the sleepy Crookshanks perked up, ears twitching alertly.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, and Jerry turned to find an elderly man with wide, pale eyes standing before them.
"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," McGonagall greeted him. "This is Jerry Carmen, a new Hogwarts student in need of his first wand."
"Ah, yes." The wandmaker's silvery eyes seemed to look right through Jerry. "Let us begin."
The process was just as Jerry expected from his memories. Ollivander produced a silver tape measure that flew around Jerry's body, measuring the distance between his nostrils, the circumference of his head, and other seemingly arbitrary dimensions. Meanwhile, the old wandmaker selected boxes from the shelves, muttering to himself.
"Every Ollivander wand has a core of powerful magical substance," he explained. "We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same."
Jerry tried two wands without success, one cypress with unicorn hair that produced only a weak spark, and another maple with phoenix feather that knocked over a vase. With the third wand, however, he felt an immediate difference.
"Alder wood with dragon heartstring core, eleven inches, slightly springy," Ollivander announced as Jerry took it.
A warm sensation flowed up his arm when his fingers closed around the handle. When he gave it a wave, a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, illuminating the dusty shop with dancing light.
"Excellent!" Ollivander cried, clapping his hands together. "Very good indeed. A perfect match."
He carefully returned the wand to its box, wrapping it in brown paper as he continued, "Alder is an unyielding wood, yet I've found that its ideal owners are neither obstinate nor pig-headed. Rather, it seeks out those who are helpful, considerate, and likable."
"Helpful?" Jerry repeated, a strange expression crossing his face as he looked down at the wrapped package. The wand's choice seemed an ironic commentary on his situation, a person with knowledge that could help many, yet constrained by the complexities of how and when to use that knowledge.
Now fully awake, Crookshanks studied Jerry with an intensity that suggested the cat understood more than an ordinary feline should. Their eyes met briefly, yellow to blue, in a moment of silent recognition.
"The wand always knows," Ollivander said cryptically, "even when we ourselves do not."