Then mysterious. And silly. Hail, Destiny-Breaker!
As always, I own neither Buffy nor Harry. Slavery is apparently outlawed in the United States. You'd *think* if it was good enough for the Romans, but nooooo...
The next day went like most registration days did, barring the flood of owls at breakfast. Xander hadn’t actually gone to college, but he’d helped enough slayers to know exactly what the process felt like. After finally getting all the right lists and applications and rosters set up, he was assigned a young prefect from Hufflepuff, Hannah someone or another. Xander frowned; he knew all the slayers by heart- he should
know this girl. Hannah Abbott, that was her name. They told poor Hannah to get him what he needed and threw her to the wolves.
They portkeyed in to Diagon Alley, which Xander would have snorted at if he weren’t busy trying to hold in his stomach. It was like a Tilt-a-Whirl for slayers! He would never complain about Willow’s transports again. After he finally regained his composure, they went to check out the shops.
Sadly, the robe place refused to make him something in brown burlap, giving him some black monstrosity with a tie.
He began to have second thoughts about this school.
The bookstore was better. Xander-of-the-Tenth-Grade would have never touched the place, but fifteen years of gore and parchment had taught him that books could be incredibly invigorating. And here, surprise of surprises, that was literal. He absentmindedly teased the Monster Book of Monsters before tossing it a treat and scratching it behind the threads.
Hannah Abbott stared at them in disbelief. “Did it- did it just purr?”
Xander looked up. “Hm?” The book whimpered when he stopped. “Okay, fine, but this is the last time. I’ve got to get the rest my school books.” The book growled. “Stop that! I better not see you fighting. If you think you’re that much better, prove it by being the bigger book.” The book growled sulkily, but stopped vibrating murderous intents.
Hannah goggled, but quickly rallied herself and led him to the books he needed. Then they did a sweep of all the magic shops and got all the ingredients and equipment he’d need, pausing at the broom shop.
“You guys seriously use these?” Xander asked, staring through the window.
“Well, yes.” Hannah said, caught half-way between embarrassment and defiance.
“Willow would have a fit, but that is so cool! Do we have enough money to get one?”
She checked the wallet Professor Sprout had given her. “Mm, not with everything else. Brooms aren’t really a necessity, anyway. The school provides their own for lessons and Quidditch is really the only other time you need one.”
“Foo. Okay, then, on to the wands.” Xander pushed off, humming A Wizard's Staff Has A Knob On The End.
Ollivander’s was a strange experience for Hannah. Then again, what hadn’t
been on her trip with this strange- she supposed she couldn’t technically call him a muggle, but really
that’s what he was. A big, strange, goofy muggle with a pirate-eye patch who suddenly stilled and became very serious when they crossed the shop’s threshold. Hannah looked at him in bewilderment and then glanced over to where he was staring.
Mr. Ollivander was standing in the corner with a wand-box in his hand. He looked as if he’d been about to put away, but then he’d stopped, and now he was holding Mr. Harris’ eye with his gaze.
The two of them just stood
there, staring at each other for no reason. Finally, Hannah had enough. “Well?” she snapped. “Are the two of you going to make out, or should I just put on a pot of tea while I wait?!”
Mr. Harris’ eyes widened and then he shuddered, breaking the spell. “Ew, Hannah, that’s disgusting! No offense meant, sir.”
Mr. Ollivander raised a hairy old eyebrow. “None taken. So...”
“I do. But you see.”
“I must. I am a wandmaker! The wand must fit the wizard, and the wizard must fit the wand.”
Mr. Harris glanced around the shop. “Kinda like clothes shopping for the soul, I get it.”
“Indeed. You see. I wonder, though, can you listen?” Mr. Ollivander pulled a dozen wands to him with a tug of magic. Hannah was impressed. She shouldn’t be, this was Ollivander
, but still, how many times did you see wandless magic?
The wands rotated in front of Mr. Ollivander in a circle. “Can you tell me, Alexander Lavelle Harris, which wand is yours?”
Mr. Harris glanced at him sharply. “Y’know, the mysterious shtick is a little tiring.”
Mr. Ollivander shrugged with a smile. “Nonetheless.”
Mr. Harris sighed. “Fine.” He closed his eyes, and concentrated. “Third box, fourth row on the left.”
Mr. Ollivander’s eyes narrowed. “You made that up.”
Mr. Harris growled. “This whole thing is one great big joke.” he snapped. “I can’t use magic. I barely have
any magic, and what little I do makes things go kaphluie. The only reason I’m here is because someone higher up thinks I need to be here. So, yes. I’ll take. The one. On the left.”
Mr. Ollivander’s smile made Hannah uneasy. “As you wish.” He pulled out the box out on the left. “Hazelwood and heliopath hair, sixteen inches. An interesting choice.”
Hannah gaped. “But there’s no such thing as-!“
“Go on, give it a flick.” Mr. Ollivander said, handing the wand to Mr. Harris. “Let’s see what happens.”
Mr. Harris flicked the wand like a whip. It immediately burst into flame, and he dropped it with a yelp. The wand extinguished before it hit the ground. Mr. Ollivander smirked. “You’re sure you want that one?”
“It didn’t burn me.” Mr. Harris said, bending over to pick the wand up. He held it close to his face and examined it. “This is fine work. Hand carved, instead of lathed?”
“That would ruin the uniqueness of each wand.” Mr. Ollivander replied matter-of-factly, waving the other wands back into their boxes.
“We’ll take it.” Mr. Harris grinned. “If nothing else, it’ll make a great torch!”
They paid for the wand and made their way out of the shop. Mr. Harris turned on her suddenly as they began to walk back,
“You won’t say anything, will you?”
Hannah blinked. “About what?”
“My name! The full thing. The middle part, specifically.”
“Er…” she blinked again. “…no?”
“Excellent!” he exclaimed, giving her a side hug. “You’re awesome.”
“Erm, I'm glad you think so, Mr. Harris.”
“That what you’ve been calling me inside your head? Dude, no, it’s Xander. Xand-the-man. The Xanderific!”
“I think that’s a bit too much of a mouthful.” Hannah replied tartly, though her mouth softened into a small smile.
“Aha, I saw that! Come on, I thought I saw an ice-cream shop around here. Gotta figure out what crazy flavors you mojo-makers come up with.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of how Alexander “Ooh, I’ve got an idea!” Harris was banned from every Florean Fortescue Ice Cream Parlour in the northern hemisphere.