"No," Professor McGonagall said at once.
Roger's face fell so quickly that even she softened a little. His eyes had gone bright with disappointment, and for one uncomfortable moment, she remembered that this calm, cautious child had only just received something truly his own.
"Very well, Mr. Williams," she said, her tone gentler. "You may keep the wand until we leave Diagon Alley."
"Understood, Professor McGonagall," Roger said quickly, nodding before she could change her mind.
He did not argue, nor did he ask whether the rule was truly being applied as strictly as she claimed. Since Professor McGonagall clearly wanted time to examine the wand and its origin, he could let her hold it later without making the situation unpleasant. What mattered was that the wand had chosen him, and no one could undo that.
Professor McGonagall nodded in satisfaction. "Very good. The wand problem is settled for now. We still need your first-year textbooks, Potions equipment, and astronomy supplies. Of course, young wizards may also bring a pet to Hogwarts."
"That's brilliant. I want an owl," Roger said, immediately brightening. "Then I can write to my mother while I'm at school."
Professor McGonagall's expression eased into a small smile. "An owl is an excellent choice. They help students keep in touch with their families, and you will find them loyal, reliable, and quite intelligent."
Next to Ollivanders stood a second-hand shop known simply as the Junk Shop. It was crammed with old chairs, chipped cauldrons, worn-out wands, textbooks, robes, odd tools, and even a few cages that hinted at magical pets. The place looked less like a shop and more like someone had swept thirty attics into one room and decided to charge admission.
"Roger, you can buy new textbooks and tools from Flourish and Blotts and Potage's Cauldron Shop," Professor McGonagall said. "They will be in excellent condition, but they can be expensive. You might also consider this second-hand shop. The items may be worn, but they are much more affordable."
Roger remembered the terrifying prices of textbooks from his previous life. In some places, a single semester's books could cost enough to make a grown adult question civilization itself, which was why second-hand textbook markets and copying services had flourished. It seemed the wizarding world had its own version of that problem.
No wonder even Harry and Hermione had come here to shop, he thought. Harry had inherited a fortune, and Hermione's parents were comfortable Muggles, yet even they would still notice the pressure of school expenses.
He touched the money pouch hidden inside his robes. It was 1991, and the August crisis in the Soviet Union would come soon. If he could find a way into the right market at the right time, perhaps he could make a fortune by following the currents already moving through London's financial world.
The Ministry was still negotiating compensation for him and Jessica, but Roger had no faith in how quickly that money would arrive. Bureaucracies were the same everywhere, magical or not; they delayed, reviewed, postponed, and buried everything under procedure whenever they could. Until the money was safely in hand, it was better to be cautious, and frugality might also leave Professor McGonagall with a better impression of him.
"Professor McGonagall, I'd like to look at the second-hand shop first," Roger said. "Perhaps I can find used textbooks and supplies that are still in good condition."
Professor McGonagall did not know what he was calculating, but his careful attitude pleased her. "That is a responsible way to think. Searching for suitable second-hand materials can also be a useful lesson. Come along, then. Let us see what the Junk Shop has."
The owner was an old wizard with frizzy white hair that looked like a bird's nest after a small explosion. His cloudy grey-blue eyes swept constantly over the shelves, as if he expected someone to steal a cracked teacup the moment he blinked. He did not look especially friendly, but the instant he saw Professor McGonagall, he became remarkably warm.
"Professor McGonagall," he said, hurrying forward. "It's been far too long."
"Hello, Erwin," Professor McGonagall replied. "I've brought a first-year student to see whether you have books or tools suitable for him."
She remembered Erwin Scrooge rather well. His surname suited him perfectly, for he was stingy, sharp-eyed, and more calculating than a goblin with a ledger. Still, his shop did sometimes contain useful things, and for students with limited funds, that mattered.
"Of course, of course," Erwin said, rubbing his hands together. "High-quality used goods, practically like new, and all at very reasonable prices."
He began pulling books and equipment from shelves with surprising speed. "Here, Elementary Transfiguration, only two Sickles. The cover is a bit worn, yes, but every page is intact. Clear handwriting, complete illustrations, perfect for beginners. There are even notes from the previous owner, and I'll let you in on a little secret: she was quite a clever witch."
"Ahem," Professor McGonagall said, giving him a sharp look.
Erwin pretended not to notice. "This cauldron here is only five Knuts. It's a little blackened from a previous accident, but the size is perfect, and the bottom and walls are still evenly thick."
He picked up the cauldron and tapped it with one knuckle. "Hear that? Sturdy. Absolutely worth the price."
Before Roger could answer, Erwin had already moved on. "These older quills and parchment can be sold as a set. Look, this bottle of ink is still more than half full. The whole bundle is only ten Knuts, a proper bargain."
He darted toward a clothing rack next. "Need school robes? I have a few second-hand ones here, and I can give you a twenty percent discount. Very good quality, sturdy fabric, no serious damage."
Erwin kept talking, and Roger found himself standing helplessly beside a growing pile of books, cauldrons, quills, parchment, bottles, and old robes. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, the old wizard introduced another item with even greater enthusiasm. Within minutes, the floor around Roger looked as if an entire student's supply list had collapsed at his feet.
"And these old wands," Erwin said, slamming a pen holder full of worn wands onto the counter. "All inspected by me and in excellent condition. Choose one if you like. I guarantee they are no worse than anything at Ollivanders, since most of them were made there anyway."
Roger stared at the pot of second-hand wands, then at the pile of goods, feeling genuinely overwhelmed. He had survived Dementors, Paul's temper, and the politics of Dumbledore and Malfoy, yet somehow an enthusiastic shopkeeper with a discount cauldron had left him at a loss.
Professor McGonagall watched him with interest. From the moment she first met Roger, he had seemed composed beyond his years, with speech and manners far more mature than most children his age. Now, faced with old Erwin's relentless salesmanship, she finally saw the startled child beneath the careful mask.
"Roger," she said kindly, "Erwin's shop may look chaotic, but it does contain some useful treasures. Take your time browsing and look for second-hand items that actually meet your needs."
Roger glanced at her gratefully.
"Do not be intimidated by his enthusiasm," Professor McGonagall continued. "Check the quality of each item carefully, then consider whether you truly need it. There is no reason to buy anything unnecessary."
Erwin had looked pleased when she called his shop useful, but his expression stiffened as her advice continued. He felt sure she was warning the boy not to spend too much money here. Since he could not openly complain to Professor McGonagall, he forced an awkward smile and began straightening a pile of robes with unnecessary intensity.
"Erwin always provides a great deal of information at once," Professor McGonagall said, lowering her voice slightly to Roger. "You must learn to sort what matters from what does not. His prices are indeed low, but low prices are only helpful when the item is right for you."
Before Roger could reply, a thunderous bang erupted from the direction of Gringotts. The sound rolled through Diagon Alley like a cannon blast, and a moment later, the ground beneath their feet trembled hard enough to rattle the shelves.
"What happened?" someone shouted outside.
Witches and wizards rushed into the street, turning toward Gringotts as a plume of black smoke rose above the crooked white bank. Professor McGonagall stepped out with Roger close beside her, her face tightening the instant she saw goblins casting anti-Apparition spells around the area. Whatever had happened inside the bank, it was serious enough that they were preventing anyone from leaving.
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