Chapter Three: Turmoil at the Market

“Is there anywhere else you’d like to visit? I think my son could use a handsome new robe!” Sandrine asked, wrinkling her nose as she steered clear of a potion stall reeking of rotten eggs and wilted vegetables.

Without waiting for Hevin’s reply, she took him by the hand and led him straight toward Twilfitt’s Robes.

Hevin could only follow his mother’s lead, resigned, as they arrived at the entrance. This shop was clearly a cut above the other, less refined establishments in Diagon Alley: the brand-new “Twilfitt’s Robes” sign gleamed above the door, the hall was bright, and the walls were lined with luxurious robes, all testifying to the store’s high standards.

Sandrine was obviously a regular here; moving with practiced ease, she greeted the shopkeeper and began circling the hall, pausing now and then to appraise the garments on display. Hevin strongly suspected she was simply using his need for new clothes as an excuse to buy something for herself.

“Sandrine?” Just as she was explaining the design of a formal robe to Hevin, a witch with golden hair, broad bones, and a green robe strode over.

Sandrine glanced up and answered coolly, “What a coincidence, Irma.”

“Well, we are old acquaintances, aren’t we? Even if we haven’t kept in touch much since I married into the Black family, there’s no need to be so distant,” Irma said with a smile, putting particular emphasis on “married into the Black family,” as if it were an achievement worth boasting about.

“Mummy, who are they?” a little girl with golden braids clung to Irma’s arm and asked.

“Come, Walburga, this is Aunt Sandrine. And this must be your and Leo’s child, yes? I recall the name is Sylvie, is that right?” Irma introduced herself in a display of feigned warmth.

“My name is Hevin, Aunt Irma,” Hevin replied politely.

“Ah, Hevin, of course. And this is my daughter, Walburga Black. You two will likely be classmates. The Black family and the Rosier family are both part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; we should look out for one another. Walburga, remember to take good care of our friend from the Rosier family when you get to school, won’t you?”

Sandrine’s brow creased slightly. “I’m sorry, Irma. We have things to attend to.”

Without looking back, she led Hevin out of the shop.

...

As they walked along the street, Hevin asked curiously, “Mum, you and Aunt Irma...?”

Sandrine didn’t mind sharing old stories. “Irma Crabbe Black, the only daughter of the Crabbe family in our generation. She used to be my follower.”

Hevin paused, recalling that his mother had once been a prodigy from the noble Selwyn family.

“Later, somehow she married into the Black family. From that moment, she abandoned her Crabbe heritage and saw herself as a Black through and through—even with me, she acts superior,” Sandrine continued. “I hate to admit it, but the Black family is in its prime these days. They practically consider themselves the foremost of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“Our Rosier family isn’t any less prestigious than the Blacks, is it?” Hevin asked.

“In terms of wealth and heritage, no, we’re their equals,” Sandrine sighed. “But the Rosier family doesn’t have the numbers. Since your father was murdered, you’re the only male of the new generation.”

“And the Rosiers are split between Britain and France. In Britain, we can’t compare to the Blacks, who are deeply rooted here,” she added, biting her lip in frustration. “To make matters worse, your Aunt Vida in France fell under Grindelwald’s sway and invested most of the family fortune in the Pureblood Party.”

Sandrine suddenly halted, looking at Hevin with earnest eyes. “Hevin, you are now the hope of the entire Rosier family. When you come of age, you must rise high enough to reclaim the family assets in France and prevent Vida from squandering them. Only then will the glory of the Rosiers never fade!”

Since arriving in this world, Hevin had long considered himself part of this family. He nodded seriously. “I will, Mum.”

Sandrine met his eyes for a moment, then suddenly laughed. “Alright, no need to be so serious! All you need to do is study well at Hogwarts. A magical outburst in infancy bested a dark wizard—I can hardly imagine a little prodigy like you growing into an ordinary person.”

Hevin could only offer a sheepish smile. “It’s not as impressive as all that.”

“Oh no!” Sandrine cried suddenly, startling him. “I got so worked up I forgot to buy you clothes!”

Hevin: “...”

...

In the end, Sandrine bought Hevin a set of formal robes at the newly opened Elegance Wizardwear. Only after Hevin repeatedly insisted he’d be wearing a school uniform at Hogwarts and would quickly outgrow formal attire did she refrain from purchasing four or five sets at once.

Sandrine herself fancied a plain blue-green formal dress from Elegance Wizardwear. She discussed the pattern she wanted as the shopkeeper directed floating needle and thread to embroider a blue rose—the Rosier family crest—over the left breast. She also selected a black velvet hat with a ribbon for Hevin before finally leaving, though not without some reluctance.

“We have your wand, your robes, and your textbooks—Millie’s already taken those home... Oh, right! You still need a pet!” Sandrine exclaimed, clapping her hands. “A toad, an owl, or a cat—which would you like?”

Hevin thought it over carefully. He could never stand the idea of keeping a damp, sticky toad; an owl would be convenient for sending letters, but there were plenty of school owls, and the family already kept several, so it held little appeal. A kitten, however—one he could cuddle in the dormitory—clearly suited him best. He quickly made up his mind.

“I think I’d like a cat!”

...

The Magical Menagerie was a small, crowded shop on the south side of Diagon Alley. The walls were packed with cages. Inside, a shop girl was patiently showing Hevin the various breeds and colors of cats.

Hevin’s gaze landed on a silver tabby kitten that looked like a British Shorthair. “What kind of cat is this?” he asked.

The clerk glanced over, uncertain. “An old wizard found this little one in the wild. The owner believes it’s a cross between a silver kneazle and a white cat. It’s been here a month and hasn’t opened its eyes yet.”

Hevin reached out and stroked the kitten’s head, making up his mind. “I’ll take this one!”

The shop girl looked relieved; clearly, she hadn’t known what to do with a kitten that wouldn’t open its eyes.

“Wait a moment,” Sandrine interjected. “Animals of unknown origin might not be safe. Are you sure, son?”

“I’m sure! I feel a connection with it,” Hevin replied with a smile. He had just sensed a flicker of magic within the kitten, and upon touching it, was certain its magical energy rivaled that of a grown kneazle. He felt he’d made a good bargain.

Sandrine, ever indulgent, didn’t protest. When the clerk hesitantly quoted fifteen Sickles, she tossed her a Galleon and left with the best cat carrier and a heap of luxurious feline accessories.

...

As soon as they returned home, Hevin hurried through his meal and eagerly began studying his new wand.

Pine, unicorn horn nerve, fourteen inches. Hunting unicorns was strictly forbidden, and they were rare; a unicorn’s horn, infused with magical power throughout its life, gradually lost its strength as the creature aged naturally. The horn of a unicorn that died of old age was useless for wandmaking, as all magic had faded. Only those killed by accident yielded wand-quality material.

Most commonly, unicorn tail hairs were used; they produced the most stable spells and were least likely to fluctuate or clog. Wands with unicorn tail hair cores almost never yielded to dark magic—they were the most loyal of all. Their only real flaw was a lack of power, but the nerve of a unicorn’s horn, the most magical part of the creature, perfectly compensated for this.

Pine wands, known for their eagerness to accept new methods and spells, were perfectly suited for Hevin to cast those Kamar-Taj spells so different from the local magical system. Truly, this wand was his ideal match.

As for resistance to dark magic, Hevin had no concern. He had no interest in channeling negative emotions to cast spells, and he saw little need to learn magic that would only bring him harm.

Hevin spent hours experimenting with his new wand, practicing and reviewing spells from his previous life, so absorbed he lost track of time until Sandrine’s voice interrupted him.

“My dear boy, do you really intend to spend your last two months at home studying every minute?”