10 The Little Hero

Snape retched violently.

In all his eleven years, he had never felt such revulsion. The drink, tasteless as it was, induced an incredible nausea the moment it passed his lips. 

This was no mere drink; it was a veritable emetic!

Familiar discomfort surged within him, forcing Snape to brace himself against the toilet for another round of purging.

Damn that Sanster!

Inside his mind, the curses flowed unchecked.

It had to be deliberate, a cruel ploy to make him a laughingstock!

And to waste an entire Galleon!

Even though Callan had inexplicably bestowed upon him nineteen more, in Snape's eyes, those incidents were entirely separate, irreconcilable.

Gratitude remained, but it couldn't negate this seemingly jesting malice.

At least Lily hadn't witnessed his humiliation.

That was Snape's sole consolation.

When he staggered out, Tom the barman raised his glass and proclaimed loudly, "To our little hero!"

"To our little hero!" echoed the patrons, smiles on their faces, but Snape was too dazed to care, barely managing to return to his seat.

At the table, Callan was examining the barely sipped glass of red liquid with cautious intrigue.

"Gamp's Old Gregarious, by Merlin's beard..."

Upon seeing Snape's vacant expression, Callan couldn't help but marvel, barely containing his laughter.

"How do you feel?" Callan inquired.

With trembling lips, Snape spat back, "Try it yourself and you'll know!"

Callan shook his head, carefree as ever, "I'm not short on cash."

With the scholarship funds, he had close to 450 Galleons. He was far from poor and saw no reason to risk such an ordeal.

Besides, Callan had never intended to try. No one had completed this feat until 2014, a testament to the drink's vile potency.

One could only wonder if the original barkeeper had conceived this concoction out of spite for Gamp—or anyone willing to attempt it.

Snape, seething at Callan's demeanor, contemplated hurling the drink in his face.

Before he could commit such folly, Tom intervened, presenting two glasses of juice on the house and swiftly reclaiming the Gamp's brew, well aware of Snape's murderous glare.

Callan quietly savored the wizarding world's juice, noticing an arrival at the pub's entrance, and nudged Snape, "The Evans family is here."

Indeed, only Lily could see The Leaky Cauldron. The Evanses had parked beside a neighboring shop, and, with odd formality, followed Lily inside, touching her for guidance.

"Hi, Callan, Severus... what's happened to you?"

Lily approached with a mix of curiosity and concern. Snape was no longer shaking, but his pallor was alarming.

A nearby patron interjected for Snape, "He's our little hero!" prompting another round of laughter from the bar.

"It's nothing," Callan intervened, sparing Snape further embarrassment, "Let's go."

He helped Snape up, greeted the Evanses and Petunia courteously, and led them through The Leaky Cauldron towards Diagon Alley.

Everything went smoothly until they encountered the same goblin at Gringotts, who nearly popped his eyes out, mistaking Callan for corralling a group of quota-filling young wizards. A timely explanation from Callan diffused the situation.

Mr. and Mrs. Evans were thrilled about their daughter's magical education, marveling at their surroundings. Petunia's hostility towards Lily had softened, likely thanks to Dumbledore's visit, now only insisting that Lily purchase items for her in the future.

As for Lily herself, she gasped at the sight of Callan's bulging purse, but spent most of her time caring for Snape, especially after learning he needed second-hand books. Without disdain, she helped select the best-preserved tomes, a much-needed kindness against Snape's ghastly complexion, contrasting sharply with Callan's mirthful idleness.

"Callan, what are you standing around for? Come help," Lily chided, and Callan reluctantly joined them on the ground.

Thanks to this, Snape no longer needed second-hand robes, perhaps easing his troubled spirit.

The shopping list for first-year students largely remained the same, barring some updated editions, like "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," now in its 43rd edition.

Truly, Newt Scamander was an indefatigable magizoologist, exploring magical creatures into his seventies and investing his finite life into infinite revisions, only receiving a Merlin's Order of Merit in 1979 and retiring in the 1990s—a testament to his legacy.

Or perhaps it simply reflected the scarcity of top-tier talent in the magical world.

After their silent reflections, they arrived at the final destination on their list.

The wand shop was small and shabby, its gold-lettered sign peeling:

Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

A lone wand lay forlorn on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

"Is this really the best wand shop?"

Disbelief registered on the faces of not just Lily but also her parents.

"Yes," Callan affirmed with a knowing smile, his eyes alight with anticipation, "Two millennia of craftsmanship, the oldest and the finest. Let's go in."

With Callan leading the way, they stepped into the venerable Ollivanders Wand Shop.