To say Conan was in denial is an understatement.
Despite watching the brick wall slowly move and rearrange itself, an archway around fifteen feet appearing-- Conan was still in denial. Well, maybe not full-blown denial. At this point it was more of a...passive acceptance. Trying to comprehend any of this would probably just tire him out again.
“Mister Edogawa, come along now!”
His attention snapped back towards the unusually short man-- wizard. Filius Flitwick, one of his future professors if he remembered correctly. His green robes draped onto the ground and his eyes gleamed with patient kindness. It didn’t soothe his spiked up nerves but it did comfort him in the new, strange, unreal environment.
“Conan-kun! Look look, they actually sell cauldrons! Oh, let’s get the small one!” Yukiko gushed over the displayed cauldrons outside of the nearest shop. Yusaku stood beside her with an equally amused-- albeit muted-- grin. Conan rolled his eyes, repressing the urge to scoff at the hit towards his height.
He quickly caught up with their mini group, gripping his backpack. Probably the only thing keeping him from whipping his head here and there, trying not to dissect the floating books behind that one man and his child or the group of preteens grabbing jumping brown frogs and nibbling at them.
Yusaku scanned the requirements letter, humming thoughtfully. “I don’t think we can. He’s supposed to get a...pewter, standard size 2?”
Flitwick waved his hand with a chuckle, but motioned for them to keep walking. Conan tilted his head quizzically and looked up at the wooden sign. Was this not a cauldron shop..?
As if reading his mind, Flitwick chuckled, “I doubt you already have a bag of galleons or sickles on hand already, do you?”
Ah. Right. Wizarding currency. Of course.
They continued following Flitwick, his parents darting between conversations with the professor and openly squealing (his mother) at every new discovery. Conan couldn’t blame her though. He was about five seconds away from yanking at his hair, catching sight of a man openly stuffing a gilded cage into a small suitcase. And then proceeded to stuff more overly large items into it.
It seemed like they weren’t the only ones gawking at everything though. There were children running around the busy streets, parents desperately trying not to lose track of them while another person stood by their side. It was quite obvious to see they were also probably “muggles” too. One pair in particular stood out to him-- a very, very large man led a boy (short and scrawny) past them. Conan noticed the child drinking in everything, openly fascinated while the man continued leading the young boy, never glancing at the wizards and witches waving their wands or casting magic.
“Co-chan, are you ok?” his mother’s worried voice drifted back into reality. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking up at his parents.
“Um, yeah, sorry just got distracted.” Conan plastered on a fake smile. Flitwick nodded, gently grinning ear to ear, almost hidden beneath his large, white beard. Yusaku and Yukiko didn’t buy it though, staring down at him with unreadable looks-- but he kind of expected it since his mother was a famous actress and his father was, well, his father.
Shrugging it off, Conan stared up at the golden emblem, “Gringotts” was engraved into the elegant sign. In his opinion, it felt a little over the top for a bank. But then again he supposed it made sense, since everything designed here was medieval themed.
He followed Flitwick into the large, marble white building. He tried not to stare at the short man by the entrance-- just a foot taller than him. Conan played with the inside of his jean pocket, noting the abnormal amount of people with dwarfism walking around. Were all wizards like this? No, if he assumed half of the people outside were wizards and/or witches then why just here-?
“You have quite an energetic mind, Mister Edogawa.” Flitwick commented, dragging Conan out of his muddled thinking.
He vaguely heard his mother’s stifled giggling as he felt his face warm up, chuckling nervously and scratching the back of his head.
“Oh don’t get me wrong! It’s a wonderful trait to have.” Flitwick grinned, the silver doors creaked shut behind them and a pair of wizards, placed on each side of them, stood up from a bow. Now that he thought about it, didn’t the one outside bow as well?
“You would do well in Ravenclaw.” Flitwick continued.
Before Conan could ask what was a “Ravenclaw” Flitwick had already moved on.
“Good morning,” he greeted the equally squat man behind the counter, “We’d like to exchange muggle currency for wizarding please.”
It was a quick interaction. Yusaku handed over a few pounds and the man (who Conan at some point learned was a goblin) counted it, muttering underneath his breath. In all honesty, it reminded Conan when regular banks converted regular international money.
They ended up leaving the bank with two small pouches, the coins inside clinking together. Conan thought of large pennies each time they jingled in his pocket. His mother was back to jumping from display window to display window. Sometimes he envied her boundless energy. Right now was one of those times.
Yusaku only shook his head at his wife’s eccentric hyperness, like a child in a candy store. He unfolded the letter again, seemingly deciding to get back on track.
“Should we get your robes next?” Yusaku asked, glancing away from the paper. Conan chuckled and simply pointed towards Yukiko. His mother gave them a short wave, a light giggle, and slipped into the shop.
“I guess so.” Yusaku shook his head with miffed amusement. Flitwick seemed to be in the same state, albeit more interested in the woman’s boundless energy.
Or, that’s what Conan thinks the man is thinking. That or he’s smiling for pleasantries.
Upon entering (“Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions” he remembered seeing) he was immediately knocked to the ground with a thump, barely catching himself before his head hit the floor.
“Watch it!” he heard a young voice shout.
“A-ah, sorry!” Conan laughed embarrassedly. The boy (blonde hair, pointed face, eleven or so) sneered at him, scrambling back onto his feet and dusting off his black robes. Conan discreetly eyed the thing, confused as to how these wizards could wear them and not trip over their own feet. The boy gave Conan a once over, his eyes widening a little in shock at Conan’s tiny body before quickly recovering and plastering on a snooty mask.
He didn’t bother to respond to Conan, stiffly lifting his chin up and made his way out--
Yukiko stood in front of the boy’s escape, hands on her hips while leaning over him intimidatingly. Despite the obvious threatening stance, her usual pleasant expression didn’t waver.
“Hello bouya! You seem to be forgetting something.” she said.
The boy scowled, crossing his arms while glaring at Yukiko. Conan prayed for his sanity.
“Do you know who I am?” the boy snarled, and Conan sighed. The boy whipped around, opening his mouth to insult him but once again, his mother interrupted him.
“Unless you’ve really forgotten about your own identity I don’t think that’s what you’re truly forgetting.” Yukiko giggled, kneeling down to the boy’s level.
Confusion flashed across his face but it left as soon as it appeared.
“My father is--!”
“Don’t think so!”
“Oh dear, I don’t think that’s it either!”
The boy’s lips tightened into a thin line, finally realizing the woman wasn’t going to stop until she got what she wanted. Conan watched him frown, his eyes looking at everything but Conan. The boy looked reluctant to say a simple “sorry”, looking like a kicked puppy.
“It’s alright.” Conan said, breaking the boy out of his internal war. The boy twitched, his face breaking into another seething scowl. Well that didn’t help. Whoops.
Yukiko pouted down at her (son) nephew. Conan scoffed, regarding her pointedly. He noticed the boy’s angry face transform into one of bewilderment. Conan stored that piece of information into the back of his head and resumed berating his mother.
“Aunt Yukiko, stop taking your aggressions out on him.” he huffed.
“But Co-chan!” she whined. Abruptly, Yukiko wrapped her arms around the startled boy. “He reminds me of a little you!”
Conan narrowed his eyes, subtly nudging his head towards Flitwick (surprisingly the man was holding back laughs instead of openly gaping at his odd mother). Yukiko blinked, realizing her mistake but her grin only widened.
“Unhand me woman!” the boy hissed, struggling in Yukiko’s grasp. Her bright smile didn’t shake and her grip on him almost tightened, if it weren’t for the stern gaze Conan directed her way. She let go of him, standing up again and bouncing off. Probably to browse whatever clothing they had in the shop.
The boy instantly lashed out at Conan, tidying up his slicked back head of hair while throwing grimaces his way.
“My father will hear about this!”
Before he could ask who the boy’s father was, he had already stormed out of the establishment, slamming the door shut behind him. Conan blankly stared at the closed door, breathing in, and out.
You know what. If all the children at the so-called wizarding school acted like this, he’d rather deal with the constant murderers thank you very much.
He looked around, walking over to a woman waving around her wand, fabrics and measuring tapes floating around her. “Pardon me? I’m here for school robes?”
The woman giggled, kneeling down to his height and her hand began ruffling his hair. “Oh, aren’t you an adorable child~! Maybe in a few years.”
“Sorry miss, but our nephew is actually heading to Hogwarts this year.” Yusaku interjected, amused to no end at his son’s predicament. Conan shot him an annoyed glare.
The woman stared up at Yuusaku, then at Conan, and then immediately flushed. She shot up, hands covering her mouth in embarrassment.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, it’s just he’s so small!”
Maybe he should start wearing platform shoes, Conan thought to himself. He had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time someone commented on his height and if he didn’t do something about it quick-- he honestly didn’t know if he could keep his calm.
She frantically dragged Conan to the back of the shop, practically shoving him upon the footstool and darting into her work. A long robe was slipped over his shoulders and he watched as the woman pinned it up to the right length.
“If I may ask, who was that boy? The one with pale hair.” Yusaku asked.
The woman’s face scrunched up in distaste and sighed, “Muggles I assume? It might be best if you strayed far from the Malfoy family. They’re blood-purists and a wealthy pureblood family. It would do you well not to insult or even converse with them.”
Conan tilted his head, glancing back at the doorway. He felt a little bad for the kid, since he’s dealt with those kinds before. It reminded him of the time the Shounen Tantei-dan, Ran, and him were stuck in that virtual reality game.
The thought of Ran and the children sent a stinging pain through him and he clenched his fists. It wouldn’t be the first time he would be away from Ran, but with the threat of the Black Org. he felt uncomfortable. If Ran or the kids got into trouble he couldn’t be there to protect them. And what about Haibara? What if the Black Org. figure out her identity while he was gone?
“All done sweetie!” the woman’s cheery voice snapped him out of his internal panic. Conan quietly thanked her as Yuusaku paid the woman.
“You seem to be troubled.” Flitwick said. Conan shrugged, not feeling up to play pretend. He’d rather stare at the brown frog hopping past them. Surprisingly, it smelled like chocolate.
Yukiko slid up to him, grabbing him by the hand and skipping out of the shop. He paid little mind to his mother’s excited chatter, Yusaku and Flitwick following behind them.
“Co-chan! We should get your wand now, how does a pink one sound~?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you”, Flitwick exclaimed, “Choosing your wand is mostly not possible. The bond between a wand and its owner is strongest when the wand chooses the wizard.”
Conan wasn’t really sure how to react, knowing that he was going to be using a sentient being for his own gain. Was it technically sentient though? Well, if it could think for itself then yeah but it wasn’t a breathing creature…? So kind of like Noah’s Ark?
“Will the wand be like a companion of sorts?” Conan asked as they stopped in front of a shabby looking building. Its large windows were dusty and foggy. The words reading “Ollivanders” were old and chipped, sprawled above the entrance.
Flitwick paused, rubbing his chin in thought. “Somewhat yes. A wand is quasi-sentient and we wizards and witches use it to channel our magic for more detailed and complex results. Since wandless magic is an extremely hard feat to accomplish.”
The shop was practically empty, a spindly chair sitting in the corner of the room. Conan blinked at the thousands of boxes, neatly stacked away. It made him feel cramped, despite the fact that he stood on the other side of the counter.
An old man appeared from behind a pile of boxes, wide eyes landing on Conan.
“Good afternoon.” Conan replied, refraining from bowing out of habit. He heard his mother and father whispering to Flitwick from behind him, barely catching the words “who” and “Ollivander”.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around, miss. Are you perhaps looking for a replacement wand or browsing for your son?” the old man-- Ollivander, Conan noted-- said.
Yukiko giggled, waving a hand daintily. This wizarding community was going to inflate his mother’s ego enormously, Conan thought to himself with a silent groan.
“Yes, we’re taking our nephew to get his wand.” Yusaku said instead.
“Ah, I understand the need to pick out a wand when the children are still young but I do recommend--”
“I’m eleven.” Conan interrupted quickly. The idea of wearing platform shoes was really looking good right now. Curse his small body.
Ollivander frowned, examining the tiny child in front of him. He didn’t look too convinced but went along with it, motioning for Conan to step up.
“Which is your wand arm?”
The man disappeared behind the pile again, mumbling to himself as he looked through boxes and boxes. He rushed back to Conan, handing him a stick (wand, he reluctantly corrected himself).
“Try this one. Maple and phoenix tail feather, just shy of nine inches. Go on-- give it a nice wave.”
Conan tried to hide his skepticism, hesitantly flicking his wrist. Ollivander’s hand darted out, snatching the wand back without warning before holding out another one.
“No no, that won’t do. Here, fir and dragons heartstring. About twelve inches, quite springy.”
Again, he held up the wand but even faster than before that one was taken back.
This would go on for what felt like half an hour, although it was probably just around ten minutes. Conan chanced a glance back at his parents, sighing exasperatedly at their obvious entertainment from his suffering. He could see hints of concern in his mother’s posture though, his father holding her hand tenderly.
Ollivander stood still, staring at a dusty box. His eyes flickered over to Conan, one hand rubbing his chin while the other wrapped around his thin torso. Conan wondered why the man was so worried. Just minutes ago the man seemed to be enjoying his predicament-- to his great annoyance and confusion. Did it have something to do with their little wand problem? Maybe the reason why he wasn’t “bonding” with any was because of his disbelief…?
The old man gave in to whatever internal war was going on inside his head, slowly pulling out the box and drew a pale wand from its wooden coffin. Thin branches whirled around the stick like vines, an indent where the wood curved which created a makeshift handle for its user. Despite the elegant design, something about the wand seemed familiar-- as if he were meeting an old friend.
Ollivander passed the wand over to Conan, uncertainty written across his features. It made Conan stand on edge at the man’s drastic change in attitude and he warily gave the wand a little wave. A sense of warmth washed through him, his fingers tingled with a spark and a cool, blue mist encircled the tip of his wand.
“Vine, eight and a half inches. Fierce and adaptable,” he stared at Conan with an unreadable look, “And thestral hair. Curious, curious indeed..”
Flitwick’s gasp of surprise made Conan feel as if he just committed some sort of crime.
“What’s a thestral?” Conan asked cautiously, sounding out the word in his rusty English.
“A thestral is known as an omen of misfortune and aggression-- I’ve only ever known one other wand who dared to use their tail hair as a wand core.” Ollivander said. If Conan squinted, he could probably hear the awe in his voice. But since the wand was literally calling out his terrible luck, he wasn’t entirely amused at it.
“This was one of my great grandfather’s old creations. A customer had brought in the tail hair for their wand but never returned for it. I wonder..” Ollivander continued before diving back into his swarming thoughts.
It didn’t look like the man was ready for more questions, already piling up his own. Conan quickly paid him seven galleons before following his parents and Flitwick out the door.
“Interesting man.” Yusaku hummed, falling into step with Conan. He didn’t say anything.
For a few hours the trio trailed behind Yukiko. Yusaku wanted to explore just as much as his wife and Flitwick felt comforted by the Kudos’ eccentricities. Conan just wanted to go home and pretend the whole magic thing didn’t exist and never happened. But since he couldn’t really run away, he might as well just go along with it.
Visiting the apothecary wasn’t too eventful. It was at least a break from his hyperactive mother’s energy as she waited outside. The smell and her ideas of whatever sat in those glass tubes drove her from exploring the shop’s contents. He squashed the feeling of relief down. As elegant as his mother was, he had no doubt they’d end up breaking something. Most likely an employee’s patience.
It took much convincing for her not to buy the mini cauldron-- how many times were people going to make him feel bad about his height dang it-- and they had to drag a sulking Yukiko out of the cauldrons shop. At least she fit right in with every other person here, Conan thought exhaustedly.
They were sitting in an ice cream parlor. Yukiko was busy licking at her mountainous sundae while Yuusaku struck a conversation with Flitwick.
“So spells can really be created just like that?”
“With the correct incantation, wand movement, and magical affinity!” Flitwick gladly answered.
Conan groaned, refraining from slamming his head onto the table. At the rate they were going they would have to come back tomorrow to get his books. After all, just because his parents may be internationally famous doesn’t mean that their train was going to wait for them.
At least the time to himself let him just soak in exactly what was happening. Ever since he was a child he never believed in the supernatural. Everything was explainable scientifically and logically. Hell, every case where the murderer-- stupidly-- tried to frame a ghost or demon, he always managed to debunk it!
But staring outside the window, at the man across the street, playfully levitating his bags in a circle in the air made him rethink his unwavering belief in the non-supernatural. Oh kami, if Ran ever found out about this she would never let him live it down.
“A-ah?” he whipped around, his attention ripped away from a gaggle of children that have started to surround the tiny performance.
“Ready to get your school books?” Yusaku said, leaving a few sickles on the table before standing up. Yukiko was already up, a pep in her step after her little snack. Thank kami they were almost done here.
Walking into Flourish and Blotts he wondered if all wizard buildings were cramped and crowded. There were bookshelves and bookshelves lined up upon the wall, books piled atop each other from the wooden floor to the surprisingly not dusty ceiling.
His hand brushed upon the spine of a leather cover, pulling out the book. Tucking it under his arm, Conan continued to grab one of each book. He left home for a reason and was going to try and get as many answers as possible. If the Black Org. really had anything to do with “magic”.
They spent an hour there, browsing each shelf and picking out textbooks and journals of all kinds. Conan spotted a girl-- bushy hair, around eleven years old-- also carrying a pile of books. He wondered how she was able to see behind the stack in her arms, let alone carry them herself. The staff at least seemed to be happy, looking like they were about to jump out of their skin and do a little jig. Guess it was their lucky day.
Yukiko practically cheered in joy as they left the bookstore. They made their way back out of Diagon Alley, out of the Leaky Cauldron. The sun hung low in the sky as they bid farewell to Flitwick. The walk to the station and train ride was silent, each person lost in their own thoughts.
Conan flinched, akin to touching boiling water. “Okaa-san, please don’t call me that anymore.” he replied in Japanese. Using his rusty English all day was wearing out on him.
Yukiko opened her mouth, seeming like she wanted to argue but Yusaku subtly shook his head. She dropped it, but gave Conan a look, as if saying they would talk about it at home.
He sighed, the sound barely audible beneath the rumbling engine. He wondered if he would ever go back to the days where bodies would drop like flies 24/7-- at least those were explainable. Unlike….whatever he witnessed in Diagon Alley. And really? A wand powered off of hair? In all fairness it was from a magical creature but still.
Conan’s gaze drifted down towards his feet and he frowned. He still had to do something about his height. Conan wondered if there were any shoe stores nearby selling platform shoes.