It was the 1st of August, 1857—exactly one month before Sirius would depart for Hogwarts—when he received another letter, this time containing information about the supplies he would need for school.
Earlier, he had already sent back his acceptance letter along with the required draft payment, and in return, he had received an acknowledgment accompanied by a detailed handbook. That handbook outlined his upcoming coursework, elective options, Hogwarts' meal plans, and the rules and regulations every student was expected to know before setting foot on school grounds.
At first, Sirius had thought the information overload was excessive. But after comparing it to the common educational practices of this era, he began to appreciate the effort. It was, in truth, a well-thought-out system—giving students time to prepare and parents a clearer understanding of what their children would be learning over the next several years.
Determined to make the most of his time, Sirius opted to enroll in all nine core subjects, as well as five distinctive electives, wanting to keep himself fully engaged and broaden his understanding of the magical and non-magical world alike. His core subjects included:
Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense and Offense, Herbology, Astronomy, History of World and Magic, Broom Flying and Arithmancy
For electives, he selected - Ancient Runes, Language Studies, Art and Music Composition, Literature and Poetry and Management Studies
These subjects would be available to him for the first three years. At the end of that period, students were allowed to drop or add subjects based on their interests and future goals. The minimum requirement to sit for the OWLs (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) was five subjects—three magical and two non-magical.
Interestingly, Arithmancy, History, and Astronomy were categorized as non-magical disciplines, despite their heavy inclusion in magical education. Flying, on the other hand, did not have a formal examination—instead, students would receive a certificate of proficiency upon completing three years of instruction.
Rest of his supplies were as follows.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Uniform Requirements for First-Year Students:
Three sets of plain black work robes
One plain black pointed hat (for day wear)
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
Two black winter cloaks with silver fastenings
Sets of underclothes: white shirt or blouse, black trousers, long white socks, and a tie
Black boots or shoes
Waistcoats with belts (optional)
One set of formal dress robes
Please note: All clothing must be clearly labeled with the student's full name stitched on the inside.
Additional Equipment:
1 wand
1 cauldron (small, pewter)
1 set of glass or crystal vials
1 telescope
1 set of measuring scales
1 set of writing materials
1 potions kit
1 set of formal letter parchment
1 broom
Students may also bring an animal companion that is under XX Classification given that they themselves will be responsible for Safety, food and overall well being of said companion. School shall not be held responsible in case of any incidents such as theft, injury, misplacement, accident, or death of said creature.
Most common companions are Cats/Kneazels, Crups/Dogs, Toads and Owls/Messenger birds.
Without Broom, Students won't be eligible for Flying lessons.
Family bonded House elves are additionally allowed for students with noble lineage.
Below this, there was a complete list of textbooks and study materials required for the subjects he had chosen, which was quite extensive.
A golden ticket was included in the envelope, bearing the address of the newly built King's Cross Station, along with detailed directions for accessing the platform.
After reading the letter aloud — much to the envy of his younger siblings — Sirius could hardly contain his excitement.
He looked at his Father, Cygnus Black after reading out the list out loud.
"Ah, to be young and excitable again." His Father quipped. "Sirius, you can visit the alley with Augustus the house boy. It is time that you learn to navigate the world on your own."
"Yes Father" Sirius nodded and bowed slightly in acceptance. He could see Phineas pouting but didn't say anything about that.
Sirius had a good relationship with Augustus, whom he called Augie as well, so he naturally had no issues with going to the alley with him for his school supplies.
He summoned Augustus after the breakfast with his family and instructed him to get a trunk big enough to house everything from Mr. Edward and they would take Floo to the alley to save time.
They planned to go to Alley the next day. Sirius also invited his friends Burton Flint and Cloyd Prewett but they were going with their guardians next week hence denied due to no fault of their own.
It was a crisp morning on the 2nd of August, 1857, when Sirius Rigel Black stepped through the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron for the first time in his young life. Last time his father had taken his carriage when they had visited for his wand.
The emerald fire flared briefly before he emerged from the grate with practiced ease, brushing a faint trace of soot from the lapel of his deep green summer robe. Augustus followed moments later, coughing lightly behind his hand, his usually neat hair slightly mussed from the journey.
Sirius paused, adjusting the weight of his signet ring which was turning into a nervous habit and glancing around the dimly lit tavern. The Leaky Cauldron was bustling, filled with a curious mix of early morning travelers and tired-looking residents sipping spiced tea. The air smelled faintly of pipe smoke, roasted nuts, and the sharp tang of brewing potions.
He inclined his head politely to the barkeep while putting a couple of knuts in the bowl adjacent to the fireplace, who gave them a distracted nod seeing the coin while polishing a glass with a rag that did little more than smear the grime. Sirius had read much about the inn in books and journals—its history, its political neutrality, and its importance as a gateway between worlds. But even so, he couldn't help but regard it as slightly grimy, in that peculiarly charming magical way.
"I'll go directly to Gringotts, while you can get a few things in the list" Sirius murmured, his voice low but confident.
"As you wish, Master Sirius," Augustus replied with a small bow.
Sirius gave him a sharp look but didn't protest the formality. Outside the estate, Augustus often reverted to form. It was a habit deeply ingrained, and one Sirius respected—even if he personally found it too stiff for his liking.
They crossed through the brick arch behind the Leaky Cauldron, Sirius tapping the correct pattern with the tip of his white aspen wand. He felt a magical thrill in his chest as the bricks shuddered and shifted to reveal the concealed world of Diagon Alley beyond.
The alley unfolded like a living tapestry before them—narrow and winding, flanked by tall, wonky buildings whose upper floors leaned over the cobbled street. Signs swung from iron brackets overhead, some creaking gently, others flashing with subtle magical light. The scent of parchment, wax, sweets, and polished wood drifted on the breeze, accompanied by the occasional hoot of an owl or the chime of a floating bell.
Sirius took a moment to simply breathe it in.
"I'd almost forgotten how alive it feels," he said softly, half to himself. "Magic here… it doesn't hide."
"No, sir. It dances," Augustus replied, smiling as he adjusted the strap of the leather satchel slung over his shoulder.
"Here," Sirius said, handing Augustus a folded list and a smaller pouch of coin. "Pick up the books from Flourish & Blotts, the crystal vials from Vesperglass Emporium, and get the potions kit from Nott's Apothecary and get stationery as well. If they try to pass off an old potions kit, refuse and go to another shop. I'll meet you at the Ruben's cafe after i am done, wait for me there."
Augustus accepted the list with a short nod and they parted with their own objectives.
Sirius passed a cluster of children pressing their noses to the window of a shop that sold enchanted marbles and dancing ink pots, before arriving at the snow-white marble steps of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Two goblins flanked the massive doors—one eyed Sirius's ring and nodded faintly in recognition.
Sirius returned the gesture, neither bowing too low nor standing too proud. His grandfather had made it clear: Goblins were not to be trifled with or disrespected.
Inside the great hall, the cool air smelled of ink and old coins. Goblins sat behind high counters, scribbling in ledgers or inspecting jewels through thick monocles. Sirius approached the nearest desk with quiet confidence.
"I am Sirius Rigel Black," he said clearly, presenting the ring on his right hand. "Heir to the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. I would like to meet black family account manager and make a withdrawal from my personal account."
The goblin, without looking up, gestured with a clawed hand. "Key."
Sirius produced the small silver key from his inner robe pocket. The goblin examined it, then finally met his eyes.
"Follow Hornkip."
A second goblin, smaller and swifter, emerged from a side passage and beckoned. Sirius followed him through winding stone corridors and into the interior of the bank.
He was led to a side chamber this time, down a short hall marked "Private Holdings." The door was thick oak bound in iron, and the nameplate on the front read: Snapteeth – Account Manager, Private Vaults & Old-Blood Affairs.
Inside, a goblin was already seated behind a low desk carved from dark stone. He had sharp features, ink-stained fingers, and a quill tucked behind one pointed ear. He glanced up when Sirius entered and gestured for him to sit, wasting no time on greetings.
"Name and account," he said without looking up from the ledger.
"Sirius Rigel Black. Black Heir vault, Number 594. Established by Lord Aquarius Black in 1845."
"Ah," Snapteeth murmured, flipping through a few parchment pages. "Yes. The heir account. What brings you today?"
"I'm depositing four thousand five hundred galleons," Sirius said, placing a bulging satchel on the desk. "You'll find it all in order."
Snapteeth opened the pouch with a tap of his claw, checked the top layer of coins, and gave a satisfied grunt.
"I assume this is a personal fund?"
"Exactly. It's my personal savings."
"Good. Most heirs your age still treat money like water." Snapteeth jotted a note in the ledger. "Annual bank statements will be delivered by owl post on 22nd October every year, the day after the yearly deposit from the main vault is made till you are 21 in age."
"That works."
Sirius leaned back slightly as the goblin continued writing. After a moment, he added, "I'd like to authorize access for my house-elf, Kint. He manages errands and purchases on my behalf."
Snapteeth paused mid-sentence. "An elf. Uncommon."
"He's bound to my household. Loyal. Efficient. I trust him."
"Fine. We'll bind his magical signature to the vault. He'll be able to deposit and withdraw, up to what limit?"
"No more than three hundred galleons per month."
Snapteeth nodded. "Understood. You'll get alerts by the owl if he exceeds that."
"And I'd like a draft book," Sirius added.
The goblin arched a brow. "Already? Most don't ask until they've left school."
"I plan to use it only during emergencies."
Snapteeth rummaged in a drawer and produced a long, leather-bound booklet. The parchment inside was smooth and thick, each sheet faintly marked with a Gringotts watermark.
"Twenty pages. One-time fee of two Galleons. Each leaf can be written, signed, and torn out like a cheque. Valid anywhere that have a vault with us, be it a business or an individual, which is nearly everyone on this island."
Sirius handed over two Galleons and took the draft book, running a finger over the embossed cover. It was more elegant than he expected.
"Don't lose it," Snapteeth added dryly. "If someone else tries to use it, the page disintegrates. The rest vanish. And you'll need to pay for a replacement."
"Understood." Sirius tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of his robe.
"One more thing," he said. "Can I get some smaller change? A hundred sickles and a hundred knuts for Daily spending."
Snapteeth rang a tiny bell, and another goblin appeared, took the order and appeared again a few minutes later carrying two coin pouches. Sirius opened each, glanced inside, and nodded his approval.
"That's all, I think," he said, rising from the chair. "Unless you've any warnings about economic collapse I should know about."
Snapteeth's lips twitched in what might have been amusement. "Not yet."
Sirius grinned and slipped the pouches into his trunk.
"Pleasure to have done business with you today Manager Snapteeth"
Snapteeth gave him a long, unreadable look.
"We'll be in touch. Heir Black."
Sirius gave a short nod and turned to go, the draft book light in his pocket and the weight of his new independence settling quietly over his shoulders.
Back in the sunlight, he turned toward the row of shops.
A bell chimed as Sirius entered the fine luggage shop called Boot Luggage, its interior polished to a gleam. Dark wood shelves showcased trunks of various enchantments, some steaming faintly, others snapping open and shut in midair for display.
He selected a bespoke piece—charcoal black with a silver crest worked discreetly into the latch. It contained three compartments: one for standard school items, another with cooling and preservation charms for potions and perishables, and a third hidden, warded, and keyed only to his magical signature.
The artisan provided three skeleton-style keys, each fitting a different enchantment layer. Sirius stowed them in the inner pocket of his traveling robe with a quiet satisfaction.
His next stop was Twilfitt and Tatting's Robes. The fittings were precise and elegant. Sirius requested subtle customization—a darker green lining to contrast his house colors, a slightly tapered cut on the formal dress robes, and discreet embroidery on the inside collars with his full name.
"Nothing too common or too gaudy," he reminded the seamstress. "I'm not peacocking."
"Of course, Lord Black," she replied with a thin smile. "We are not Madame Malkin's."
Next he wanted to have a personal owl, Sirius arrived at eyelope's and wandered between cages. Owls of all kinds blinked down at him—snowy, barn, screech, and even a regal tawny with a crooked feather.
His eyes landed on a white-colored owl with snowy plumage and intelligent amber eyes that followed his every move.
"She's sharp," said the shopkeeper, noticing. "Quiet flyer. Good instincts."
"She'll do," Sirius murmured. "I'll name her Opal."
He paid in galleons, requesting her be delivered to the estate with her perch and food supply.
As he left the Eyelops, a tucked away shop at the corner caught his eyes, its exterior was peeling and there was no board, just random knick knacks on the dirty display window, he curiously made way into it.
An old woman was reading a book sitting behind the counter, As he entered a faint bell rang somewhere in the shop.
"Welcome to Odds & Ends Emporium, please feel free to browse and ask about anything that catches your fancy" She said with a welcoming smile.
Sirius walked through the shelves where the air smelled faintly of mothballs, old wood, and something vaguely reminiscent of forgotten spells. The shop was cluttered but oddly comforting—like a long-lost attic that hadn't quite decided if it was magical or mundane.
There were teetering stacks of faded tarot cards, half-melted candles in antique holders, broken wand cases with frayed velvet lining, and mismatched potion bottles labeled in nearly illegible cursive. A stuffed billywig hovered gently in a cracked glass dome, its wings twitching once every few seconds as though refusing to admit it had long since stopped living.
He passed a brass mirror that sneezed when he brushed against it and a cauldron that hiccupped tiny bubbles of lavender smoke.
One shelf in particular drew him in—it was packed with old school things. A cracked Hogwarts crest on a dusty journal. A few tarnished Prefect badges. A weather-beaten Astronomy chart with hand-drawn constellations dancing ever so slightly across the parchment.
"Everything here has a story," the old woman called softly from behind the counter. "Some of them are true."
Sirius gave a small smile and kept browsing, his fingers brushing over a wand holster made of aged dragonhide. It flexed slightly under his touch, as if trying to remember its purpose.
"Do you buy items too?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
She looked up, eyes sharp despite the smile. "I do. Trade and barter too, if you're clever about it."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll come back with something worth your shelf space."
"No rush, dear. Things meant to find a home here usually do." She tapped the side of her book with a knobby finger. "They wait."
Sirius lingered a moment longer and eventually picked out a faded, leather-bound sketchbook with someone's initials burned into the cover—T.H.P.—the pages inside filled with magical creature sketches, half-spells, notes, and the sort of chaotic imagination that only came from a bored student or a brilliant one.
"How much for this?" he asked.
The woman tilted her head, squinting. "Two sickles. And promise you'll add a few pages of your own before you leave school."
Sirius handed over the coins with a faint grin. "Deal."
He continued browsing, drawn deeper into the narrow, winding aisles. The shop felt bigger on the inside—probably charmed that way. Dust motes floated lazily in shafts of light cutting through high windows, and the shelves seemed to whisper quietly with age and mischief.
Near a crooked display table covered in silk scraps and tangled quills, something caught his eye: a pair of slim, leather-bound journals nestled in a cracked velvet box. They were nearly identical—dark blue covers embossed with a faint silvery pattern of moons and stars.
He opened one and saw neat, pale lines across the parchment. The inside cover read:
"Twinmind Journals – Whatever is written in one appears in the other. Wipes clean with every full moon. Do not use for blackmail or dueling plans. Especially not both."
Sirius gave a soft laugh and looked toward the counter. "These still work?"
The old woman smiled knowingly. "Perfectly. Came from parents of a pair of twin sisters who used to pass notes during lessons. One of them got caught because she doodled on the cover."
"I'll take them."
He placed the box gently under one arm and moved on. Tucked in a dusty wicker bin beside the register, he found a plain-looking cloth satchel with soft leather straps. It didn't look like much—just a little bigger than a standard school bag—but when he lifted it, it was lighter than expected.
A scrap of parchment was pinned to it: "Capacity: Approximately twice its size. Careful not to fill it too full or you'll never find anything again."
"Does this one have a name?" he asked.
"Not really," she said. "It's just... a bag. But useful, if you pack clever."
He added it to his growing collection.
Next, a small stand of hats drew his attention. Most were shapeless, worn from time, with curious feathers or faded ribbons tucked in their brims. One, a soft grey wool cap with a slightly droopy tip, had a yellowed tag that read:
"Notice-Me-Not Hat – For when you'd rather not be the subject of attention. Won't hide you from teachers during night, however."
He tried it on. It felt cozy, unremarkable. He liked that.
A shelf nearby held an assortment of cracked monocles and forgotten reading specs, but one pair of wire-rimmed glasses rested in a polished wooden case with a handwritten note:
"Chameleon Lenses – Subtly alters hair and eye color to the most common in a crowd (typically brown). Makes the wearer's appearance vaguely forgettable. Ideal for quiet getaways, library visits, or introverts at large social gatherings."
He slipped them on and looked into a small mirror nearby. His reflection shifted—his bright grey eyes dulled to muddy brown, his striking hair now an unremarkable shade. It wasn't a disguise exactly, but it was enough to blend in.
"I'll take these too."
As he moved to pay, he noticed a small stack of tarot decks wrapped in ribbons. One was brightly colored, the cards smaller than usual, with illustrations of dragons in bonnets, sleepy-eyed owls, and dancing teacups.
"Children's tarot?" Sirius asked with a smile.
"Beginner's set," the woman said. "They're safe, charming, and mildly accurate if you shuffle with good intentions. Wonderful for learning the basics."
He picked up the box, feeling the comforting weight of curiosity and possibility.
By the time he reached the counter, his arms were full of magical oddities, all of which looked like nothing to anyone not paying attention. And yet, he felt as though he'd stumbled across an unexpected treasure trove—one made not of power, but of practicality, wonder, and just enough mischief to be useful.
The old woman rang up his purchases slowly, humming to herself as she wrapped each item in brown paper.
"Got a bit of a nose for finding the right things, haven't you?" she said as she handed him the final package.
"Maybe," Sirius replied. "Or maybe they found me."
She winked at him. "That's how it usually works in here."
With the bell chiming softly overhead, Sirius stepped back into the alley. His bag was slightly heavier, his pockets a little lighter, and his day brighter in that quiet, unspoken way that only comes from discovering something wonderful no one else was looking for.
Sirius found Augustus exactly where he expected him to be—seated near the window at Rubean's Café, tucked into the quieter corner of Diagon Alley, just past the main apothecary row, drinking a cup of tea.
The café was small but elegant, with pale green walls, floating lanterns bobbing above each table, and a tempting aroma of tea, toasted bread, and something buttery drifting from the kitchen. An enchanted fiddle played softly in the corner, providing background music that never repeated itself.
Augie looked up from the menu and offered a half-smile as Sirius approached, laden with brown paper parcels and a satchel that seemed a little too full to close properly.
"You look like you fought a small antique shop and barely made it out alive," Augustus remarked, reaching to help take a few things off Sirius's hands.
"I did. And I won. Barely." Sirius dropped into the chair across from him, setting the enchanted sketchbook and his Twinmind journals carefully on the table. "Odds & Ends Emporium. That place is ridiculous. I think I might've accidentally adopted half the shop."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Augie said dryly. He gestured toward a small bundle beside his seat. "Books are all here. Crystal vials too. The potions kit's new—mid-range quality, but with extra space in the phial rack. Didn't bother haggling. The seller recognized the crest on my list and just nodded."
"Efficient as always," Sirius said, glancing over the items. "No wand explosions?"
"None that I caused."
A cheerful young waitress floated over with a notepad, bobbing slightly as she hovered.
"Ready to order, sirs?"
"Two teas—strong black with honey," Sirius said automatically. "And the lunch plate. Do you have the roast chicken with lemon and herbs today?"
"We do!"
"Perfect. Two, please."
She floated away with a smile, and Sirius leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs beneath the table.
"So," he said, eyeing Augustus over the rim of his water glass. "Brooms next?"
"Thought you might say that." Augie unrolled a narrow sheet of parchment from his pocket—an advertisement clipped from the Young Flyer's Gazette. "There's a new Ironwood series in stock at Wind & Weather. Solid frame, decent acceleration, and just within your self-imposed budget."
"Speed?"
"Faster than your cousin's old Cleansweep. Less flair, more control."
"Perfect," Sirius said. "I don't want to show off—just not get flattened on the first day."
They paused as their tea arrived, steaming and fragrant. Sirius poured in a bit of honey, stirred once, and took a sip.
"I also want to pick up a proper map of Hogwarts grounds," he added. "Not the ones they hand out. Something old, with hidden corridors marked if possible. Or even charmed to update itself."
"I might know a stall near the owlery that sells collector's guides. Mostly made by alumni. I'll check."
Sirius nodded, satisfied. "And we need wrapping parchment, basic sealing wax, a polishing kit for the cauldron, and ink—two vials. One with disappearing ink, if they still carry it."
"Already noted. I'll grab them while you try out brooms," Augie replied, sipping his tea.
Lunch arrived—roast chicken on toast with lemon-thyme gravy, roasted roots, and sweet vinegar-glazed carrots. They ate quickly but contentedly, the kind of easy rhythm that came from years of familiarity.
When they'd cleared their plates and Sirius paid the tab, Sirius stood and stretched once more, then slung his satchel back over his shoulder.
"Alright," he said, glancing toward the door. "Let's finish strong."
"You always say that," Augie muttered, standing as well.
"That's because I mean it."
They stepped back into the bright, late afternoon bustle of the Alley, Sirius's satchel bouncing gently at his side, and the list of remaining items dancing somewhere between practical and entirely unnecessary in the best possible way.