Book 1: Harry Potter and the Saiyan's Secret

Diagon Alley was a kaleidoscope of color, sound, and smells that Harry could scarcely comprehend. The street was lined with crooked buildings, each one filled with wonder. Shop windows displayed everything from self-stirring cauldrons to enchanted quills that wrote on their own. Wizards and witches bustled about, carrying bags brimming with potions, robes, and books.

"Stick close, Harry," Hagrid said, his booming voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd. "We've got a lot to do, and not much time."

Harry followed Hagrid, his eyes darting from one shop to the next. A broomstick floated lazily in the window of a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies, and a crowd of children pressed their noses to the glass in awe. Next door, a sign reading Flourish and Blotts promised books on every magical subject imaginable.

But as exciting as the sights were, Harry couldn't shake the hum of energy within him. It felt stronger here, as though the magic in the air was feeding whatever power lay inside him.

---

Their first stop was Gringotts Wizarding Bank, a towering white building guarded by goblins. Hagrid explained that Harry's parents had left him a vault full of wizarding gold, and Harry's jaw dropped when he saw the piles of glittering coins inside.

"Blimey," Harry said, staring at the mountain of gold. "I had no idea…"

"'Course yeh didn't," Hagrid said gruffly. "But it's yers. Take what yeh need for yer school supplies."

Harry filled a small bag with gold and followed Hagrid back to the cart. But as they rattled through the underground tunnels, Harry noticed something odd. The goblin steering their cart kept glancing at him, his beady eyes narrowing in curiosity.

"Is somethin' wrong?" Harry asked.

The goblin said nothing, but Hagrid frowned. "Don't worry about him," he muttered. "Goblins're nosy, that's all. Let's get on with it."

But Harry couldn't help but feel that there was more to it than that.

---

As they made their way through the shops, Harry was overwhelmed by the sheer variety of magical items. He was fitted for robes at Madam Malkin's, where a pale, blond boy named Draco Malfoy tried to strike up a conversation.

"You'll be in Slytherin, I bet," Draco said confidently. "All the best wizards are."

"I don't know," Harry replied, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the boy's haughty gaze.

"Well, you'll find out soon enough," Draco said with a smirk. "I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Harry wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it.

---

At Ollivanders, Harry experienced the strangest moment of the day. The elderly wandmaker measured him, muttering to himself as he pulled wand after wand from the shelves.

"Curious," Ollivander murmured, his pale eyes gleaming as Harry tried yet another wand. "Very curious."

"What's curious?" Harry asked.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said. "And it seems… you are not an ordinary wizard."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

Ollivander leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Your core—your power—it's unlike anything I've seen before. And your wand will need to reflect that."

After what felt like hours, Harry finally found the right wand. A warm surge of energy rushed through him as he held it, the wood vibrating gently in his hand.

"Holly and phoenix feather," Ollivander said softly. "Eleven inches. Supple. A powerful wand for a powerful wizard."

Harry left the shop feeling both elated and uneasy. The idea that he wasn't "ordinary" had been hinted at before, but hearing it from someone like Ollivander made it feel real.

---

As they walked back toward the Leaky Cauldron, their shopping bags full, Harry turned to Hagrid. "Why does everyone keep saying I'm not ordinary? What's so special about me?"

Hagrid hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "I told yeh, Harry. Yeh're famous. The Boy Who Lived."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?" Harry pressed. "Ollivander said my power is… different."

Hagrid sighed. "Look, Harry, there's things we don't know yet. Things Dumbledore wants to figure out. But yer parents were some o' the best wizards I've ever known, and yeh've clearly inherited more than just their magic. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't entirely reassured. He glanced at the bustling street around him, wondering if any of the other witches and wizards here felt the same strange hum of energy he did.

As they approached the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, a voice called out from behind them.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry turned to see an older witch with a warm smile and twinkling eyes. She held a small book in her hands, and her expression was one of awe.

"Can it be?" she asked. "It is! Oh, Mr. Potter, it's an honor to meet you. And you look just like your father, bless him—except for those eyes. You've got your mother's eyes."

"Er… thank you," Harry said awkwardly, not sure how to respond.

The witch beamed. "Such a bright future ahead of you. And such power! Why, it's a miracle you survived You-Know-Who. A miracle indeed."

Harry's chest tightened at her words. Power. Miracle. He wasn't sure he liked the weight of those expectations.

As they stepped back through the archway and into the Muggle world, Harry felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Tomorrow, he would board the train to Hogwarts. A new life awaited him—a life full of magic, wonder, and mystery.

But as he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling of the room Hagrid had arranged for him, one thought lingered in his mind.

What if this power inside him wasn't a blessing? What if it was a curse?