...the Dark is not Evil
It's filled up with People
Filled up with People
Filled up with People
Who can't find a place
Who are always hiding
Can't show their Face...
Chapter One
Down a Dark Alley
Harry rubbed his grimy little hands over his swollen puffy red eyelids. He hadn't slept a wink all night in that wretched under stairs cupboard that leaked from a crevice in the wall, while his aunt and uncle, his effective step-parents after his own had perished in an unfortunate car crash ten years ago, snored soundly in their comfortably furnished 340 square foot bedroom, Uncle Vernon hugging the comforter as his mustache hairs quivered with each slumbering breath, Aunt Petunia drooling all over her scented buckwheat pillow, one strap of her silk red nightgown sliding down her shoulder. Their son Dudley, Harry's cousin, was still up playing a violent video game, riding a virtual flying unicorn through cyberspace, and utterly destroying the brain-eating zombies one by one with his magical smelting stick that shot fire. Half eaten bags of crisps lined the floor around Dudley in his dark bedroom which was only illuminated by the game. He shouted an exuberant "Yes!" upon beating the next level, beaming at his 34 inch computer screen. But his parents did not hear him: they had ear plugs in, and peacefully slept on. Harry, however, was jostled by the sudden sound and sat straight up in bed, sleepily sniffling and rubbing his eyes. He was coming down with quite a nasty cold.
It was early April and Aunt Petunia had started turning off the heating at night, because it was so warm outside. Harry shivered under the ratty old linen blankets that had once been a tablecloth before Dudley spilled tea all over it. Not for the first time in these last ten years, Harry stared at the crevice in the leaky wall, wondering whom on Earth he had wronged to deserve this. No child should be made to feel this way, he thought. And he was right. The Dursleys meant well, but... strange things seemed to happen around Harry all the bloody time. The boy had completely wrecked his Auntie Petunia's nerves time and time again. Harry turned a housewife's job into slave labor, or so she thought.
Punishing the boy did not help. After swatting at the kid without landing a single bruise on his scrawny behind, slashing his fingers endlessly with her spatula for an hour straight without cutting him even once, and making him stand in a corner facing the wall for three days on end to find him curiously observing the patterns on the wall with a God damn smile on his face, Aunt Petunia had concluded the child must be mentally challenged.
So they locked him up in the cupboard and wrote the school that Harry was ill and would not be attending class. It was useless, either way. What good could that school teach him when Harry was so positively retarded?
He was the sort of kid that tossed plates up in the air "to see if they could fly" when you told him to "do the dishes". To Harry's defense, he had tried to make his aunt's saucers levitate only once, when he was six years old, after he'd been permitted to watch a Science Fiction film with Dudley. But that was no excuse in Petunia's mind: Dudley had watched the same movie, and Dudley had not reacted this way. Flying Saucers! By Jove!
They were currently in the process of looking for a suitable school for Harry, a boarding school maybe, one that would put up with his random moronic expressions. No school wanted the boy, even the social workers wished they could wipe their hands of him, which made Petunia feel a little less guilty whenever she prayed that by some stroke of luck someone, anyone would drop by one day and whisk Harry away, so she and her perfect little family would never ever ever have to deal with Harry Potter ever again. She was at her wit's end.
Harry stood from the rickety cot made of cardboard boxes in which Dudley's sneakers computers and video game consoles had come, there was no point in laying about when he got no shuteye. He crooked his bony finger in the lock, twisted his wrist and pushed the door open. Harry peeked out into the hall, there was no one. Cautiously slipping out of the cupboard he padded over to the kitchen and took a mug into his shaking hands. He was dying for a cup of hot chocolate.
But the Dursleys would notice if a quart of their milk was missing from the fridge, and his cousin Dudley would surely pummel him to the ground with his smelting stick next morning if he found one portion of his precious cocoa powder missing. Harry's throat made a dry croak and his empty tummy grumbled miserably. He didn't want to taste the cold chlorinated tap water in his mouth.
There was nothing else he could drink. With a sigh Harry held his mug under the tap and whispered a soft soothing rhyme to himself:
"Slither slither crawl awake
All your dreams will break
Shatter shatter through the wall
Better brace yourself for the fall"
With sleep-shut eyes Harry turned the tap on. A hissing spurting sound startled him into opening his eyes. Harry stared. Harry stared and stared as a hot brown liquid that smelled a lot like... chocolate milk ...came sloshing down the pipes into his waiting mug.
This couldn't be.
But it wasn't the first time queer things happened around Harry. Harry reckoned he was just queer like that. When his mug was nearly full he reached out to turn the tap off. The tap was scalding hot.
Harry washed the cup when he had finished and went back to 'bed', locking the cupboard door behind him to make it seem as though he hadn't been out of the cupboard at all. Hours later, at five in the morning, he was woken to loud footfalls coming down the stairs. Uncle Vernon swung the cupboard door open and barked at a yawning nodding Harry to get on with cleaning the car.
While Uncle Vernon wolfed down a sandwich of butter and cheese, Harry scrubbed the battered old Honda Civic, taking extra care with the side view mirrors. Aunt Petunia had come downstairs and was watering flowers in the front garden by the time Harry connected a handheld vacuum cleaner by extension cord and got down on his hands and knees to remove all the crisp crumbs from the back seat. Hours later, sticky with sweat and a nice headache assaulting his skull, Harry stumbled back inside the house to find Dudley dully picking at his custard pudding, and Uncle Vernon briskly walking to and fro, constantly consulting his wrist watch and announcing they were going to be late.
Harry tried to hide under the stairs, hoping they would all forget about him so he could sleep off his dizzy spell, but had no such luck when Aunt Petunia caught him by the arm.
"Where do you think you are going?" she said, pointing at the stack of unwashed plates and pots and pans in the sink.
Harry heaved a groan, then got to cleaning the mess they'd left for him in the kitchen. He thought his worries were over when Aunt Petunia kissed Uncle Vernon on the cheek and pressed a paper bag into Dudley's porkish hands. But no such luck.
Uncle Vernon looked over his shoulder, wiping his feet impatiently on the Welcome Home mat. "Well, what are you waiting for?"
Harry pointed at himself. "Me?"
Uncle Vernon snarled, nostrils flaring hotly. "Well do you see anyone else standing there?"
Harry looked behind him to find an empty hallway... Aunt Petunia must have gone upstairs. He turned back to Uncle Vernon who was standing in the frame of the front door. "No?" he said uncertainly.
"Honestly!" Uncle Vernon cried out loud, lifting his head up to the sky. "This boy!"
In complete and utter bewilderment Harry followed Uncle Vernon to the family car. The Dursleys rarely took Harry anywhere... what could they possibly want him for today of all days? And how did Uncle Vernon expect Harry to know?
Harry slumped into the back seat beside Dudley who tried pinching his ear while Uncle Vernon fastened Dudley's seat belt. Uncle Vernon did not fasten Harry's seat belt.
They drove off into town. Houses started growing larger and closer together than in the sloping suburbs where the Dursleys lived, meadows made way for parking lots, forests for shopping centers. And still, Uncle Vernon drove on, and on... they should've passed Dudley's school by now. Harry frowned, nose pressed to the window. He had no idea where they were headed.
All the while Dudley's face was growing brighter and brighter till he was positively beaming. Harry scrutinized him, half the mind to ask Dudley what was going on, but he thought better of it, and stuck to idly gazing out the window instead.
Uncle Vernon pulled up into a large underground parking lot. Harry nervously fidgeted in his seat. There were plenty of cars here, and all seemed to contain parents with young kids... some younger than him. He was told to get out of the car, and followed Dudley and Mr. Vernon up inside a flashy metal elevator together with another family that had two girls who looked about Dudley's age, two years older than Harry.
The girls giggled non-stop and whispered to each other, pointing at something on one girl's smartphone. Harry craned his neck to see, but he was too short.
The elevator doors swished open and the other family walked out, the girls skipping eagerly forward, off to something Harry couldn't see.
Uncle Vernon and Dudley followed the family down a corridor of what looked like a giant shopping mall. Harry stared at brightly colored advertisements for all sorts of things as they walked past. As they rounded a corner, Harry saw the two girls from the family up ahead jump excitedly on the spot behind the glass front of a shop. He frowned. What were they up to?
Harry quirked his brow as he watched Dudley race to the same shop. Uncle Vernon casually strolled in after him. Harry followed with caution. Whatever got Dudley so excited could not be good.
A shop assistant knelt by the two girls and patted them on the head. Then, reaching inside a cupboard behind her, the assistant pulled out two large plush toys, a sandy colored fluffy fox and an electric yellow... cat? mouse bunny looking thing, and placed them into the girls' waiting hands. The girls squealed out bubbly laughs and hurried out the shop, toys pressed tight to their chests. Harry watched them go.
Before long he heard a pleasant voice ask him what his favorite pocket monster was. Harry looked up in confusion.
The same shop assistant from before smiled warmly at him. Looking past her, Harry saw Dudley holding onto a large plush toy of his own: a blue skinned boxer with four arms and a hideous face. Harry blinked.
"Blaziken," Dudley helpfully supplied, smiling at Harry for what had to be the first time in his life, "Blaziken is my little brother's favorite pokemon."
Wait, brother? Harry raised an eyebrow at Dudley. What was going on?
"Are you sure?" the shop assistant fixed Harry with a knowing smile. "You don't exactly look like a Blaziken type." She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Harry eyed it warily, no one had ever done that before. "Go ahead," she said, "you can pick any Pokemon you want. We've got a free giveaway, only today." She winked. "Every kid that enters our shop today gets a free plush toy Pokemon, as long as we've got toys left in stock."
Harry stared at her. He was getting a toy? A... a toy?
He'd never gotten so much as a torn teddy bear in his life. Whenever Aunt Petunia saw him making his own toys from the cardboard boxes that served him as a bed, she told him to quit playing around and get on with his chores... no one had ever offered him a toy, let alone told him to choose one of his own liking.
He blinked dumbly at the shop assistant, wondering if this was all a big cruel joke Dudley had decided to play on him.
"Oh I know," said the assistant with a friendly chortle, "you've probably never played with Pokemon before. Is that right?"
Harry nodded numbly.
The assistant's smile did not waver. If anything, she seemed even softer and more welcoming than before... "Well then, what kinds of animals do you like?"
Harry frowned. He didn't know, hadn't really thought of it before... it hadn't seemed that important.
"Do you like bugs?" the assistant said enthusiastically.
Harry shook his head a firm No.
"No bugs, then..." she said absently.
"Well, I don't mind them," Harry spoke up quickly, his voice wavering from disuse.
She laughed. "Oh don't worry, you're still getting the toy. Tell me something, what's your name?"
"Harry," said Harry.
"Alright Harry, how do you feel about birds?"
"I'm okay with birds," Harry said, shrugging.
"But you don't love them?" she guessed correctly. "Mmm, let's see... dogs?" Harry shook his head, "cats?", nope, "lions?", another no, "how about farm animals?" Harry thought farm animals were rather boring, he told her as much.
Uncle Vernon said Harry was being difficult and should make up his mind already, but the assistant said it wasn't a problem: they had come in early and the store still had plenty of toys.
"What about fish?" the shop assistant said, bringing her face to the same height as Harry's.
Harry thought about this, long and hard. He puffed up a breath of air that blew his bangs from his eyes. The assistant let out a low gasp while pointing at his forehead. Harry frowned.
"Hold up, I know just the right Pokemon for you!" The assistant vanished behind a backdoor for a few minutes, then returned holding an elongated white tadpole plushy in her hands. The toy had large brown eyes and a wavy yellow stripe that ran along the length of its body, its mouth was a pink four-pointed star. Harry gaped at the toy in awe. It was unmistakably cute, and... unmistakably his.
"Tynamo is an Electric Pokemon that feels right at home in the water," said the assistant, handing him the toy. She must have seen his scar, Harry thought.
"Thank you," he whispered breathlessly. When he looked up at the assistant, Harry had tears in his eyes.
"Aww no need to thank me!" The assistant ruffled his hair. "But thank you for coming today, we hope you'll come by some time. Our shop has many Pokemon and other creatures, please don't hesitate to drop by whenever you're close."
Harry was so happy he could scream. All the way to the car he held his Tynamo to his chest and saw little else of what occurred around him. His eyes drank in the toy's soft fur that glistened under shop lights, his whole consciousness was consumed by the Tynamo's large oval eyes that seemed to look back at him just as eagerly. Harry placed his hand on the car door when Dudley cleared his throat. Harry blinked up at him.
Dudley's podgy face looked quite displeased. Harry frowned. What did he want now? Still holding onto the pale blue boxer toy with his right hand, Dudley stretched out his left hand and held it open in front of Harry, as if he was expecting Harry to give him something... but what could Harry possibly give him?
Harry stared at his cousin, utterly perplexed. He didn't own a thing in this whole wide world: everything he had at the Dursley's was borrowed, right down to the very clothes hanging from his thin measly frame, which were mostly pass-me-downs from Dudley or clothes Dudley refused to wear because they weren't 'cool' or something... Harry didn't have a dime in his empty pockets... what could Dudley possibly want from him?
Dudley heaved a long suffering sigh. "Look, I'm not mad at you. It's no Blaziken, but at least it's a Pokemon. Maybe I can trade it with someone at school or something."
Then it dawned on Harry. Dudley was after the toy! His toy, the one in his hands!
Harry quickly turned, putting a safe distance between Dudley and the toy Tynamo.
Dudley glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?" he barked.
Harry made a run for it and hid behind the car. But instead of running after him, Dudley threw his head back and wailed out loudly: "Daddy! Daddy!"
Uncle Vernon turned to them furiously. "Keep your voice down Son."
"But he isn't giving me the toy," Dudley whimpered out loudly, pointing at Harry.
Harry frowned, this had to be a joke, surely Uncle Vernon couldn't make him give up his own very first toy, could he?
"Give Dudley the toy," Uncle Vernon said sternly, locking Harry in a challenging stare that bored down on him.
Harry blanched. No, no he couldn't. Couldn't they see this was his first toy? His only toy? When Dudley had so many... Harry took a step back, walking into another car that was parked next to theirs, he couldn't do it. He couldn't give his Tynamo away.
The car he'd stumbled into started screeching loudly, its blaring alarm sending echoes through the parking lot, which drew a lot of attention from other families that were just arriving with kids of their own. Vernon growled at him. Harry held Tynamo tight to his chest and shouted "No! No I will not!"
Uncle Vernon looked like he'd been frozen solid, he even forgot to breathe. Harry took that moment as his cue to run, and he dashed past Dudley, back inside the elevator, getting in right before the doors closed. He breathed a sigh of relief. The people in the elevator stared at him: one mother with a little boy that looked about seven. The boy kept staring at Harry's Tynamo, completely transfixed, the woman looked at Harry, a worried frown across her smooth powdered face. Harry pointedly glared at the number that showed what floor they were on. "We hope you'll come by some time," the shop assistant had said, "please don't hesitate to drop by whenever you're close." Harry didn't hesitate. The shop wouldn't take his Tynamo away from him.
But... up in the store, the shop assistant stared at him, not really knowing what to do.
"Shall I call your parents?" she said kindly.
Harry shook his head. "I don't have parents," he told her.
She bit her lip. Then, kneeling beside him so their eyes were on the same level, she said slowly: "But you were just here with your dad."
Harry shook his head with absolute finality. "He's not my Dad!"
The assistant frowned. "I'm... I'm going to make a call," she said slowly, "you sit here," she pointed at a cushy sofa that was shaped like a snake. "Would you like something to drink?" she wanted to know. "We have hot chocolate."
All of a sudden Harry didn't feel thirsty, despite having run here as fast as his scrawny legs would carry him.
"All, allright then," she spoke softly, "please wait for me here," and then she disappeared from view.
But Harry didn't wait. This was his one shot at making it out alive. Harry grabbed his toy and ran. He ran out the shop, no one noticed, no one tried to stop him. He ran through the mall, skirting past women who carried heavy shopping bags. If anyone saw a ten year old boy run through the mall, they didn't say anything about it. Apparently this was a sight of everyday, or maybe... maybe Harry had finally gotten his wish and turned invisible.
In any case, no one reached out to stop Harry, and before he knew it he was in the street, amid the whirl of teeming cars. Everywhere he looked, tall buildings towered over him, some ten, some fifteen storeys high. In a daze Harry shuffled from busy street to busy street, clutching his Tynamo to his chest.
Harry was starting to regret his decision to run away when a man hit him with his briefcase while passing. There were no other kids here... Harry was completely lost in a world of concrete and steel. He walked off into a dark alley, hoping to catch a break from the hustle and bustle of the busy streets filled with adults in a perpetual hurry. But when he got there...
Flat uniform tiles made way for curiously warped cobblestones, and before Harry knew it, he was walking down a cozy medieval themed street, complete with smokey chimneys and crooked houses that leaned on one another. Harry took a wide view of the street.
He noticed quite a few people stare at him with rapt interest and curiosity. Most of these people were dressed oddly: they wore long dark robes that covered their arms and came to their ankles. Some carried short sticks around, both the women and the men had rather long hair... some longer than Harry had ever seen.
"Good day young Sir," he heard a deep raspy voice say right next to his ear.
Harry whirled around to find a hunched old man smile at him with sharp, glittering eyes. The man had a thin long beard that had been twisted in several complicated knots, a pointed purple hat covered the top of his head completely. Harry looked up at the man in surprise, this was the first time anyone had spoken to him like to a grown up.
"Can I interest you in some black chalk?" the man said. "Maybe a brown rat or two?" He gestured at a nearby shop front, to which Harry turned in surprise to read 'The Coffin House'.
"Huh? What would I need a rat and black chalk for?" he asked... he actually asked.
Harry felt so silly standing there clutching a plush toy to his chest and asking stupid questions like that.
But the man did not find him silly. Or, if he did, he did not let it on. "Why," he grinned at Harry, "to talk with your parents of course."
Harry looked more puzzled than anything. "My parents are dead," he said without thinking.
"Exactly," the man pointed out, as if that made perfect sense. "That's why you need to cast a necromancy spell to speak with them. So you'll be sacrificing a rat or two, and don't forget to draw a circle around yourself before you start the incantation," the man added cheekily, "for your own protection."
Harry's mouth fell open. "Necromancy?" he stammered out.
"My shop is the best in town!" the man cackled, ushering Harry inside, "the only one in town," he waggled his eyebrows as he shut the door behind Harry who hadn't noticed how far he'd gone until his feet stepped on the squawking doormat, "if you catch my drift."
Harry took in the dimly lit room... an assortiment of oddities greeted him from rows and rows of wooden shelves. "But, but," he spoke fast, "but I don't have any money!"
"Nonsense," the man said fondly, "you can write me a cheque. All I'll be needing is your signature," he winked, "I've got all the forms right here," he said, patting the till.
Harry stared at the man. Only now did it finally occur to him to ask how the man had known his parents were not alive...
When Harry did so, the old fart burst out laughing. "Why you're Harry Potter! Scar and all," he leaned one elbow on his counter, "I know him when I see him."
Harry nearly dropped his plush Tynamo right there.
"And might I say," the man went on, "I am honored, very honored, that first thing Harry Potter does when he comes to Knockturn Alley is visit my shop."
"Owwkay..." Harry decided to let it go for now.
"So, what shall it be? Two rats? Three rats? If you ask me, I'd recommend using at least two rats for each call if it's your first try at necromancy. Nothing to be ashamed of, but given your youth and all, might be better to err on the side of caution."
Harry settled on a stub of black chalk and a small silver locket containing a black cat's bone marrow. Buying pairs of living breathing rats that were supposed to be sacrificed during the ritual just didn't sit right with him. Mere moments later he was out of the shop, holding a grey suede bag with his purchases, and his plush toy Tynamo... all he had done was sign his own name on a parchment of paper.
He gazed curiously at the little bag in his hand as he made his way further down Knockturn Alley.
All the way he went, everywhere he craned his neck to look, he saw odd people dressed in an even odder manner carrying around even odder things. A broomstick was levitating one yard off the ground, a Venus flytrap was purring and drooling all over a man's fingers, and owls were flying in great flocks through the sky in broad daylight. If he looked closely, he thought he saw the owls carry letters in their beaks, or tied to their legs. Harry shook his head in amazement, London was a wonderful city full of surprises.
No other shopkeepers approached him on the street, but he walked into a good deal of stores and looked around, discovering all sorts of amazing stuff he'd never seen before. He made a note to himself to visit Borgin and Burkes again some time, and get his hands on the golden perpetually revolving globe. He couldn't get it now, as it was simply too large and heavy to lift, and... he had nowhere to take it to, as he doubted Aunt Petunia would allow him to bring that thing inside her home, if she even let him back in at all.
Regardless of his uncertain future, Harry had a fine time strolling down the alley, talking with several long haired long robed people who were all a good deal older than him and who all seemed to know his name. This was beginning to feel more like a dream rather than tangible reality. Harry clutched Tynamo closer to his chest and stroked the plushie's white fur.
"If you start talking," he said to the toy, "I'll have to commit myself to the mental ward."
But the toy made no sound.
Harry started feeling rather weary and light-headed, so upon passing a pub called The White Wyvern, he stopped by to have a little bite to eat. After signing his name on a leathery strip of parchment, Harry guzzled down a quenching soup of Unicorn blood. They offered him a large chocolate frog on the house, the card that came with it had a moving picture of a funny looking old man who wore violet robes and had a silvery beard that went past his knees. A mane of snowy white hair peeked out from under his dark blue pointed hat. His bright blue eyes sparkled with mirth. The inscription underneath read:
Albus Dumbledore
Currently Headmaster of Hogwarts, considered by many the Greatest Wizard of Modern Times. Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of Dragon's blood, and his work on Alchemy with his partner Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling.
Harry stared at the card in wonder. He'd never heard of a man being partnered with another man, he was certain Aunt Petunia would be livid if she ever caught wind of this. Harry put the card with the moving wizard away in his trouser pocket and walked out of the pub. Five shops later he finally worked up the courage to ask one man what that bloody stick in his hand was.
"Why it's a wand!" the man exclaimed in sheer surprise.
"A wand? Like the Tooth Fairy?" Harry laughed.
The man simply nodded, as if Harry hadn't just told him a joke. "Exactly. I had her for Tea last Wednesday, lovely lady."
Harry was floored. Asking where he could get a wand of his own, he was directed toward Diagon Alley, Mr. Ollivander's.
Should he even be getting a wand? Harry thought to himself standing in front of the peculiar little shop with its rotund windows that were shaped like pillars on either side of a small wooden door, or was it time to wake up? Oh what the Hell, Harry decided to indulge in this little delusion a little while longer. He pulled the door open and walked past the threshold.
No sooner had Harry entered the store than a large Eurasian eagle-owl swooped onto his shoulder. Harry shuddered. The owl looked at him curiously and made a few hooting sounds. Then he heard a clear high-pitched voice call from behind a high shelf of wooden blocks.
"Loyalty," a second later, "Loyalty!"
The owl hooted back, but did not move from Harry's shoulder.
A head peeked out from around the shelf, and Harry found himself locking eyes with a blond boy of about his own age. When the kid noticed Harry's obvious discomfort with the owl sitting on his left shoulder, he cracked a wicked smirk.
"Oh don't worry," the boy said, confidently strolling over to Harry. "It's just a bubo bubo. Doesn't bite, ...normally." There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
He was the only one here who didn't seem to know Harry by name.
"Merlin, you look like you've got a gargoyle on your shoulder!" the boy laughed at his own joke. "It's only an owl."
The bubo bubo hooted as if on cue and gently pecked Harry on the cheek.
That made the blond boy grin. "I think he likes you. My name's Draco," he held out his hand, "what's yours?"
Harry shifted the plush toy and suede satchel around so he could shake Draco's hand. "Harry," he said in a small voice.
Thankfully the boy didn't react the same dramatic manner those odd adults had upon seeing Harry or hearing his name, Harry was growing rather tired of that. Draco simply pulled his hand back casually like this was nothing unusual.
"I'm waiting to get my wand fitted," Draco drawled, rolling his eyes in a show of impatience, "but the line is so long I might as well have stayed home an hour more. Loyalty is growing bored."
So wands were fitted? Harry wondered how they would fit a wand... did they measure hand size, or the length from wrist to elbow?
"I can't believe these bloody Weasleys," Draco groaned, "come here with the whole whopping family, like they're on a day trip or something."
Curious, Harry looked past Draco and there, deeper in the shop he saw a group of red-headed boys goof around. They were really tall and most of them looked older... Harry spotted only one boy in the group who looked about his and Draco's age, though he could perhaps be a year older, Harry couldn't tell.
"Apparently one brother's wand broke," Draco was saying, "it broke, in his First Year at Hogwarts! Dogwood," Draco shook his head, "why am I not surprised." He pursed his lip in disgust. "But why on Cersei's Green Earth do they have to come here all at once? The middle brother wanting a replacement wand, the other middle brother getting a backup wand, just in case, and their youngest looking for his very first wand! And why is it taking so long?"
A red-haired boy of about twelve or thirteen was holding a stick in his right hand, tutting. Another red-haired boy who looked nearly identical to the first, held a differently looking stick in his left hand, and pulled a face at it. Their older brothers and younger brother swarmed around them, muttering this thing and that, while a middle aged man who had to be Mr. Ollivander traced his hands over different boxes on various shelves, like he was looking for something in particular. Harry was starting to get used to the 6 pound owl perched on his left shoulder.
Draco gnashed his teeth. "Those bloody Weasleys must think everything's permitted for them, since their dad's in the Ministry."
Harry perked up at that, finally something he could understand amidst all these peculiar Fantasy things. He had heard of the Ministry, Uncle Vernon regularly read about the Ministry in the papers. "Ah, so they're politicians then?"
Draco gave a grim nod. "Ever since they won the War they've been insufferable know-it-alls."
War? Harry blinked, shocked beyond words. There hadn't been any wars these past ten years, had there? Could a war have somehow happened quietly under his nose while he was sleeping, without him noticing it? Harry doubted that, but he thought it wise not to ask questions that would make him look ignorant. A war was a serious matter, and he could hardly expect this boy he barely knew to explain all that had happened. Harry would have to find another way to learn about this war...
"Can you imagine, they consort with Muggles!"
"Muggles?" Harry asked.
"Yes!" Draco exclaimed indignantly. "I couldn't believe it myself."
One of the identical red-haired twins held his stick up triumphantly in the air, exclaiming "That's the one, Fred!" upon which Mr. Ollivander busied himself finding a suitable stick for their younger brother. Although oddly, Harry couldn't see Olivander taking any measurements.
"But it makes sense you've never heard of them," Draco went on, "they're not exactly the most relevant people around here, though they like to think they are. Only reason I've run across the Weasleys before is an ill-fated marriage my parents tried to broker with theirs." Draco stuck up his nose. "Whomping Toad Brains, if I have to look that insipid Weasel girl in the face every day for the rest of my life, I'll go stark raving mad. Good thing my family completely backed out of the deal the moment those Weasleys stepped inside our front door for dinner." Draco winced, "they were so loud."
"Ah," Ollivander breathed, exhaling a contented sigh, "Applewood with Unicorn hair core."
The youngest Weasley brother beamed at him. "Thank you Sir, that's brilliant!" his jubilant voice filled the shop.
"Would you like your name inscribed on the wand?"
Fifteen minutes later the Weasleys paid him and left, some throwing dirty looks Draco's way as they passed through the door.
"Oh hello," Ollivander said with a mysterious smile on his thin lips, eyeing them both up, "I would have thought you'd show up here, but I was expecting you a few months later Harry Potter."
Draco's jaw dropped. "Don't tell me you're... you're the famous Harry Potter?" he stared at Harry in a mixture of horror and awe.
Harry hadn't known he was famous, but simply dipped his head in acknowledgement.
Draco made a wide gallant gesture at the depths of Ollivander's store. "You go first, I can wait."
Harry blinked, but... but hadn't Draco been in a hurry? He had looked so tired of waiting just moments ago, and now he was offering Harry to have his wand fitted first, despite having arrived at Ollivander's long before Harry.
Harry raised an eyebrow at his new friend.
Draco tried calling his owl back, bit it insisted on remaining on Harry's shoulder.
"Thank you Draco," Harry mumbled, "but it's quite alright. I'll wait my turn, you go on ahead. You've been waiting a lot longer than me."
Draco looked uncomfortable, and didn't know what to do with his hands until Mr. Ollivander pressed a roughly textured wand in his right hand. Harry followed them deeper into the store where he watched Draco wave the wand about to little effect.
"No, that's not right," Ollivander muttered under his breath, "hold on a second Malfoy," and he busied himself rifling through a whole drawer of misshapen sticks of different sizes that had been dumped there in a messy heap.
Harry and Draco exchanged glances, Loyalty gave a low inquisitive hoot.
"Try this one," Ollivander pressed a smoothly shaved-down stick into Draco's hand.
Draco twirled it around. A silvery tear shaped puff of smoke rose from the tip of the wand. Both Harry and Ollivander gasped, but for different reasons.
"That's the one!" Ollivander grinned excitedly, "shall I inscribe your family name on it?"
Harry just stared at the wand in Draco's hand... which was still steadily emitting steady puffs of silvery smoke.
Draco screwed his face up in confusion. "Can I try another wand Sir?"
Olivander shook his head decisively. "This wand has chosen you," he said with a foreboding frown on his face, "it's yours."
Draco's shoulders slumped forward, but he didn't let go of the wand.
Harry leaned in, looking from the wand in Draco's hand to the look on his face. "Is it Dogwood?" he asked curiously.
Ollivander roared with laughter. "That's no Dogwood, young Master Potter, it's Hazel: core of Unicorn hair, twelve inches, Supple flexibility. Very affectionate wand you've got there Malfoy," Ollivander chided, there was an edge to his voice, "I do hope you haven't triggered its affection in vain."
Draco gave a resolute shake of his head. "Of course not. I'm taking the wand, but I do not wish to have it engraved."
Ollivander narrowed his eyes at the boy. "If you try to exchange this wand or win another in a duel, it will wilt."
Draco let out a raw raspy breath through his front teeth. "I just don't want my family name on it, how difficult is that to understand?"
Ollivander huffed and walked off to the till to write up a cheque. Then it was Harry's turn. Loyalty had finally taken flight, relieving Harry's shoulder of its weight, but Draco still stuck around to see what wand Harry would get.
The thorny stick wiggled in Harry's hand, he had to grasp it tightly. It seemed to want to run away from him, which had Harry more than a little perplexed.
"Blackthorn," Ollivander announced proudly, "nine and three quarter inches, Dragon heartstring core, hard flexibility."
Compared to Draco's stick, it looked rather short. Harry told him so.
"Don't worry Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, "that's no reflection of what's between your legs."
Harry flushed bright red. They both got a nice wooden box to go along with their wand, but if Harry looked closely, he noticed his box looked quite a bit handsomer than Draco's. Just as they were about to leave, a dark skinned young girl with bushy brown hair and big front teeth entered the shop, smiling brightly.
"Hello Miss Granger," said Ollivander, leaning against one of his wand shelves.
The girl stopped right there, blocking Harry and Draco's path. "How did you know my name?" she asked, astonished.
Harry frowned, he noticed a common theme here.
Mr. Ollivander winked at her. "When you get my age, you'll know," he said, turning to his shelves and searching for something.
"How old are you?" the girl asked without changing her tone.
Harry thought that was a bit rude, but didn't question it when he saw Ollivander brush it off with a slight shrug of the shoulder.
"About as old as my shop I'm afraid," the man said, "now... shall we match you with a Walnut? You're certainly smart enough."
That made the girl blush, pleased with the praise. She walked deeper into the shop and Draco reached for the door, but paused when he saw Harry stand there, staring at the girl as though transfixed.
But all Walnut wood wands they tried, of varying lengths, refused to perform for the girl. Ollivander disappeared behind a cabinet, leaving the three of them alone in his shop.
The girl shot a curious look at Draco. "What type of wand did you get?" she asked him point-blank, without even caring to introduce herself or ask for his name.
Harry thought that was rather rude.
Draco averted his eyes to the window, holding onto his box with a tighter grip as though someone might try and take it from him. "The good type," he said.
The girl snorted. "And you?" she nodded at Harry, "I suppose you got the bad type, didn't you?"
Harry openly glared at her. This girl had some nerve. "Blackthorn," he said stiffly, "Dragon core."
She looked a little impressed. "Not bad," she said, tilting her head from side to side, "it's no Walnut, but Dragon wands learn more quickly than other types, and Blackthorn wands can be very powerful, once you manage to tame it."
Ollivander returned with a short polished black stick before Harry could ask the girl what made Walnut wands so great.
"Here," Ollivander said, "try this."
They all held their breaths and waited for something, anything, to happen.
A flurry of Autumn leaves flew from the wand's tip in all directions. The girl laughed excitedly, looking about the shop with the wide eyed expression of joy.
"Ten inches," Ollivander recited, "Phoenix feather core, very rare, with an unyielding flexibility."
"Ebony is perfect for combative magic and Transfiguration!" the girl said, admiring the woodwork.
Ollivander looked impressed. "Someone has studied their First Year's textbook in advance."
Why were they all talking about First Years? Harry wondered. They weren't at school...
Draco rolled his eyes. "Who needs to read a Hogwarts textbook to tell one wand from another? Please, that hodge is so common knowledge you'd have to be an idiot not to know."
Ollivander fixed him with a stern look when Harry defused all tension in the room by asking "Hogwarts?"
Everyone looked at Harry. He felt put on the spot.
"Aren't you going to Hogwarts?" Draco asked him.
The girl approached with a frown on her face and her wand raised. "Will you be attending Durmstrang instead?"
Upon silence from Ollivander, Harry replied truthfully: "I don't know yet."
"Ah," Draco looked relieved, "it's sensible to consider other magic schools before applying, wish I had thought of that to be honest."
Magic schools? Staring at Draco, Harry felt as if his eyeballs were about to burst. There were schools that taught magic?
The girl crossed her arms over her chest. "I think Hogwarts is the best school in the North. There's Beauxbatons Academy of Magic of course, but they only admit girls. And both Ilvermorny and Mahoutokoro are too far away, though I suppose that can have its own appeal, if you're seeking adventure. But Ilvermorny is a relatively new school, so I doubt they could be much better than Hogwarts. And you'd have to speak and read Japanese to study at Mahoutokoro. Durmstrang Institute is a backwards dunghole if you ask me."
"Yeah well no one asked you," Draco shot back.
The girl looked down the length of her nose at him, narrowing her eyes a fraction. "Rude," she said, before turning on her heel and asking Ollivander to carve her name, Hermione Granger, in bold cursive font please, on her newly acquired wand.
As they left Hermione at Ollivander's and walked out the shop together, Harry was raring to ask Draco about Hogwarts when a sharp angry woman's voice assaulted their ears:
"Harry Potter! What do you think you're doing? Strolling down Diagon Alley, alone, unsupervised!"
Both boys turned around. A small statured woman in a pencil skirt with a tight black bun fixed on top of her head glowered at them, threateningly narrowing her poisonous green eyes.
"We were just getting our wands, Professor McGonagall," Draco said softly.
McGonagall looked like she didn't believe a word of what Draco said. "And why is Potter with you?" she challenged.
"I ran into him at Ollivander's," Draco sputtered, pointing at the door to the wand shop behind them. Loyalty gave two hoots from its position on Draco's shoulder, as if to corroborate his story.
"What was Potter doing at Ollivander's?" McGonagall spat.
Harry really did not like her tone.
Draco shrunk inside his robes. "I don't know Ma'am."
"Don't call me Ma'am boy!"
"Sorry!" Draco squeaked, standing stiff as a rod. Loyalty ruffled its feathers disapprovingly.
"You are to refer to me as Professor, Professor McGonagall," the glowering woman repeated. She made him address her properly a number of times before she sent him off with the instruction to give her Best Wishes to Narcissa and Lucius. Then she rounded on Harry.
First thing she wanted to know is when he'd received his Letter. Failing to answer that, McGonagall inquired about the satchel in his hand. She was floored when he told her about The Coffin House, and demanded to know who had brought him to Knockturn Alley. Upon discovering he had brought himself there, McGonagall promptly grabbed Harry by the wrist and dragged him off to a low shed filled with various broomsticks... for some reason they were all padlocked.
Harry gazed at the brooms, wondering if this random woman was going to make him clean the shed. It looked rather dirty.
But the woman hissed at him instead. "This is no ordinary alley Harry, it's a magical alley."
He had deduced that much on his own.
"Only magical creatures and people who can practice magic, wizards and witches, can enter this alley Harry."
So... was she about to kick him out? And why did she keep mentioning his name? Did she think that would make him pay more attention to what she was saying?
"You're a wizard, Harry."
Harry shook his head. "With all due respect Professor, you're insane."
Professor McGonagall sighed, looking like she felt sorry for him. "You don't have to hide who you are among your own." She shook her head, sadly, looking at one of the padlocked brooms. "Dumbledore made a big mistake when he left you in the Muggle World to keep you safe, he had a dreadful error in judgement."
"Dumbledore?" Harry repeated.
"Yes," said McGonagall, "it was his decision to leave you with those vile Muggles. I thought it was a terrible idea when he brought it up, and I told him so. But Dumbledore said you should be raised by them because they were your family!" she exclaimed in disbelief, shaking her head as though to rid herself of nasty thoughts. "It was wrong of him to leave you with the Dursleys, very irresponsible." She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
Harry frowned, not fully understanding, but prepared to hear her out. "I thought my parents died in a car crash," he started slowly.
"A car crash!" McGonagall shouted. Harry wanted to cover his ears. "That what those Muggles been telling you all these years?"
Harry nodded quickly, he couldn't tell why McGonagall kept referring to the Dursleys as 'Muggles', but the monicker seemed to fit them well. 'Muggle' accurately described how Harry felt about Dudley and his parents...
"No Dear," there were tears in McGonagall's eyes now, and she sounded almost tender when she said: "your parents didn't die in a car crash, they died protecting you from an evil wizard who must not be named."
The world seemed to shatter under Harry's very feet. It was like a rug was pulled out from under him, revealing a stinky murky swamp that threatened to draw him into its depths. He was about ready to wake up now! But the nightmare wouldn't end, no matter how hard he kept pinching his arms.
"There's nothing to fear Dear," McGonagall cooed at him with a wan smile, "the evil wizard is gone now, you are the one who vanquished him ten years ago when he gave you that scar." She brushed his hair from his forehead.
Harry blinked up at her owlishly.
"I was just making a routine run for supplies on Diagon Alley when I overheard some people saying they'd seen you. Which surprised me, you see, since you were meant to receive a Letter of Invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on your eleventh birthday, thirty-first July of this year, and it's only April."
This woman knew his birth date!
"Then I knew for sure something had gone horribly wrong," Professor McGonagall went on. "I'm a Professor at Hogwarts you see, and Head of House Gryffindor. Your parents studied there and met one another at Hogwarts. I think they would have liked you to go to Hogwarts too, so you could learn to control your magic."
"My... my magic?" Harry stammered in complete bewilderment. He had magic? Magic of his own?
"Yes Harry," the Professor said patiently, "you're a wizard."
Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing and had to be told many times before the message got through. Then, by the time Harry was softly whispering to himself "I'm a wizard," McGonagall asked him if he wanted to come with her.
"You can stay with me until the next school year starts," she said. "I need to speak with Dumbledore to discuss your living arrangements, but I don't think you should be sent back to live with those pigheaded Muggles. It would be a detriment to your education. What have they been teaching you all these years?"
Harry told her all about his chores and the couple years schooling he'd gotten before Aunt Petunia had pulled him out of school entirely, convinced he had cognitive development problems. Professor McGonagall looked downright appalled.
"That's settled then. You are not going back to those slimy smarmy Muggles," she said decisively. "You are going to stay with me for the remainder of this school year and over the Summer, during which time you will be brought up to speed on all things magical and everything else you'll need to know before starting your First Year at Hogwarts."
That said, she grabbed a broom, unlocking the padlock with a spell and a tip of her wand that had been concealed in her right hand sleeve all this time, and told Harry to hop on and hold on tight. Before he knew it they were flying through the bright blue sky, high over the rooftops of both Diagon and Knockturn Alley.