A/N: This story draws inspiration from The Name of the Wind. The magical society I had in mind was a bit more complex than J.K. Rowling's – it had several magical schools in Britain alone, though only Hogwarts students took their N.E.W.T.s, so this gave them a bit of prestige above their plebian peers. Naming, as in Name of the Wind, is only studied by the oldest students.
Seven Deadly Drabbles
Harry Potter and The Name of the What?
Harry Potter of Number Four, Privet Drive was having a rare day. While he might still be dressed in oversized second-hand clothes, his cousin was dressed in an even more ridiculous outfit on their way to their last day of primary school. Dudley, who teased him mercilessly every day, was finally receiving his comeuppance.
"Oh Dudley, you look so smashing in your new Smeltings uniform. Did you know daddy used to go there?" Harry sang out in a sing-song voice as he, his tubby cousin, and Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend, all walked to school together. Harry never got to make fun of his cousin, but today was like a gift - a dream come true.
"Piss off, Potter," Dudley said between clenched teeth. Piers' eyes darted between Dudley and Harry, dressed in slightly oversized clothes from an Oxfam charity shop, before he suppressed a grin.
"You look like a total ponce!" At this, Piers finally did snigger. Harry turned on him, then. "And you'll have to wear it too, Piers, when you get to Smeltings!" Harry roared with laughter as Piers promptly shut up.
"Shut up!" Dudley demanded petulantly. Aunt Petunia had made Dudley wear his new Smeltings uniform to his last day of school at St. Grogory's. Harry thought it made his cousin look even more ridiculous than usual - it consisted of a maroon jacket with tails and orange knickerbockers, along with a straw hat that Uncle Vernon fondly called a "boater". He told Dudley to be sure to take a sailing class, which was a great place to meet 'the right sort'.
Harry had rolled his eyes, and Vernon had told Dudley to rap him with his Smeltings stick; Dudley happily complied.
Aunt Petunia had, of course, forbidden Dudley to bring his Smeltings stick to St. Grogory's, which caused him to throw a tantrum. He'd been written up a dozen times for bad behavior, and it wasn't like Aunt Petunia was an idiot.
They finally made it to school - Dudley had made a pretense of chasing Harry, but Harry was half the size of him, so the chase only lasted for a hundred feet before Dudley got tired and gave it up as a bad job and they continued walking, Harry just out of reach.
"Dudley what are you wearing?!" Another of Dudley's friends exclaimed with disbelief when they finally arrived at primary school. Duncan, Gordon, and Malcolm were all dumb and big. Dudley was dumber and bigger than any of them, and meaner too - they took directions from him.
"It's his new uniform for the posh secondary school he and Piers are attending!" Harry crowed with delight, taking revenge for all the verbal torments Dudley had inflicted on him over the years. Dudley glared at him and balled up his fists, which Harry ignored. "Aunt Petunia was so proud of her ickle Diddykins all growed up that he just had to wear it to impress everyone here!"
They had drawn a crowd in the courtyard, now. At least fifteen kids, all of them knew Dudley's reputation for bullying. Many of them were talking about the ridiculous outfit of Dudley's, and the rest were watching carefully as he rounded on Harry.
While he'd beaten up nearly everyone in the class - besides his friends - he'd always left his cousin alone before, contenting himself to teasing him mercilessly; at least for the past few years. Aunt Petunia had told him to, and the one time he hadn't...
Still, no one really liked Harry. He was a bit of a loner, an unusual kid, who always wore clothes that weren't like everyone else's and always seemed to stare at odd things for a bit too long. Not the kind of things that normal kids did. Plus, he was Dudley's cousin, and Dudley was a jerk.
There were also odd things that happened around Harry Potter. Not many, perhaps two or three a year. His teacher's hair would turn blue after she'd yell at him for his sloppy, windswept hair. The windowpanes in doors would crack when he closed them, and two years ago he disappeared for hours, and then was found on top of the roof of the school - that was the year Dudley stopped beating him up. Probably for getting attention as a rival troublemaker.
"I thought I told you to shut up, Potter!" Dudley said, fuming as he loomed over his cousin.
"I think you forgot your Smeltings stick at home, Dudley," Harry said with a grin, not thinking his cousin would really hit him. "Make me."
Dudley threw a punch and put all his weight behind it, right at Harry's nose.
He had a lot of weight to put behind a punch, for an eleven year old. Harry, on the other hand, was lanky and thin. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
All the kids watching winced and went "ooh" at nearly the same time.
A few moments passed while Harry was on the ground, then every window in the school shattered. Harry looked up, betrayal on his face as blood flowed freely down his chin and screamed, a word coming from his throat that was raw and incomprehensible.
It was Dudley who was thrown this time, as well as everyone else in the crowd. It was as though a tornado had formed - they were all suddenly slammed roughly against the walls of the school surrounding the courtyard.
Only Harry was untouched by the gale winds, on his knees in the center as he seemed to watch what was happening with something of disbelief on his shocked face, then he slowly stood, unaffected by the whipping winds around him.
A series of 'CRACK' noises sounded, followed by shouts of alarm. Harry watched the patterns of the wind move around the newly arrived visitors; they wore robes in a variety of colors, mostly dark or muted colors, and the gale-force winds whipped them around in interesting patterns as the men tried to resist.
"Stun him!" Harry could barely make out one man's voice over the sound of the wind around him. The last thing he saw was the look of terror on his cousin's face before a flash of red light, and then darkness.
"I expected it to be years yet. Lily didn't leave until after she was thirteen." Harry distantly heard Aunt Petunia's nasally voice as he woke up in a puddle of drool, as groggy as he'd ever been.
His nose felt odd, crooked, and his throat was raw and sorer than it had ever been, like Dudley had complained about before he had to get his tonsils taken out. Harry, who could count on one hand the number of days he'd been sick, massaged his throat as he struggled to open his eyes.
They too felt heavy and strange - he was definitely sick, and feeling all sorts of wrong.
"Harry will be the youngest student in nearly fifty years, when he starts in September. The display that was witnessed this morning...it took a team of Obliviators the rest of the day to sort things out at the school. And that was after they called in Professor Dumbledore himself to calm the winds. And since it's Harry Potter! The Daily Prophet is already having a field day, I don't mind telling you." Came another voice Harry didn't recognize, conversing with Aunt Petunia; it had a slight scottish lilt to it.
"Your newspaper?" Aunt Petunia clarified. "I don't understand, why would they write articles about such a terrible thing? I saw both the boys, it was dreadful!"
"Yes, well, you know the press. Either way, Mr. Potter is no longer unconscious, and I believe introductions are in order." A moment later, Harry sat up ramrod straight on the couch - Number Four Privet Drive had the strangest visitor to have ever graced its doorstep.
He knew his eyes were as wide as an owls as he took in the strange sight, and he couldn't help but have a laugh escape his mouth as he glanced unbelievingly at Aunt Petunia, who had a pained expression on her face.
Aunt Petunia allowed no nonsense in her household. She did not allow Harry or Dudley to watch nonsense television or movies with fantastical things in them lest the boys get "unnatural ideas" (cartoons were a grudging exception, since obviously they couldn't be real). Harry had always thought Aunt Petunia just had a strict religious upbringing - he'd heard that from one of the neighbors - that didn't allow for such things.
But his mind whirled a thousand thoughts a minute as so many different thoughts coalesced and processed. A dozen "accidents" - things for which he had no explanation, suddenly made sense. The expanding cupboard under the stairs that eventually became his sizable and comfortable room, since he liked the spiders under there when he was so young he almost didn't remember (which caused Vernon no end of grumbling); Mrs. Luddington's shockingly blue hair after she mistreated him, which no dye would cover up; the fortune in windows that the Dursleys and their neighbors needed to replace from cracks whenever Harry got upset; that time he ended up on the roof.
Today, the unexplainable tornado after Dudley hit him. It all made a strange sense, because there was a storybook witch standing in the parlor of Privet Drive.
Harry opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, considering what to say.
"Hello Mr. Potter," the witch greeted, inclining her head formally.
"Hello ma'am." He replied politely. "I like your...um...robe." He said lamely. He saw her smile.
"Thank you. It is the traditional attire of a witch, along with the hat, which is traditionally removed indoors - I wanted to give you the full impression." She took off her black pointed hat at this, setting it on the parlor table.
"Mrs. Dursley, might we all sit down? We have quite the conversation ahead of us." The witch said cordially.
"Of course. Perhaps some tea?" Petunia suggested meekly; Harry privately wondered if witches took frog eyes in their tea. It was likely.
The witch smiled and pulled a stick from the sleeve of her robe. A wand! With a twist and snap above the table, a tea service of fine bone china appeared out of thin air. Milk and sugar were in two bowls, and another empty plate was quickly filled with scones. Two tight circular motions above the teapot and steam began to arise from it.
"Wicked." Harry said with a grin. Aunt Petunia looked as though she would drink the tea and promptly vomit it up once the witch left.
"Of course." The witch replied simply. "Now while we let that steep, Harry, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. I teach at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, to which you have recently been accepted as a First Year student."
She paused as though expecting some kind of reaction. Harry politely said, "Pleased to meet you, Professor. I would love to hear more about, erm, Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts is the oldest and finest school for magic in all of the United Kingdom, and amongst the best in all of Europe." Harry tried to look suitably impressed. "While there you will progress from Novice Warlock to O.W.L.-Candidate to - if you are judged suitable, which by your display today you certainly could be - N.E.W.T.-Candidate. Hogwarts is the only school in all of the United Kingdom that administers N.E.W.T.S. - those are very advanced wizard tests - which is why we are so highly regarded, Harry." She seemed very proud of this fact.
"So, if there are other schools, then there must be loads of witches and wizards around!" Harry said excitedly.
"Well, there are certainly many more Muggles than there are magical folk, but there are a goodly number of us, yes. We mostly keep hidden, and live separately from Muggles." Harry nodded.
"But you knew, Aunt Petunia." His gaze was almost accusatory. All of the odd happenings, and she had never told him. Allowed him to dream up all kinds of things, but never told him the truth.
"Of course I did. It was the same way with Lily." Aunt Petunia almost never spoke his mother's name. "The windows, especially. She had a devil of temper - thankfully you never have or we'd be in the poorhouse. My father ended up leaving Lily's bedroom window broken, after she was around 11, it started cracking every other week if he replaced it." She sniffed haughtily and turned her nose up, accepting a cup of tea from Professor McGonagall.
"It is a sign of a child's uncontrolled magic that accidents of that sort happen at times of extreme emotion, Harry. They stop happening once you begin at Hogwarts. That said, all of the school's windows are charmed unbreakable, so even your impressive outburst would have little effect." She gave him a smile as he grinned.
"Did magic fix my nose?! I figured it'd still be bleeding from when Dudley punched me!" Harry exclaimed, remembering the events from earlier. Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow in disapproval.
"Yes, one of the responders to the scene took it upon himself to repair your nose. The bleeding was healed immediately but...well unfortunately you have a crooked nose, now. Anyone with any real skill at Healing magic would have been able to take care of that, too." Professor McGonagall conjured a silver hand mirror with a casual wave of her wand, and Harry held it up to examine his new nose, poking it a few times. Definitely crooked to the right, and maybe a little more squashed than it had been.
"Cool." He said in the typical response of a young boy to such an injury.
"Quite, Mr. Potter. Now as we were discussing, Hogwarts." The Professor continued. "You will be one of the younger students, as magic often matures a year or two later. Nonetheless, in extreme cases it is not unheard of for First Years to start at your age. There will be another young girl starting who is eleven, in fact, though she turns twelve in September."
The Professor pulled out a scroll from her purse; the purse was dainty, but the scroll was long and bulky - her purse must have been magic too, to fit it!
"Here is your acceptance scroll, Harry. There are several rolls of parchment detailing everything you'll need for Hogwarts. That's just the official document, of course - most families like to keep it framed around the house." Professor McGonagall pulled out a letter from her purse, sealed with red wax. It too was thick yellow parchment, Harry had only seen something like it on a wedding invitation. "This is an identical copy for us to take around shopping for your school supplies."
She handed Petunia the official scroll as though she expected her to frame it right there. When she didn't, the Professor apologized and promptly waved her wand at the parchment, which turned into an impressive display, over four feet wide, with the entire unfurled parchment in its glorious entirety out there for the world to see. It also included a silver Hogwarts crest, a four part crest with a lion, raven, badger, and serpent - completely brilliant.
"Repello Muggletum separo Dursleys," Professor McGonagall said with a lazy wave of her wand. She flicked her wand at Petunia and the giant display case floated into her arm. "There you are, dear. Any Muggles besides yourselves will see some sort of impressive display of an acceptance letter to Eton for Harry, and a collection of paraphernalia. Only wizards and squibs will see that it's for Hogwarts."
"Now, Harry, you have been called off your last day of school for a reason; I am taking you shopping for everything you'll need for your first year at Hogwarts. You'll see the list in that letter - take a moment and read it, your Aunt and I should finish our discussion before I escort you to Diagon Alley for shopping." Professor McGonagall said with a smile. Petunia smiled back at her - waspishly, if Harry had to say. She no doubt disliked the way this witch marched into Number Four and started bossing Petunia around.
Aunt Petunia set down the display of Harry's Hogwarts acceptance, but Professor McGonagall happily made space on the wall, taking down some pictures of Dudley and making the large display a centerpiece of the transition between the dining room and parlor. She stuck it up with magic, and Harry doubted Aunt Petunia would be able to get it down without removing the whole wall; it was even odds whether the wall would be there by the end of the summer, in Harry's opinion.
While the Professor left the room with his aunt, Harry carefully broke the fancy seal on his letter and pulled out the gorgeous parchment with its fine emerald lettering.
Master Harry J. Potter
Number Four, Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
One the inside, the same elegant handwritten emerald ink, as though it were written from a fountain pen - uncle Vernon kept one in his drawer, a company reward for selling a load of drills one year - continued.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Armando Dippet
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc.)
Dear Mr. Potter,
On behalf of the Hogwarts Board of Regents, in partnership with the Board of Governors and the Admissions Directorate of the Department of Magical Education at the Ministry of Magic, it is with great pleasure that we announce your acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
As exciting as the revelation of getting into the school was, Harry almost immediately turned the page to the list of school supplies.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
First Years will require:
Uniform:
- Three (3) plain black work robes (open style)
- Three (3) or more sets of winter under-robes
- Two (2) or more sets of summer under-robes
- Two (2) or more casual robes
- Two (2) or more lounge robes for bed
- One (1) pointed hat (black) for formal occasions
- One (1) pair of protective gloves (Dragon Hide or similar)
- One (1) winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
- One (1) or more pairs black leather boots (silver fastenings); no dragon hide
Equipment:
- Wand or other implement (fitted)
- Cauldron (Pewter, standard size 2)
- One (1) set glass or crystal phials
- One (1) telescope
- One (1) brass scales
- One (1) set Hogwarts Warlock Candidate Potions Kit
Course Books:
- The Warlock's Spell Compendium by Miranda Goshawk
- A History of Magic, From Merlin to War That Shook The Veil by Bathilda Bagshot
- Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
- A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
- One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
- Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
- Magical Implements and Foci by Gerbold Ollivander
- The Next Six Languages You'll Learn by Abasi Laurenzoo
- Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
- An Introduction to Magical Defense by Quirinius Quirrell
- A Magical Guide To The GCSEs by Charity Burbage
- Living Within Muggle Society by Charity Burbage
- Unraveling The Sky Above Us by Titania Cosmos
Harry tried not to be astounded at the number of books on the list. If he had to take a class for each of those books, he couldn't imagine how he'd fit them all in the day!
He folded the list of supplies up again, and took the acceptance letter, rushing to his room under the stairs. Opening the door revealed not a cupboard, as everyone expects under the stairs, but a room every inch as big as Dudley's - complete with his cousin's discarded toys, and second-hand furniture, even two bookshelves. Dudley hated books, so every book on them was totally unread when Harry got them.
Harry hung his acceptance letter into the wall with a thumb tack, hoping the spiders that lived there wouldn't mind too much; he'd heard, and believed, that his room used to be a cupboard once because there were way more spiders that lived here than anywhere else in the house. But if they lived in this room first then it wasn't very sporting of Harry to kick them out or kill them off.
"Mister Potter? Is your room a cupboard under the stairs?!" Professor McGonagall questioned angrily, her voice raised until she peeked her head in and saw Harry standing upright, smiling back at her in his spacious room.
"Er, I wouldn't call it a cupboard, exactly, Professor." Harry stepped out, but Professor McGonagall had whirled on Aunt Petunia, who was white as a ghost, looking between the door under the stairs and the angry professor, who had whipped her wand out.
"Why," she questioned slowly, her scottish brogue became more pronounced, "is Harry Potter living under the stairs?"
Harry looked at the witch like she was mad. "Professor, my room is huge - what does it matter if it's under the stairs?" Just when he learned that he was magic, it turned out that all witches get insulted at the slightest things - being magic was more work than he thought, it seemed.
"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia started somewhat frantically. "Vernon thought the accidents would stop. That Harry could make them stop. I wasn't home when he did it! And when I got home, the room was bigger, and Harry liked the spiders, he said they were his friends and he wanted to stay there! And then a year later the cupboard was as big as Dudley's room and he's never complained since, so he hasn't moved out."
Harry's mouth dropped at the revelation.
"Vernon threw me in a cupboard when I was a toddler?!" He practically screamed. Petunia looked as though he had struck her. His thoughts whirled and his accusations grew more livid. "How could you have let him do that to me? Where were you? You let me stay there because the spiders were my only friends?!"
Harry's voice made an undignified squeak from screaming, so Professor McGonagall took over.
"You should count yourself very lucky, Petunia Dursley." When the Professor said his aunt's name, it was just like the courtyard earlier - a weight seemed to settle around the room, as though the whole world was watching to see what the Professor would do next. The tension vanished just as suddenly, so quickly Harry wasn't even sure it was there at all.
"If it had been one of many other witches who found Harry Potter treated in such a way...well, you would be a stain on your floor right now. I am led to believe Harry needs your home as a place to stay for the next few years, but should that change, I might just let your treatment of Harry slip to certain wizards who hold a low opinion of Muggles." There was ice in her voice when she said it, and Harry fought the urge to gulp. Magic people could be dead scary.
"You have your list of school equipment and books, Harry?" She said tightly, turning on her heel to face him. He nodded vigorously in response, not trusting his voice.
"Excellent. We'll be off, then. We'll be at least a few hours in London, Mrs. Dursley." Harry's ears perked up a bit at that - he hadn't been to London yet this year, Dudley's trip to get his Smeltings uniform was "something special" so Vernon hadn't wanted him along. Instead he'd stayed home and played with Dudley's toys while old Mrs. Figg watched him.
Together, Harry and Professor McGonagall marched out of Number Four; Harry was sure it would be the talk of the neighborhood, him going off with a strangely dressed old woman. The neighbors loved to gossip, though usually it was Aunt Petunia spreading it.
They walked together for in silence for two blocks, along Privet Drive past Wisteria Walk all the way to Magnolia Crescent, and then cut over to Vauxhall Road, the major road. The entire way, Professor McGonagall seemed deep in thought.
"Harry," she finally said. "I must tell you, before we get on our way to London. You are, perhaps, quite well known in our world." Harry stared at her, the look on his face revealing that he was rapidly concluding that this entire magic business induced some kind of insanity.
"You're saying I'm famous?" He asked skeptically.
"Of a sort - and yet not exactly. It's difficult to say without telling you the entire story. Years ago, there was a young wizard who rose through the ranks of Hogwarts. He started younger than almost anyone had, and rose more quickly than anyone in living history until he was widely recognized as one of the most promising young wizards of the generation. He wrote books about his insights into magic, he was widely consulted for his ideas about the latest advances of magic. He learned the secrets I can't even tell you about yet faster than anyone believed possible. He became, in short, a political and magical powerhouse that rivalled anyone alive."
"And then the attacks started." She looked far away. "At first it was just Muggles, and everyone thought 'maybe it's a Muggle serial killer doing it.' But then he started in on the Muggleborn Warlocks. And the attacks grew bolder. Everyone grew afraid of his power, never knowing if they'd be next, if they spoke out against him." Harry admittedly grew a bit frightened at the picture she painted, even though he knew she left out details about how horrible it really must have been; he could read between the lines of the haunted look in her eye.
"And just when we thought things were about to come apart, when You-Know-Who had the entire Ministry under his control, he attacked one last family, he tried to kill one final little boy. You." Harry tried to tell her that she was wrong, that she'd gotten the wrong Harry Potter - his parents were killed in a car crash, Aunt Petunia had told him so once, although she didn't like to talk about it.
But he remembered. Just a bit. Flashes, images. Green light, and a high-pitched laugh. That's all. Even thinking on it disgusted him as he tried to piece it together - he wanted to know his parents, wanted to love them, but he didn't know them at all.
"He attacked your family that night, Harry, and ended up killing both of your parents. But something - perhaps your parents killed him before he could kill you, perhaps there was a ritual Lily cast on you, as Professor Dumbledore has insisted - something got the better of him that night and he was killed instead of you, giving you your unique scar." Harry brushed the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead unconsciously. He knew he couldn't have gotten it in a car crash...
"So no, you are not famous like Gilderoy Lockhart, or the Weird Sisters -" Harry had no idea who these people were, "But you are a highly regarded person. When you get older, you may find doors open for you in notable positions of power based on your name, that sort of thing. I'm not certain it would aid you in a popularity contest like the Minister for Magic, but should you earn a place on the Wizengamot and desire the position of Chief Wizard, I daresay any opponents will likely lay down their claim in favor of you. That sort of thing." Professor McGonagall said primly, as though this was something to be proud of.
"I didn't know my parents, Professor," Harry said dejectedly. "But I doubt they would have offed themselves so I could be Head Wizard on a Wizard Gamut." Harry intentionally mispronounced the words to offend the witch.
"The Wizengamot is a part of our government, Harry, which functions in a similar capacity to both the Muggle court system and Parliament. You'll learn about it this year. And I knew both of your parents quite well - they would have proudly given their lives so that their beloved son could live in a world free from the terror of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Anything else is irrelevant. Now enough with the teenage angst - you're too young for it and I assure you I put up with more than enough of it as a teacher." Harry smiled despite himself and at the knowledge that Professor McGonagall knew his parents. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about them.
"Now that you are aware of that, so that any staring and/or unusual recognition of who you are - that scar of yours is rather recognizable - we can head to London. We shall use the Knight Bus, the typical method of travel for Warlocks without a floo in their home. Once you get a wand, you may summon it any time; simply raise your wand - or any other implement or focus you might have - and call for it. Knight Bus!" She said in a raised voice.
Nothing happened for about two seconds, and then with the backfiring of a car's exhaust, what seemed to be the fabric of space itself folded apart and a brilliant purple, double-decker sightseeing bus erupted from the end of the block. It seemed to have done so in the middle of a left turn, so it sharply righted itself, nearly tipping and narrowly avoiding parked cars in lanes of traffic going both ways down Vauxhall Road.
Harry wasn't so sure about boarding, when it rear-ended the car in front of them, pushing it two meters, to park directly in front of he and Professor McGonagall before opening its doors.
A young man with freckles and untidy hair beneath a chauffeur's cap stepped off the bus and declared, "Hello mum, and welcome to the Knight Bus, transportation of choice for the stranded Warlock! My name is Stan Shunpike and I'll be your conductor for the evening. Where can I take you and the young lad?"
"Two tickets to London, on the Hogwarts account." Professor McGonagall said primly, taking the conductor's hand before stepping aboard.
"Absolutely. Good to see you again Professor McGonagall marm!" The conductor said with a smile and a wink at Harry. Harry climbed aboard and surveyed the inside, which was as odd as the outside.
The bus was like nothing he'd ever ridden. There were no real bus seats, instead the inside was lined with all sorts of different chairs - recliners, dining chairs, hard wooden chairs, a school desk, office chairs with rollers on the bottom, even a horse mounted on a spring, the type usually found on a playground.
Stan the conductor found Harry eyeing the various seating with incredulity and spoke up once he closed the doors. "Take any seat - whichever you think you'll find the most comfortable." In a whisper he added, "The recliners and office chairs are the most comfortable, but the office chairs tend to roll all around when we turn - it's loads of fun."
Harry had to shake his heads at how crazy and uninhibited all the wizards he met seemed to be - it was like a fantasy world where there were no adults! Except Professor McGonagall, of course.
"Harry!" Professor McGonagall called him over. She had taken a seat in a boring wooden chair. Of course. There were no office chairs next to her, but he at least was able to choose a cushy banquet hall chair.
"I have so many questions about Hogwarts, Professor!" Harry finally said excitedly once they had settled and the bus set off. Professor McGonagall smiled at him.
"Of course you do - the Dursleys never explained about magic, so I expect you'll be asking me questions all day. The speech I gave earlier covered the basic introduction, but feel free to inquire about anything else." She said. Harry pulled out his letter.
"What's a wand, and what's 'another implement'? We have loads of books but no class schedule, so which classes do we take and does each class really have its own book? That's a ton of classes, way more than my primary school! And Hogwarts makes us buy lots of robes, do all wizards or warlocks wear robes or just the girls? I've never worn a robe before, though Uncle Vernon had a bathrobe at this nice hotel he took Aunt Petunia to for their anniversary once, he said. And why do you sometimes call people wizards and witches, and sometimes warlocks?" Harry said his train of thought in one breath. Professor McGonagall looked as though she regretted giving him permission to speak.
The Knight Bus stopped with a bang, and any chair without someone in it flew around, crashing over, then instantly righting itself and finding a proper place on the perimeter of the bus.
"Merlin, that is a lot of questions!" The Professor said good-naturedly. "I'll answer the most important first. A warlock is the technical title for a magical person who has just begun his education, or who has completed the W.E.A.S.E.L. - a test administered by every magical school including Hogwarts. It is the lowest of the tests, and stands for Warlock Education And Standards for Everyday Living. With the completion of the W.E.A.S.E.L., a person is judged to be able to function as a member of society without fear of revealing us to Muggles, essentially. They get to live with as a warlock without 'having their wand snapped', is the colloquial term, or being banished and forced to live as a squib." She could tell that Harry looked somewhat alarmed at this.
"Oh don't worry, Harry. Hogwarts has never actually had anyone fail their W.E.A.S.E.L! It does happen to a few students every year throughout Britain, though. Some people in the Ministry want to institute a remedial session, but as with all magical tests, once you're judged by your Professors as qualified to take the test, you take it and the results are binding. Now, a Wizard and a Witch are the technical male and female terms for those who have progressed beyond the level of the W.E.A.S.E.L., and taken the O.W.L. Technically O.W.L.-candidates, those who are studying for the O.W.L.s at Hogwarts - are still Warlocks. Everyone calls them Wizards though. Now being a Wizard grants you certain privileges in Britain. O.W.L.s will give you Citizenship, the right to vote for the next Minister of Magic. Enough of them will give you a spot on the Wizengamot, even. There are only two schools in Britain that grant O.W.L.s, so you can see why Hogwarts admission is so prestigious now, I think. The other is in Ireland, and they don't give N.E.W.T.s. Those are the tests beyond O.W.L.s, and if you earn them, you are called a Sorcerer. Very few take their N.E.W.T.s each year, and even from Hogwarts the failure rate is considerable." The Knight bus stopped again, interrupting her monologue as the seats rearranged themselves and jostled for placement.
"The Leaky Cauldron! Diagon Alley!" Stan at the front of the bus yelled out suddenly. Professor McGonagall raised both eyebrows as a signal to Harry and they both got up and made to leave the bus.
Harry tried to conceal his disappointment that the bus trip was already over and almost none of his questions were answered, and was able to do so when he saw that the trip to London, more than an hour with the best of traffic, had taken only a few minutes.
They had stepped out onto Charing Cross Road, and no one had noticed the strange bus careening into cars and through the street.
"Come along, Harry." Professor McGonagall broke him out of his amazed stare, and led him between two tall buildings into a dingy pug somehow squeezed in. There was no writing on the door, merely a faded sign with a cauldron on it.
Just like the bus, and his own room he supposed, the inside was far larger than he would have thought possible from the door that barely fit between the cracks of the buildings beside it. The Leaky Cauldron was a spacious and comfortable old kind of pub, with rows of booths that all had leather seats in pristine condition. The barstools were similarly conditioned leather, above brass that glistened as though newly polished. The bar itself was burnished walnut - a clean white rag wiped it down with no hand attached to it, and several bottles busily refilled patrons' tumblers.
It was a lively place, and most of the occupants wore smiles on their faces and greeted each other with a slap on the back. Some wore robes - of gray, of black, of ostentatious purple with moons that danced. Three fireplaces lined the wall to the left of where Harry entered, and every few moments one of them would flare green and someone would step out, covered in soot. They would calmly point their wand at themselves and a moment later they would be clean again. Some would stay for a drink, or to converse with old friends, and some would make their way immediately to the back of the pub.
It was his first magical place, and in seconds, Harry had fallen in love with it, taking it all in with a long stare. He may have only been a warlock for a day, but he knew this: Muggles couldn't hold a candle to magic, if this pub were any indication.
"Harry, let's go." Professor McGonagall reminded gently; Harry fought to keep the grin off his face as he surveyed the amazing place and took in the conversations. They walked past men reading the paper - the photographs and advertisements moved like videos! - and he caught a few snippets of conversation as they brushed past a crowded gaggle on their way to the even more crowded back of the Leaky Cauldron.
"My Shawn is off to Derwent's this year. And my oldest will probably sit for his O.W.L.s at Crom's Hall. We're very excited, of course - he's taking a full load of classes! Be nice to have another wizard in the family!" A man said somewhat pompously. He was dressed in somewhat fancier robes than the men surrounding him, and wore a waistcoat of a type underneath that had eight gold chains that led to various pockets where Harry guessed he kept watches.
"Well my word." A voice rose up as they finally reached the back of the pub thanks to Professor McGonagall's rather aggressive maneuvering. The voice seemed to cut through the din of the pub; the noise didn't reduce in any way, but the man's voice - refined, almost sultry in a way - could be heard perfectly from across the room. It made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up, but he couldn't say why. In the next second, the man was beside Harry.
"Bless my wand, it's Harry Potter." He spoke with a refined accent, but when Harry looked up he was surprised - he wasn't expecting a clean-shaven twenty-something with tanned skin and strong jaw; most of the wizards he'd seen weren't the traditional concept of handsome, but this man had it in spades. The only oddity was a tightly wrapped turban around his head, centered with a brilliant sapphire as big as Harry's fist.
"Quirinius. I wasn't expecting you here." Professor McGonagall said with surprise, inclining her head in greeting. He smiled in return, bowing slightly.
"I do still try to do the unexpected. A good first lesson for Magical Defense, Harry." He said with a wink. "But how rude of me - I am Quirinius Quirrell. I shall be one of your instructors this year. I expect my class shall be your favorite, no matter how much Minerva may try to woo you away from me." The usually stern McGonagall rolled her eyes, but allowed a small smile to grace her lips.
"We shall see, Quirinius." She said easily. "His father was one of the best Metamorphs I ever taught. James nearly mastered - and I mean mastered - three animal forms by the time he graduated Hogwarts. He could take the shape of nearly a dozen. If Harry takes after his father at all, I expect he'll quite enjoy my classes." Quirrell smiled appreciatively and seemed to look Harry up and down again, nodding firmly and giving him another wink.
"Well then, it seems we all expect great things from you, Mr. Potter! Enjoy your day with Professor McGonagall." Quirrell bid them both farewell and left, and the hairs on Harry's neck relaxed suddenly.
"Are you ready, Harry?" Professor McGonagall said, facing the back wall of the pub. Harry nodded, and she pulled her wand from the sleeve of her robe and tapped three particular bricks - they looked a bit more worn than the rest.
Before his eyes, the wall rearranged itself into an empty archway that revealed a brightly lit winding street.
"Welcome to the magical world, Mr. Potter. Welcome to Diagon Alley."
"Dragon liver, Thirteen Crowns an ounce! Mandrake blood - remove any blemish! Only 3 Crowns for an ounce. Newt eyes, 4 for a Royal!" A young man outside the apothecary yelled as Harry passed by.
Diagon Alley was laid out in a manner that made no sense at all - shops were built on top of each other, leaned over, and built staircases over the other stores' entrances as though fighting for prime real estate in a world where physics didn't matter. Everything was brightly colored, and the sun shone down brightly, even though Harry distinctly remembered the day being rather gray out on Charing Cross road.
A-frame signs for the stores peppered the Alley, and the brightly colored chalk danced around the sign, swirling into new messages or erupted into chalk fireworks to draw attention. Advertisements for new products or sales were brightly displayed in the store windows. Harry nearly gave himself whiplash, he whipped his head back and forth again and again at each shop. A shop that had stacks and stacks of cauldrons that overflowed out the door. A shop called Amanuensis Quills that had thousands of quills of all sorts of feather types, and inks in every shade imaginable, from every kind of creature or plant Harry had never heard of - and that was just what he saw from the window.
"Come along, Harry - we must go to Gringott's to get money before you get sidetracked by all the shops." Professor McGonagall said as she escorted him.
"I've never been on a shopping trip like this! Do all wizards use quills?" Harry inquired excitedly. Professor McGonagall frowned.
"Well of course. It isn't on the Hogwarts supply list, but that is why we send an instructor out with each of the halfblood students. We couldn't have them showing up with pens, they'd be a laughingstock." Harry frowned a bit at that, because he didn't really understand, but Professor McGonagall didn't explain any further.
Another shop, this one had two shops that had built over over it, one of them with a giant set of stairs nearly covering its entrance, had piles of brooms all around its exterior.
"Magic brooms! Wicked!" Harry exclaimed.
"Later, Harry. If you're anything like your father I expect we'll be making a trip there. But you haven't any money to spend, so first things first!" Professor McGonagall reminded sternly.
"Sorry, Professor. Bank first, then brooms." Harry agreed sheepishly, falling back in line as they rounded the dogleg bend in the Alley and he got his first view of Gringott's.
While the rest of the Alley wasn't shabby by any means - and as they got deeper, the shops naturally became more high-end - at the very end of the Alley was a palace that made everything Harry had ever seen look plain. Five storey pristine white pillars surrounded a rectangular building that looked to be vaguely Greek in design - highlighted by gold filigree on every possible surface.
The rest of the increasingly impressive stores in the Alley could no longer hold his attention, Harry focused on Gringott's. Above the pillars, a massive battle - detailed in gold filigree and obsidian on a white marble background - played out, where wizards fought all manner of creatures perpetually.
It was the perimeter of Gringott's on the ground that was, possibly, even more interesting.
Four guards stood at the entrance, standing at attention, two on either side of the massive gilded doorway. They carried gleaming silver polearms, cruelly barbed and curved like Harry had never seen, not even in museums in London on his school trips, and wore crisp black leather uniforms with embossed silver breastplates and legplates.
They weren't humans, though. They were perhaps five feet tall, squat, some of them as wide as they were tall, and burly. They had long arms that reached well past their knees, and ended in long, clawed fingers - two of them were wearing silver, clawed gauntlets that looked wickedly sharp. They all had mottled skin, ranging from tan to yellowish-green to grey, and long ears.
As Harry and Professor McGonagall approached the entrance, one of them spoke.
"Another young one." The guard had a drawl of a voice, and spoke with a stilted accent like a foreigner. Harry could see that each of his front teeth were pointed. When the guard saw him staring, he suddenly leaped forward and snapped his mouth at Harry, who jumped about a foot in the air, falling over himself.
The other guards chuckled and smiled. Harry blushed furiously and balled his fists, glaring up at the much larger creature. Harry couldn't stand bullies, they reminded him of his cousin Dudley.
"This one's got some balls, I think." The guard grinned dismissively shook his head. "Get inside, whelpling. You don't even have a wand to make trouble with."
Professor McGonagall had watched the entire scene with a bored look, never even making a motion to draw her wand. The guards leered at her when she passed, but if she noticed, then she paid them no mind.
Harry gave them all one last foul look before stepping inside Gringott's.
"Goblins, Harry." Professor McGonagall stooped down and said quietly into his ear. "The ones outside are a bit of a different breed than those in here, but they're all goblins. Fiercely independent, and they generally despise wizards. You'll learn all about them. Just do as I do, and ignore any rudeness." Her voice was quite stern, and Harry knew this tone meant "or else."
The inside of Gringott's was a long line of bank tellers, the counters matching the white marble floor. They were roped off by gold and red velvet ropes.
Each of the tellers looked a bit similar to the guards outside - they had the same crudely shaped face and ears, and mottled skin of varying shades, but these goblins were smaller. They were only about four feet tall, and skinnier as well - some were plump, but they ran the gamut like humans did. They all had long arms and spindly fingers ending in sharp claws.
They all, uniformly, wore finely tailored suits - they would have fit in at any of the finest Muggle banks, except that they weren't human.
A/N: That's all I have for this drabble. Enjoy the next!