Chapter Two
He first heard the name Sirius Black when he was ten years old. He had somehow pinned Dudley's arm to the wall without any sort of glue after his cousin had threatened to thump him. His aunt and uncle had found out, and for the first time, had sat him down to tell him the facts of life.
"You're a freak. Just like both your parents," Vernon growled. His face was still red with barely restrained fury. Petunia stopped her husband with a hand on his arm. He turned away from Harry, obviously trying to control himself.
Petunia tried to explain better. "When your mother turned eleven, she got a letter from a magical school for witches and wizards. She met your father there. Everything else we told you about them is true."
"So she did die while having me and then he killed himself?" Harry had known early never to use their first names.
Petunia nodded gravely. "Your father made his best friend your guardian. His name is Sirius Black. But he didn't want to keep you so he gave you to us."
"That bloody rich bastard," Vernon muttered, looking almost guilty.
"He pays us for your upkeep, Harry. And he said he would pay for your education at Hogwarts. He says it's his duty as your godfather."
Vernon snorted at that but kept silent.
"But why hasn't he ever come to visit?" Harry lit up at the thought of having a secret godfather looking after him, something that was his alone.
Petunia shook her head. "He doesn't want to see you, Harry, because you remind him too much of his dead friend. He's your actual guardian on paper. We're just caretakers of sort. But he made it clear he wants to look after you only from afar."
Harry felt confused. "So he didn't want me?" He asked in a small voice.
Vernon had looked at his wife. "No, he didn't want you and neither do we."
Harry flinched at that. Petunia reached out a hand as if to comfort him, but withdrew it immediately. "Vernon—," she murmured softly. "Maybe this isn't the right time."
"It's better that he know this now," he said, before turning to the boy. "When we took you in, I told that—that man that it was only until you left for the blasted school. I don't want any of that freakishness in my house!" Vernon had worked himself.
"But I didn't mean to do that to Dudley's arm."
"It doesn't matter what you mean to. In the end, this—this magic of yours will still out. It makes you dangerous and we don't want you anywhere near our family." His uncle glared. "You'll stay until your letter and that's that."
---
After that, in spite of his aunt's warnings, Harry begged her for Sirius Black's address. He wrote three letters to him, telling him about school and other things. But the mysterious wizard never wrote back, so he stopped, the disappointment slowly turning into anger as the months passed.
He wrote one last letter, letting his anger get the better of him. He refused the other man's help to go to Hogwarts and basically told him to leave Harry alone. In reply, he received a single bronze key, with a note, "Your parents prepared this for you" written in elegant script on the rough parchment. "Go to Gringotts."
He took the letter to his aunt, who paled at its contents. She made Harry promise to keep it a secret from his uncle.
---
When his letter finally did arrive, Petunia packed all his things into a single suitcase and took him to London. Walking on one street, she made him name out loud each store on one side until he spoke, "The Leaky Cauldron."
Once inside, she asked the barman—who introduced himself as Tom—to take them to the Alleys. There were several of them, each interconnected by some magical doorway. The nearest and most well-known was the Diagon Alley, where Gringotts could be found. It catered particularly to new Hogwarts students. Other alleys had similarly specialized clientele, and accompanying reputations.
Harry, however, did not have time to explore. His aunt hustled him through the opening after Tom had tapped bricks in a seemingly random pattern with his stick. The other side was a cobblestone street lined with old-fashioned shops on either side.
He barely glimpsed some posters with moving pictures in them before his aunt pulled him aside and gave him his key. She pointed out the wizarding bank on the right. "Just tell them your name and give them the key. I suppose they'll figure out what to do with it."
"You're not going with me?" Harry tried not to look like he was begging.
Petunia looked away, her face like granite. "I'm sorry Harry, but I can't stand the sight of those goblins. When I was young, I went with your mother to exchange money for her first year. I ended up having nightmares for weeks. I never came back here again."
Harry was scared, but he clutched the key in his hand and marched inside. Only to stop and gape at the creatures, small in stature, with long fingers, pointed ears and dark, neatly trimmed beards. They walked around the place mostly ignoring the robed men and women.
He tried to see who looked friendliest, but finally settled on the one behind a counter. Everyone else seemed too busy. He walked forward, smiling awkwardly when he caught the goblin's suspicious glare. He slid the key forward and whispered his name. After examining it, the goblin gestured to another behind the counter and Harry was led to a railway inside the building, where two joint carts was waiting.
He sat down in the second one and had to grip the sides in surprise when it moved, rolling mostly downwards though large caverns. The goblin sitting in the first cart mostly ignored him, even though Harry could barely suppress a whoop as the cart accelerated.
When it finally stopped, it was in front of a large doorway with two tiny keyholes side by side in its center. The goblin took out both Harry's key and his own, and inserted them, turning them simultaneously. The door disappeared. Returning one key to Harry, the goblin gestured impatiently at the doorway.
Harry saw piles and piles of gold, silver and bronze coins scattered on one side like tiny mountain ranges. On the other side were stacked boxes, surrounded by odds and ends. By the door, several empty bags hung, waiting to be filled.
He turned towards the goblin helplessly. "Excuse me sir, but how much do I need to pay for everything?"
The creature examined him from head to toe. "First year at Hogwarts?"
Harry nodded. "I don't even know how much my tuition is."
The goblin took out a roll of parchment from his bag and unrolled a portion. "According to your files, the tuition is automatically deducted annually from the vault every first of September starting this year." He continued to estimate the total cost of every item on a first year student's list, naming what seemed like a ridiculously high amount to the boy.
Harry thanked him politely, and proceeded to fill one money bag with the amount, adding an extra fistful of the gold ones ("Galleons. Twenty-one sickles to a galleon, seventeen knuts to a sickle.") just to be sure.
Before he left, he couldn't resist looking at the other objects in the vault. To his delight, he found two of the books on his list: A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot and Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. The former had James Potter written on the flyleaf, while the second had Lily Evans in a neat script. Just touching them made Harry tremble.
There were also trunks full of clothes, some furniture, and several sealed boxes. He would have tried to open them, but he knew his aunt was waiting, so he climbed back into the cart, looking longingly at all that was left of his parents.
---
Aunt Petunia took him shopping, but in reality she just stood near the doorway of each store like a colt about to bolt. She made Harry pick out his own things, and made him pay for it himself at the counter. Still, she didn't really panic until they made their way into Ollivanders to buy a wand.
"Just do what he says. I'll wait outside," she told him, almost in tears. "And be careful where you point that thing, you hear me. It's dangerous."
Harry bought a wand made of holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches long, but he stuffed it into his trunk like it was a bomb.
---
At the end of the day, Petunia began to look more cheerful. She led Harry back into the Leaky Cauldron towards the bar.
"My nephew is going to stay here until the first of September," she informed Tom, who was polishing several glasses with a flick of his wand. "You rent rooms, don't you?"
Harry felt his heart sinking. Of course. Uncle Vernon had said he couldn't stay after he got his letter. That's why his aunt had packed all his possessions.
"But September be almost two months awa'," Tom exclaimed, peering at the little boy with messy black hair and glasses. "Surely ye don't want him to leave so early?"
Petunia patted Harry's shoulder tentatively. "It's better this way. The boy should be with his kind, after all. I'm placing him under your care, sir, if you will."
Tom wanted to protest that the boy was too young to be left alone, but after looking Harry in the face, found himself agreeing. "Don't worry, missus. The boy will be safe enough, as long as he don't wander 'round too far."
Petunia breathed a sigh of relief, and emptied her purse of a stack of notes. "Will this be enough for the rent?"
"You don't have to pay for me, Aunt Petunia," Harry said. "I still have some galleons—"
"No, dear. We could at least do this much for you," Petunia told him, her face softening a little, like she was about to cry.
Tom accepted the muggle money with bemusement. He didn't even bother to count it. "It'll do just fine, missus." He watched in approval as the woman grabbed the boy into a fierce hug.
"I'm sorry about this, Harry. But I really think this will be best for you," she told him. "No matter what happens, write to me, ok? They use owls here. I could reply if it waits."
Harry nodded dumbly. His aunt had never showed him this much affection, and he didn't know how to reply.
"Take care of yourself," Petunia said one last time, "Be safe." And then she was hurrying out of the bar into muggle London.
---
That was the last time Harry saw his aunt, although he kept his promise and wrote. And now he was back in The Leaky Cauldron, with Tom.
That first couple of months, and each summer as the years passed, Tom had looked after him with a sort of affable concern, and pity which had slowly faded into respect. The feeling was mutual; Harry would always love the man for not changing when he had gained his fame as youngest Triwizard champion in centuries. He had written to congratulate him, and come summer, had cuffed him in the head as greeting, and went on as usual.
Still, he had not confided in the older man. Tom was not equipped to deal with this. Neither was Harry for that matter. But he knew at least two people who could listen to his tale without blinking. Neither of them was Sirius bloody Black.