Chapter 2
Prologue 2: Nine Years Old
September 1989
Tap tap tap.
Tap tap tap.
Tap tap tap.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—
"Yip yip yip yip!"
'…What?' Harry snapped out of his fog.
"Excuse me?"
"Mister Potter! I said would you please quit that infernal racket while I am trying to teach? That is the third time today!"
"Sorry, Miss Fontainebleau."
"And get your books out of your backpack!" There was, of course, nothing in his backpack. "Don't just sit there without taking notes young man, you're not here to dawdle."
He couldn't help it. He was just so bored. Every day he sat in class and tolerated the droning of his well-intentioned, boring teachers. He just didn't care. He had better things to do. For the past couple years he'd been finding those better things to do. Every day after school he'd been leaving the grounds at the same time as everyone else, but with a somewhat different destination. While Dudley and the rest of his classmates climbed the dirty stairs onto the bus, Harry slinked off through a hole he'd personally carved in the school fence and went on his daily errands. He'd refined his routine down to near-perfection. His first stop was the corner grocer. He'd figured out around the first Christmas after he finished his book that all the food that had passed the "sell by" date was thrown out at 4 PM daily. His empty backpack was stuffed full of food daily.
Today he was again foraging in the alley behind the grocer. It was a Friday, so he had to make sure to get enough for the weekend. He couldn't sneak away on the weekends like he could now. Harry had been stealing notes from the desks of Mr. Fox, Mrs. Fogerly, and now Miss Fontainebleau and writing in his own detention updates to turn into the Dursleys every month. He swept his mussed black bangs out of his eyes and picked up a box of snack cakes. 'Bloody brilliant!' He almost never found sweets. Kids like Dudley pestered their parents too much for them to be tossed often.
The floorboards under his little cupboard room were getting full, but he didn't really have other options. Harry was already starting to outgrow his tiny living space. He was only nine, but he had already hit a growth spurt in his limbs that his body couldn't match, making him look just as gangly as before, even with the size he'd put on.
Eating actual food has its advantages.
He grabbed a few more non-perishables and stuffed them in his pack before walking out of the area, cheerfully whistling along the way. He moved on his usual route to his next destination: the library. Harry didn't like school or learning, but after he finished the book he found out the library had lots of fun stories in it. It was a place a kid could sit and do whatever he liked and not be bothered by adults. What's more, Harry soon found out that he could ask for a list of any category of books at any library in Surrey and request they be sent to the library in Little Whinging. He'd moved on from children's books a year ago and got bored with most adult fiction soon after. Now he just checked out whatever kept the boredom of sitting in a cupboard by himself away. That's why he was here now, at the Little Whinging library.
"Afternoon Miss Holcombe! How's the place been today?"
"Just fine Harry. Those books you asked for came in. Goodness, you're quite the voracious reader." That was an untruth. It just happens that reading is more fun than twiddling one's thumbs in a dark room. Harry had swiped some candles and eventually a flashlight from Petunia to take care of the dark issue, but the tiny room didn't really have many options other than books. "Am I ever going to get to meet those parents of yours? They must be awfully busy to never come with you to the library."
Harry grimaced, but only inwardly. He hated when Vernon and Petunia were brought up. People being suspicious was the first step toward his freedom being taken away. That must not happen. So outwardly, he flashed a grin. "Sorry Miss Holcombe, you know how busy they are. Mum works extra time at the orphanage because they've got so many kids."
Irony. Petunia would rather be a beggar than work with orphans. Kids like him, in other words. What a bloody prick.
"That's sweet of her Harry, but I worry about how little attention they pay to you."
Harry smiled legitimately at that. He was exactly the opposite of worried about how little attention the Dursleys paid him. '"Attention only gets you hurt." One of my book's best lessons.' He was unaware of how true it had been for him in his past.
Too bad his parents never learned that one. Whoops.
Harry gave her another cheerful look. "Don't worry about it. You're a great librarian and I know they don't have a problem with me staying here with you for an hour or two. Trust me!"
She really shouldn't. But she did.
Harry grabbed his pile of books and brought them over to an unoccupied table to figure whether or not he actually wanted to keep them. It was hard to get a grasp on whether he wanted a book just from its title or its subject, so he sent back several each time. Today's was a good haul. A couple of interesting novels and even a couple of practical books looked promising. Harry generally wasn't into those, but after he accidentally picked up the snoozer titled The Joys of Locksmithing when he was eight, he became a believer. Most of it was technical garbage, but he'd been stuck in the cupboard with nothing better to do and found one chapter about the drawbacks of poorly made locks. Harry had stolen several of Petunia's bobby pins after that "mistake" and never looked back.
It wasn't as if he could just leave the cupboard whenever he bloody pleased. One surprise shakedown and it would be over, not a fate Harry looked forward to. He unlocked the door late at night or early in the morning to clean the house so he wouldn't have to do it later or to make a decent hot meal in the Dursley's kitchen. They all slept like hogs anyway.
Looked like 'em, too.
He also plied his trade when they left him with Mrs. Figg and she took a nap with her cats, those mangy, rabid things. He'd sneak out of the house and slip into his cousin's before the prying neighbors could notice and he'd take whatever he felt like. Once, Petunia left her purse sitting on the counter when the Dursley's had gone out for ice cream.
Harry ate like a prince for a week.
With that in mind, Harry always wrote for a few less interesting books with his "fun" reading. He was only nine, but occasionally he stumbled across a few things that tickled his fancy. He found out that he liked reading about sports, and that he liked playing them even more. His Wednesdays didn't go by the routine after that day. Instead, he went to the local pitch and played pickup with boys his age. Turns out Harry Potter was quite the striker for a boy of nine and without Dudley's presence, he was always picked (but never picked on!). He also found out that he liked cooking when he wasn't doing it as a butler. A nine year old reading a book about baking is a rather strange sight. Some people grow up too soon because it's in their nature.
Others grow up too soon because they have to.
Harry packed the good books in his pack's other pocket and left the rest with Miss Holcombe. She was nice and he didn't really enjoy lying to her, but he never forgot his book's words. Never trust anyone with everything. He walked down the street whistling and checked the time on his cheap little pocket watch—a memento from the day Vernon left his wallet on the counter during dinner. 'Bugger, I'm going to be late. Knew I shouldn't have spent so much time looking through that book about the World Cup. Guess I'll cut through the neighborhoods.'
Harry knew his routes home very well. He'd come up with them after Vernon had driven right by him on his way home from work, missing him only because he had his hand—and eyes—in the bag of crisps sitting next to him. Harry never went back on that road again. He came up with a different way home and an emergency plan if he were ever late. That's just what he was carrying out now, hopping over fences and cutting through the backyards of the Surrey suburbs. The distance wasn't too far, but he was traveling on foot.
He recited the method in his head as he hopped from yard to yard. 'First foot on the foothold, second foot, throw yourself over, get to the other side before anyone sees you. First foot on the foothold, second foot, throw yourself over, get to the other side before anyone sees you.' Except this time he'd made to the street.
He checked his watch and decided to take a breather, strolling down the road. There was a ball sitting on the side of the road, worn from disuse. He glanced at it and, in a spurt of childish playfulness, he punted it across the road. It didn't bounce very well anymore. Thud, thud, clunk.
"Stop!"
Harry's stroll came to a sudden end as he turned to find the source of the voice. A little girl with her hands on her hips stood with her lip jutting out and her brown hair ruffled from running over to him. She looked none too pleased to see him.
"I don't know who you are, but you can't kick our ball around like it's trash! It might not look very special, but we've been playing with it for a long time and you're being mean. Just because you're older than me doesn't mean you can be a bully, so stop!"
Harry peered down at her. He figured himself to be a bit over 145 cm (or 4'10" across the pond) and he had a good 10 cm on her at least. "I don't really think I'm all that much older than you. I'm only nine, you know."
She gaped. "Nine? I'm nine! But… you're so tall! You're almost as tall as my mum! She's a lot shorter than Daddy though. How'd you get so tall?"
"Dunno. What's it matter to you?"
"It matters because you kicked our ball! That wasn't very nice. It's not yours!"
'That doesn't really make sense.' Harry shrugged. "Sheesh, I'm sorry, okay?" He wasn't really sorry. "I'll get out of your hair." He blew a little gust of air at his own hair in his face in irritation. "I was just leaving anyway. I've got to get home."
She didn't move. She just stood and gaped at him.
"What? What's your bloody problem?" The same look persisted on her face. Harry had no idea what had come over this barmy little girl. "Look, I'm sorrier than ever I kicked your ball. That doesn't mean you have to stand there gaping at me like a fish. What's gotten into you?
"You're Harry Potter!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "You could've figured that out sooner if you'd just asked my name. Why's it got your knickers in a twist all of a sudden?"
"You're really Harry Potter? For real? But why do you talk like that, like Daddy after he's had a bad day at work? Harry Potter wouldn't do that! My dad's a Muggle you know, but my mum, my mum works at the Ministry! And my auntie is famous! Oh, you'll have to meet her for sure. She can teach you lots about proper broom technique—oh, but I'm sure you know how to do that already."
Harry's eyes began to glaze over again as the girl went on and on and on in the strangest manner he'd ever seen. 'Proper broom technique? Bloody hell, I do enough sweeping that I'm a right master at that. What is wrong with this girl? She's absolutely spastic. Is my language really that bad? I guess I am a little young. Wait a tick…'
"How did you know my name is Harry Potter?"
She gave him another look, as if he'd asked what two plus two is. "Are you joking? You're Harry Potter! I saw the scar when you puffed on your hair. No one else has that lightning bolt scar but Harry Potter. Oh, my friends won't believe it when I tell them I actually met you. How come you live in Surrey anyway? I live in Surrey because my Daddy likes the Muggle world better. What really happened to You-Know-Who?"
Yip yip yip yip.
And so on.
Harry let her prattle while he struggle to figure out what was going on. 'Okay, she knows who I am, but I haven't the faintest idea who she is. She knows my scar, so apparently the scar is a big deal. Almost as if I were a bloody celebrity. And apparently I shouldn't use foul language? What kind of bloke is expected not to swear? Ministers, superheroes, politicians, teachers… oh I give up. And what's a bloody Muggle? But she can't know that I don't know these things.' That was in his book too. Never let anyone know your gaps. So he beat around the bush a bit.
"So, you think you know me pretty well eh? I've never met you! I don't know a mite about you, so don't you think it's a bit weird that you know all about me? It sure is rather weird to me."
Her face flushed. "I hadn't really thought about that."
Harry responded before she could recover. "Then why don't you tell me what you think you know about me and I'll tell you what's true and what's not. That's rightly fair, don't you think?"
Her face scrunched up as she considered it. "I guess so," she said, drawing out the 's' sound in guess like a child learning her letters. She was still a little confused by the way he was behaving. "Okay, so you're… Well, you're Harry Potter! And you… Ahhh! I don't know where to start."
Harry sighed. This girl was really wearing on his nerves. "How about you start from the beginning? Tell me what you know from the start and I'll butt in if you say anything that doesn't sound right. That okay with you?"
"I suppose." She took a deep breath. "Okay, so, you're Harry Potter!" She waved her hands excitedly.
Harry snorted. "I gathered that much."
"Yeah! And when you were a baby, the evilest wizard ever came to your house and killed your mum and dad." Harry's eyebrows shot up at that, but he braced himself. 'Evilest? Wizard? Killed my mom and dad?' She continued, "But when he tried to kill you, something happened! No one knows what, but You-Know-Who was defeated all because of you! So you're the Boy-Who-Lived and… and… you're a hero! Because of you we don't have to worry about him anymore!"
Harry stood stone silent. His mind was just about blank but for one word. '…What?'
That was not what he'd been expecting.
'This girl is clearly out of sorts. But if that's true, how did she know my name? Or that my parents are dead? What is going on here? How do I do this without making myself look like a fool?' Harry wracked his brain for answers and came up with something.
"Oh."
'Not that!'
So he tried again.
"Um. Ah. So. You know me because I beat… well, you know who, right?" She nodded her head vigorously. "And you've got no idea how I did this, right?" She nodded again, but then started up and explained that she knew it was some kind of magic, but not what kind. "Magic, huh? So, do you know magic?"
She smiled at him. "Of course! Well, I'm not supposed to, but…" She looked at him with a secretive grin, "my mum doesn't know it, but I found where she keeps her spare wand. Sometimes, when she's gone, I take it and practice a bit."
Harry saw his opportunity to figure out exactly what was going on here and pounced. "So, does that mean you can get it now and show me some magic?"
Her face blanched. "Well, my mum wouldn't really like it…"
"Oh come on! I'm Harry Potter, you know. I would just love to see what you can do. Please?"
Her eyes widened at that. Here was a real life hero right in front of her, asking her to show him what kind of magic she could do. Her knees almost buckled, but she couldn't figure out why. She'd figure it out in a couple years when puberty inexorably rolled along. "A-all right! My parents go out on a date once a month on a Friday, so they're not in. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere!"
Go anywhere? After that steaming load of bollocks? Who'd do such a thing?
Who can say! Who indeed!
Harry had no intention of leaving. He was still trying to wrap his brain around what was going on. 'Magic? Wands? Either this girl is completely nutters or I'm completely nutters for believing any of this.' Memories suddenly began flooding his mind. Memories of him being recognized and greeted by strangers, just like today. 'That day we were at the grocer, that man bowed to me! And that other time on the bus with the lady all trussed up in green. These things have been going on for years and I never could make heads or tails of it. Could this be it?' The fact that he was now running late to get home had entirely left him at this point. His heart flooded with a great swell at an idea that his foster parents and everyone he ever knew had always pushed down. It was an idea that he had always hoped to be true, but never had any proof for. Until now.
He, Harry Potter, was special.
The girl came rushing out of the house with... 'A stick? Oh cripes, she's crazier than I thought. She's got a bloody stick in her hand.' He almost took off down the street, but his legs wouldn't move. Hope held him in place.
What a bothersome emotion.
"Here it is, Harry! Oh, I'm so excited. What should I do first, what should I do?" She looked at his face carefully. "Oh! Here, let me see your glasses. Don't look at me like that, give them here. All right, let me just unwrap this tape in the middle… I said not to look at me like that, just trust me. Um, I've only done this a few times before, so… um. Here goes!"
'If she breaks my glasses, I swear I'll strangle her,' was all he could really think.
"R-Reparo!"
Harry's eyes shot open wide as a faint glow came from the stick and swept over his mangled and worn glasses. The cracks in them crept together and quickly closed. Other than the dirt, his glasses looked good as new.
"How… how did you… What was that?"
Her face flushed and she grinned at him, clearly not expecting such a positive reaction "That was just a simple spell to fix your glasses! It wasn't anything special, really. The look on your face was priceless though!"
Harry was still in shock. "Can… can I… is there anywhere I can get one of those? Do you have another? A wand, I mean." His face was puckered like a gutted fish. Poor kid.
"Are you daft? You know kids can't buy a wand until they go to Hogwarts. The only reason I can use this is because it's my mum's and she's an adult. Besides, the only place to buy a wand near here is Diagon Alley."
"Well, why don't we go?"
.
.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this."
Harry was trying to block her out as best he could and was failing stupendously. The hyperventilating girl sitting next to him on the Knight Bus, he'd found out, was Megan Jones. Her mother was a witch, but her father couldn't do magic. He was a "Muggle". Harry was still a little shell-shocked at the sudden appearance of the magical vehicle when the girl had sent up a shower of sparks with the stick… the wand. Learned that trick from her mum, she'd said Now she was apparently having second thoughts. He couldn't take her freaking out anymore. They were going to get kicked out or… something. 'How does that even work with wizards?' He couldn't help but wonder.
"Megan, please, calm down. Unless you want to get caught, you'll take a deep breath and calm down. You look bloody suspicious!"
Her eyes widened at that. Getting caught was exactly what she was worried about. She inhaled deeply and plopped her hands in her lap. With a sigh, her face went back to normal. "Okay. I can do this. I can run away with the Boy-Who-Lived to Diagon Alley while my parents are out. That's not crazy. I can do this. Even if it takes most of my allowance to pay the bus fare."
"That's the spirit! It's just a little adventure. We'll be back before your parents know you're gone. Admit it, this is fun."
Her face twitched. The corner of Harry's mouth quivered upward. At that, she gave him a weak, resigned smile.
"I knew it. You're just a little ball of nerves, that's all." He grinned at her. "Don't worry, we'll have a brilliant time!" He gave her a pat on the back and slipped back into thought for a moment, barely recognizing the look on her face that came in that moment of physical contact. 'I really don't want people knowing who I am, if I am seriously famous. My hair is pretty long, but if I have another slip-up like with her, my name will be blown. I think I still have my cap with me. Hope it's not crushed under all the books… brilliant!' He pulled it out of his backpack and slipped it on his head, the brim covering the scar nicely. 'Might look a little queer in a place full of wizards. What do wizards even look like? If those people I've met before were normal for real wizards, I'll probably look like an alien in there…'
Worrying about how he'd look in front of a bunch of men wearing dresses, waving sticks around and yelling in bastardized Latin. This is what Harry Potter was reduced to. Bollocks.
A voice boomed throughout the bus "Diagon Alley! Everyone for Diagon Alley!" The little girl dropped a few coins that Harry had never seen before and led him to the door. He and his new companion gingerly stepped out of the bus and came face to face with… a record store?
"No Harry, it's the pub right there. See it? It's a bit tough the first time you come, but you get used to it."
Harry's eyes trained to where she was indicating and he saw the sign for the "Leaky Cauldron". 'Now that she mentions it, the pub was rather obvious. It seems like all the walkers are having the same problem noticing it as I did. I wonder if that's magic.'
"Come on Harry, let's hurry! We don't have a lot of time as it is and a couple of kids heading into the Leaky Cauldron might be a little strange. We have to get through there and to Diagon Alley."
Harry nodded and followed as she weaved her way through the crowd toward an innocuous looking wall with a trash can next to it. Megan squinted at it for a second before standing on her tiptoes and tapping it three times with her mother's wand. Harry stared in wonder as an archway appeared from nowhere. 'Magic,' he figured rather dumbly. He stepped through the opening after her and was greeted with a huge marketplace, filled with shops holding some of the strangest things he'd ever seen. Actual witch's cauldrons, all kinds of magical items, animals, books, clocks, wands… Harry's brain almost shut down. It took a bump from Megan to snap him out of his reverie.
"Come on Harry, let's go where you want to go and get out of here! I swear, I still can't believe I'm doing this… It's not like you can buy anything with Muggle money anyway."
He gave her a little frown. "What? How'm I supposed to get anything at all then?"
She took another of those funny looking coins out of her pocket. It shined bright silver. She explained to him the way wizard's currency worked in detail.
"So is there no way to turn Muggle money into wizard money?"
"Of course, but the exchange rate is pretty bad. It's five pounds to a Galleon these days! Those goblins are awful about money, you know."
'Goblins?' he wondered. 'Later, later…'
"So can we go there now for a little spending money?"
.
.
Harry Potter walked out of Gringotts with his pockets singing the sweet music of freshly gotten money. Even though he hadn't really gained anything, the sound of coins jingling together was an indescribable melody to his ears. People who grow up in lack for so long tend to be more attached to money than most. He smiled contentedly to himself as he walked. "Cling, clang, ding, ding," his pockets crooned. "Clink clink, ding ding." The girl was already chasing behind him, so he begrudgingly slowed his pace.
"Harry! You exchanged over a hundred pounds! You're… you're rich!"
He gave her a wink and a nod. "Don't be silly. That's almost all the money I've got. I'm just excited to be here. Who knows when I'll come back? Let's go shopping!"
Harry had in his pockets exactly 21 Galleons, 16 Sickles, and 5 Knuts. It had taken most of the money he'd been saving from his field opportunities, but he'd gotten plenty of wizard money and still had about fifteen pounds to his name. He took a deep breath and looked around. 'Where do I want to go first? There's just so much to see. I just went to the library an hour ago, so I think I'll save books for later. But I—is that… is that…'
"Megan!" The tone of his voice was so emotion-laden that she whirled around with an anxious look on her face. "We're going to get ice cream, now!"
She caught herself and sighed. "You're unbelievable." Still, she was a kid just like him. She couldn't help but smile at the idea of ice cream. "Cool, I guess we can get some ice cream. Let's go!"
He walked into Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour with a bounce in his step and got ice cream for the both of them, 2 Sickles and 2 Knuts worth. They sat in a corner booth and Harry sighed with rare relaxation. "This is brilliant! I don't know how this thing manages to stay upright." He was eating a Neapolitan sundae that was stacked like an upside down pyramid on his dish, with the flavors getting stronger the closer they were to the bottom scoop. "Well, other than magic, you know. It's delicious, too! The chocolate especially, it gets better and better as I eat it!"
For just a moment, Harry Potter forgot about his book. He forgot about the fact that he was Harry Potter, that he was straying far from home in a bloody magical bazaar, that magic even existed, that his adoptive parents were abusive, that no one in the world really loved him. Right now, it was just a nine year old and his ice cream.
Life's about the small things.
His little slice of heaven was interrupted by the catalyst to his adventure. "Mine's good, too. But we've got to hurry! Some of the stores close pretty early around here you know, and I have to get back before my parents get home."
Harry cocked his head a little to the left. "Didn't you say they wouldn't be back until nine? What's the big deal? We've got plenty of time. But if you're right about the stores, I guess I can go a little quicker." Harry devoured his ice cream with the enthusiasm only a young boy with little to live for but himself can have. His stomach gurgled its approval and he stood abruptly. "Come on! We've got places to go, magical things to buy!"
With that, he yanked her out of her seat and ran out of the door. The man behind the counter, Fortescue himself, smiled at the sight.
A kid without a care in the world is always something to appreciate.
.
.
"You said your aunt knows a lot about brooms, right? Where can I get one here?" Harry didn't know what the deal was with brooms, but if Dudley's TV programs had anything to say about it, he might be flying one before too long.
Megan shrugged. "There's a bunch of stores here, but a new broom would take most of the money you have, even an older model. If you really want one, my aunt says 2nd Hand Brooms has got used brooms on the cheap."
"Brilliant! Let's go!" And off he went again. Harry Potter was like a kid in magic store. That makes sense.
In minutes, Harry had picked up a battered but still working Cleansweep Five for a couple Galleons and four Sickles. It was an old model, but it still flew decently according to the shop owner. He'd rather impressed his new friend with how well he haggled with the haggard old lady who ran the place, knocking her down from six Galleons and seven Sickles without missing a beat. Harry had taken parts of his book too literally and applied his rampant suspicion of all people to shopkeepers and their prices. Guess that had come in handy in getting his new broom, though.
"Harry! It's going to be a pain carrying things around if you buy too much more stuff. Do you have a trunk? I'm sure you could get one here somewhere. There are trunks that can hold stuff lots bigger than the trunk because of the charms they put on it. Would you like one?"
Harry grinned at that. "Would I ever! That sounds brilliant!"
"That's about the fifth time you've said brilliant today, Harry." She gave him a look of mock indignation. "You act like you've never even seen real magic before. Honestly, don't be such a child! Oh, don't give me that look, I was only kidding. Promise!"
Harry had blanched at her words. He thought she'd finally figured his ignorance out, but he recovered quickly and pegged her on the arm, returning her look of feigned irritation. "You better be kidding. We'll definitely go get that trunk."
As it happens, Harry Potter bought a rather nice trunk. It cost him a good portion of his money, eight Galleons on the dot, but the trunk was a marvel of Charms work. It had several compartments, including a portable library that could hold around fifty books and something he'd have paid every pound he had for: temperature-controlled storage. For an extra three galleons he had it permanently transfigured into the shape of his old backpack. He even put his old backpack inside his new one. That was quite funny to him.
The reason it was so cheap? The owner's jilted ex-girlfriend had gone nutters in his shop and hit his wares with all kinds of spells. She'd nicked the trunk with a particularly obnoxious Color Changing charm that refused to come off, so Harry's new backpack was a proud vomit green with flecks of puce scattered about. The thing had been on sale at a bargain bin price for nearly a decade. Fortunately, Harry's big mammal brain didn't really care what it looked like.
Good for him! Good for his brain!
Walking out and humming a tune, Harry was disappointed to hear the volume on his new favorite song somewhat muted. "Clink clink," it sang sadly, much weaker than before. He only had a handful of Galleons left in his pocket. He figured it was finally time to go to the bookstore. They walked into Flourish and Blotts and Harry's eyes caught a feverish glint. He didn't particularly like books, but this was a different story entirely. This was magic, magic that he could do if he could just get his hands on these books, all of these books! It was a tempting prospect, but the much diminished song from his pockets told him it was not to be. He started to look through all the books and noted the ones that stood out the most in his head. That process didn't help. He ended up with far too many books after just five minutes. The fact that he had a tagalong was again a moot point, until she snapped him out of his trance.
"Hey, Harry! Merlin, you are zoned out aren't you? Harry, I have to go home soon. Please?"
Harry gave a resigned sigh and thought about which ones he wanted most. He was definitely getting An Overview of Magic, a huge but non-instructional tome that listed and described all the known types of magic. Deciding on the other books was a hassle. He eventually settled on simply getting the full set of The Standard Book of Spells, because many of the things listed in them sounded bloody convenient. 'Instant cleaning? A way to make myself mostly unnoticed by people without magic? And hey, the thing she used to fix my glasses! This stuff is brilliant. Hang the other books, this will do just fine!'
Harry bought his books and was left with a couple Galleons and some change. He stored the books in his new library in the front left pocket of his new backpack and was bloody happy about the entire arrangement. With a cheery look on his face, he walked out the door, with the girl again following behind him. His new follower had a puzzled look on her face. He was curious.
"What's with the look? Your face is all scrunched up again, like you do when you're confused."
Her face lit up red, like half a set of Christmas lights. "I didn't know people could tell when I did that. But I am wondering, how are you going to use this if you can't do magic? That first book is gigantic, but it's not a practical book. What are you going to do with all those charms books?"
He showed her another of his brilliant, cheeky grins. "I'll just study, I suppose. Can't hurt, right?"
"I guess not. Come on, we gotta go! I've should be home soon, in case my parents decide to come back early."
.
.
It turns out that they did arrive early. Fortunately for Megan Jones, they were only thirty minutes early and not an hour early. If they'd come home then, they'd have seen their daughter get off the Knight Bus with that wiry, raven haired boy everyone loves. He paid for the fare this time and the bus roared away. It was almost dark out by the time they got back. She turned to look at him and smiled.
"Thanks Harry, for today. I really did have a good time, even if it was a terribly dangerous and ridiculous idea. You'll come back?"
Another toothy grin. "Of course! And thank you for being such a good travelling partner. But I'd best get home, I'm sure my parents would like that. And hey, don't tell anyone about today, no matter what. I know you want to tell your friends, but let's keep it a secret between us, okay?" He gave her a little wink. "Bye!" And then he gave her a hug. It wasn't a sidearm hug meant for new companions, but rather a close, personal hug that should be shared by dear friends and family. His arms slid around her as he hunched over to get on somewhat equal height terms. He watched her face turn tomato red as her big mammal brain struggled to return the gesture. Yet another example of a time in which all that brainpower shuts down in the situations it's needed most. He broke the hug and ran off down the street, waving as he went. More than ever he looked like the nine year old boy he really was, not the burdened young man he was all too rapidly becoming.
Her eyes sparkled as she watched him go. It was a crush at first sight and the things he'd done were more than enough to encourage that. To her, he was a knight in shining armor, the Harry Potter. Too bad he didn't give a toss whether she kicked off or not.
.
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November 1989
A panicked middle-aged woman yelled for her husband, "Honey, have you seen my spare wand? I know I put it in the closet under the box of old photo albums."
His head popped into view of the closet doorway. "Sorry dear, no idea. I haven't ever touched it, you know that. You don't think…"
His unfinished sentence clicked in her mind, too.
"Megan! Get in here, now!"
That tone of voice was never good. She walked into the room with her hands in her pockets, awaiting the coming inquisition. She didn't know what it was about, but the way her mother called for her made it sound like she'd triggered the end of the world. For all she knew, she might have.
"Megan, I'm going to ask you once and you have to answer me truthfully. Do you know where my spare wand is?" Her mother gave her the death glare and she gulped nervously. Memories of that day over two months ago spilled back into her mind. But the wand… she never had put the wand back. In fact, she wasn't sure where she'd put it. The thought had slipped her mind in all the excitement of meeting Harry Potter. So she answered truthfully.
"Mum, I don't know where your spare wand is. I'm really sorry."
Before she could finish and tell her that she didn't know where it was because she'd lost it, her voice caught in her throat. Stupid brain. Her mother gave her one more look and, satisfied she'd been telling the truth, gave a sigh. "All right, I'll have to go to Diagon Alley to get another. I didn't mean to yell at you Megan, but Dad's the only one who knew where it was. I can't imagine what happened to it. Magic is a queer thing sometimes."
.
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September 1989
As soon as he got around the street corner, Harry reached into his pocket and smirked as he felt the slender piece of wood that rested against his thigh. Had he accidentally taken it from her pocket just before he'd left? What an unfortunate mistake. No, he wouldn't be going back to the Jones' house ever again, hang the promise. The girl had practically been mesmerized by his every word the entire trip. She'd put up a bit of a front, pretending to be tough and all that for the "great" Harry Potter, but the look on her face after he'd embraced her was all he needed to know. He laughed aloud.
"Can't believe she actually thought I was giving her a hug. Naïve tart, that one." His joy of victory was dashed when he realized what time it was. He shuddered with the realization that he'd have to deal with Vernon now. He didn't relish the look on the pudgy man's face when he came back so late. He could imagine vividly how puffy and furious his out-of-control head would look. He was not disappointed.
"Boy! You were gone for an hour and a half longer than normal today. It's ruddy dark outside! Explain yourself!" Vernon's face was positively glowing purple. Must've been another bad day with the drills.
"Sorry, sir. The lady who does detention, her car broke down while she was taking me back. We had to wait until we could get a repairman out there to fix it." He put on his best 'I'm an orphan, have pity sir!' face. He knew it'd piss Vernon off, but in a way he could direct. "I'm really, really sorry, please don't put me in the cupboard, sir. I've been in that little car all day and it was so cramped."
"No excuses boy! Off to the cupboard now, and no dinner! We'll discuss this later."
They never did discuss it later. Vernon had been satisfied with his excuse, but had to punish Harry somehow. Vernon was a steamroller of anger, but once he got his hands on the controls it wasn't that hard to direct him where he wanted. Harry closed the door to the cupboard and heard it lock from the outside with a click. His face shifted from scared child into gleeful treasure hunter, fresh from the best haul of his life. He peeled up the floorboard and began stuffing his food into it. He paused in the process and opened the box of snack cakes, unwrapping and popping one in his mouth. It was quite good, but nothing compared to the ice cream he'd had that day. Next were the books from the library. As if he was going to touch those anymore! He'd just drop them off next week and never go back. He didn't need a library anymore. He had magic.
He removed the colossal book he'd bought from Diagon Alley. He stared at it with a child-like gleam in his eye that came very rarely for the young Potter boy. He flipped it open and his mind was floored by how many types of magic there were. The table of contents was a short story in itself. Harry started to pore through it, but found his eyelids beginning to close before he got past the first page. A yawn escaped from his mouth before he could help it.
"Tomorrow, Harry. You can start tomorrow. It was a long day." He muttered to himself. "Tomorrow's a weekend. Once you're done with chores you'll be back in the cupboard and you can read all day." This thought comforted Harry as he drifted off into blissful sleep, his young body exhausted from the day's events. The last thing that crossed his mind was that he didn't regret coming in late a single bit. After all, what might have happened to him had he not passed by her house, late from his daily routine?
Who can say! Who indeed!