Chapter 2 - A World of Magic

Monday did not come fast enough. On the night before Harry barely slept due to his anxiety. It was impossible to not get lost in imagining how the magical world was. He was already awaken when the sun rose. The cupboard was open - his relatives had not locked him in since the witch had come to their house - but he stayed inside.

Did wizards have ways to do the cleaning quickly? It certainly would help Harry with his chores. Could they use magic to open doors? It would come in hand if his relatives locked him inside his cupboard - It was all good now, but he doubted that they wouldn't lock him as a punishment again.

McGonagall had also said that he had some money. He would need to ask her about that. Which brought him back to the subject of his parents. He felt happy knowing that they weren't dead, but there were many questions that he had forgotten to ask in the moment. The most important one was related to the time sentence that his parents had gotten, and if he was allowed to visit them. He wanted to meet them almost as much as he wanted to go to Hogwarts.

The door of the cupboard was opened suddenly, and Harry jumped. He had not noticed that it was already time to get up. Aunt Petunia threw a bag inside. "Here, boy."

"What is this?" Harry asked, looking at the bag. He peeked inside and saw that there were clothes. He took them out of the bag, and noticed that they still had the tags. New clothes. Harry couldn't remember for sure when was the last time that he got new clothes. He'd been six, or maybe five. He looked at his aunt, not knowing what to say. He wasn't going to thank her for anything after learning that she had lied for him about his parents.

"I won't have those people saying that you aren't decently clothed," Aunt Petunia said.

Two pairs of trousers, a shirt and three t-shirts. They were nice clothes, probably not the cheapest ones that his aunt could have bought. He would have appreciated the gesture much more if it were before…

"Get dressed. There is breakfast for you on the kitchen table."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. He never ate at the table, these days, his food was usually left in front of his cupboard's door.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been arguing a lot since McGonagall had come to their house. Harry had heard bits of their discussions. Aunt Petunia wanted to move him to one of the bedrooms, and had said something about "it will not pass on to Dudley, Vernon! I lived with my sister for years and turned out just fine, didn't I?"

If asked, Harry would say that the cupboard wasn't the worst thing in the world. He knew that other children were not kept in cupboards - he'd learned that from the kids at school - but the worst was the way his relatives always made sure to make him know that they thought he was less than Dudley. As time passed, he was just glad to have the cupboard as a refuge, except when he was locked inside. The idea that they might forget him inside the cupboard, or that there could a fire while he was locked was, in several occasions, enough to rob him any sleep. So, if they wanted to give him a room, Harry wouldn't refuse it. Or the clothes.

Harry ate breakfast, wondering where Dudley and Uncle Vernon were. He wouldn't ask Aunt Petunia about that. Their absence was a blessing. It was obvious that his aunt didn't like him, but at least she treated him with some little respect, unlike her husband. Maybe it was only so that the neighbours wouldn't talk - or whatever it was that she cared about. Either way, Harry didn't care about it.

One thought crossed Harry's mind while he ate. Maybe his uncle was trying to find a way to stop him from going to Hogwarts. It wouldn't be impossible that he would try to kill anything nice that the boy could have. But at least the school - magical and all - was a way to get rid of Harry, right? And what else could the man want?

True to her word, McGonagall knocked on the door precisely on time.

"You can answer that," his aunt said and climbed up the stairs. It was as if she thought that McGonagall had some contagious disease.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," the witch said when he opened the door.

"Good morning," Harry replied. "I am ready to go."

McGonagall looked inside the house. "Is your aunt home?"

"Yeah… she is resting, I think. I already told her that I was ready to go."

Aunt Petunia would have chastised him for not offering something to a guest, if said guest was anyone else. Harry figured that his aunt would probably throw away anything that McGonagall used - the idea almost tempted him to actually offer something.

"Then let's go, Mr. Potter. There is a lot to do today."

"Ok. I'll just get my bag."

"Wrong way, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said.

"We are not going to take the train?" Harry asked.

"No. We will use Apparition, a magical way of transport. It will be somewhat unpleasant, and may cause you sickness, so I will ask you to drink this," she said and gave Harry a vial containing a purple liquid.

"Er… I really don't want to drink this," he replied, remembering the stuff he'd seen on the TV about people who were kidnapped or killed after having laced drinks. Just because she was witch, it didn't mean that she wouldn't harm him. Maybe she would put him to sleep and then take out his organs for a potion - he'd seen that idea in a TV show some years ago… Maybe witches did use human parts on potions and spells and… whatever it was that they did and called magical.

McGonagall raised one eyebrow, but did not say anything. It was better that she didn't try to convince him, because he wouldn't do that. Ever. Magic or not, he still didn't know the woman.

"Behind that building," McGonagall said, pointing to a store of electronic accessories, "there is an isolated place that we can use to apparate."

'Isolated place' did not bode well, but the boy continued to walk beside her, deciding that he would need to trust her at least a bit if he wanted her help. When they got to the place, McGonagall, told Harry to hold her hand, and to brace himself.

Harry gave his hand, and after a few seconds there was the oddest and worst sensation he'd ever felt. He thought that being inside a laundry machine while it was on was similar to that. He felt nauseous, and had to take several deep breaths to stop the imminent need to vomit.

"Argh!" he muttered. "That was horrible!" he said louder.

"I offered a potion, Mr. Potter. It would have softened this reaction. Are you going to be sick?"

He shook his head. Now he was getting better, even though his stomach still felt a little like it had been squeezed. McGonagall did not seem affected by the apparition, Harry noticed, and now he could also pay attention to where they were. It looked like the scenario of a cheap fantasy movie, where people dressed like in the middle ages.

"Will it always be like this?" he asked. It was still a good way to travel, he supposed, but in his next time he would be taking something to avoid that. After all, it seemed less and less likely that McGonagall would poison him.

"It gets better after a few weeks of practice. But you will not be allowed to apparate independently until you are seventeen, so you don't need to worry about it for some time. Now come, we have a lot to do."

Harry followed McGonagall, and the first place they went was the bank, Gringotts. After that, they bought his books and potions supplies. The teacher used what she called a shrinking charm on everything, put it in a bag and gave it to the boy.

"Now I think that we should buy your wand," McGonagall said after they left the apothecary.

Harry nodded quickly. Potions supplies were ok, and the books were interesting, but he couldn't wait to put have a wand and be able - theoretically - to do something magical.

"Another first year, Professor?" the man who was behind the balcony asked when they entered the wand store.

"Ollivander", McGonagall greeted. "This is Mr. Potter."

Ollivander nodded, and looked at Harry.

"I remember every wand I sell, Mr. Potter. 10¼ inches and made of willow… that was the wand of one Ms. Evans - later Mrs. Potter, of course. A strong wand for Charms - and if I recall, that wand's potential was not wasted. Misapplied, perhaps. And your father's, mahogany and pliable. Excellent for Transfiguration."

Harry smiled. That made everything more real. Of course his parents were more than what Aunt Petunia had said. They were powerful. He bet that his aunt was jealous of her sister!

After a few seconds, Ollivander opened a box and took a wand.

"Here," he said. "Ten inches, blackwood and dragon heartstring. Try it."

Harry looked at McGonagall, who nodded, encouraging.

"What do I do?" He asked Ollivander.

"Just hold it, and we will know if the wand has chosen you."

The boy nodded and reached the wand hesitantly. What would happen of a wand "chose" him? That sounded like something a hippie girl had told Aunt Petunia once about crystals or something like that. Harry held the wand for some seconds, but nothing happened. What was supposed to happen, anyway? Like the thing that an old lady from church said she felt when she was talking to God?

"Did it chose me?" he asked.

"Not this one," Ollivander muttered, took the wand from Harry's hand, and opened another box. "Try this. Eleven and a half inches, hawthorn and unicorn hair."

Harry repeated the process, but still nothing happened.

"Hmmm…" the man muttered. "Nine inches, holly and unicorn hair," he said, offering Harry yet another one.

"What is supposed to happen?" Harry asked, when again nothing happened.

"You will know that the wand is right, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said. Harry gave him back the wand. "And there will be a sign. There always is, when a wand chooses a wizard. Try this one. Ten inches, silver lime and dragon heartstring."

When Harry held the wand, he felt something different, and a few sparks of light appeared. Boxes in the shelves trembled, and a few even fell to the floor.

"Is this it?" Harry asked.

"Not quite yet, Mr. Potter. Try this one now. Eleven inches, ebony and dragon heartstring."

Harry eyed the wand curiously, wandering if he too would be able to tell anything about it 'being the right one'. As he held the wand, he knew that this was the right one. For a brief moment, he felt warm inside, and in that second it was as if he could do anything. A soft light illuminated the room, before it was gone.

"I told you, Mr. Potter." Ollivander said.

"Seven galleons?" Minerva asked.

"Of course, professor."

The boy paid Ollivander, and they left the store/ Harry felt complete, as if he'd always missing a piece that had only now been found. Any lingering doubts that magic was a lie were gone from his mind. Unless he was crazy. For the moment, though, he decided that it didn't matter if he'd lost his mind. He held the wand and waved, pretending he was using magical spells.

"Now we only need to buy your robes, Mr. Potter. We can go to Madam Malkins… Mr Potter! Stop this now!"

"But I'm just…"

"You cannot perform magic outside of school while you are an underaged wizard. You don't even know how to do it, and it is dangerous to wave a wand like that."

Harry stopped the movements he was doing instantly, not wanting to give McGonagall any ideas about making him give up the wand - doing it even for a second seemed to provoke an emptiness in his mind. Besides, the witch's call served to remind Harry of a question he needed to ask.

"Are you sure that wizards can only do magic after they go to school? I mean… there was some stuff that happened."

McGonagall stopped walking and looked at Harry directly. "What kind of stuff?"

"Well… there was this day when Aunt Petunia cut my hair - and I hated it. I didn't do anything, I swear, but in the next morning my hair had grown back."

The witch raised her eyebrows. "That is not uncommon. It is called accidental magic. Did something else happen?"

"I… teleported… you know. I was being chased, and then suddenly I wasn't. I was on the roof. Actually, for all I know I could have flied. I don't remember it well."

"Sometimes, when a child is growing up, situations like these happen. There is nothing to worry about," she paused and then gave him a stern look. "Just to make it clear, Mr. Potter, you are not allowed to perform magic anywhere outside of Hogwarts. And there are means for the Ministry of Magic detect if that happens. Use of magic, except in the case of self defense, warrants expulsion from Hogwarts."

Harry didn't think that made sense. Children learned magic but could only act as wizards in a limited period? That probably made them learn it slower than it would be possible if they were allowed to use it more. Perhaps all the school thing wasn't as interesting as he'd thought at first. Still, he wanted to have that, and learn everything he could about magic, and about his parents.

"Hmm… Mrs. McGonagall, you said that my parents are in prison. Can I visit them?"

The witch averted her eyes before replying. "No. Azkaban - it's the prison where they are - is no place for a child. Nobody visits the prisoners." Swallowing, Harry looked up, wishing that the witch would elaborate on that. But she left at that, and told him that they needed to hurry to finish everything in the next hour - and they still needed to buy his clothes. From then on, McGonagall started to talk about Hogwarts and what he should expect of the school, and Harry understood that when adults didn't want to talk about something, there was no way to make them.

M**-**-**-**M

McGonagall brought Harry back home. This time, he accepted the purple liquid - a potion, the witch had said. It tasted like some disgusting mix of stuff - he swore he could taste liver and mint in it - but it truly helped with the apparition, and avoided the intense nausea, but Harry still felt as though his body had been compressed and decompressed quickly.

The witch floated the trunk with Harry's things to his bedroom, and the boy thanked God that his relatives weren't home. Imagine if Uncle Vernon saw that!

"Do not forget, Mr. Potter. Platform 9 ¾," McGonagall said, and gave Harry a train ticket.

"I won't. Thank you, Mrs. McGonagall," Harry said, even though he still wondered how he would convince his relatives to drive him to the station. But that was no matter, he would go walking, if needed.

"You're welcome. I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled. McGonagall seemed to be a nice person, and she seemed to know her business, it would be cool to have her as a teacher.

Once McGonagall left, Harry opened the trunk and pulled out his books. He had a lot of reading about magic to do.