As I went over the chapter again, I realized that this might be a good place to remind you that this story is M-rated for a reason… ^^'
On another note, I have long since realized that proofreading your own work must be among the most boring things in the world, so I apologize beforehand if I have missed any errors. I have convinced myself that I found few errors when correcting the chapter because I made fewer errors, and not because I've gotten worse at proofreading… O,o
Little Whinging was a calm, quiet residential area where identical brick houses lined the streets, surrounded by their hedges of garden walls with green, carefully mowed lawns. It was a sleepy place, where wives gossiped and husbands washed their cars, where nothing really happened. The lack of activity had driven many excitement-seeking youths to flee to central London to escape the tranquility. Harry, however, did not mind the lack of excitement – if fact, he cherished it, as it granted him the opportunity to relax during the summer holidays. No matter how safe his position was at 'Brutus, it was still not a place where you could relax and let your guard down, so Harry always looked forward to returning to the calm of Privet Drive nr. 4, if not the other residents.
The only problem plaguing the streets of Little Whinging was Dudley's gang of spoiled kids with too much free time and too little brains who enjoyed bullying others in order to make themselves feel better. For years, Harry had been the target of their bullying as they had spent many hours Harry hunting, but when Harry had returned from 'Brutus one summer, aged 13, things had changed drastically. That wasn't the only thing that had changed during that summer; Vernon and Petunia had changed the way they treated Harry, as well, and he had been given Dudley's second bedroom once he'd made clear that he would no longer live in the cupboard under the stairs. It really should not have come as a surprise to them that Harry would change and consequentially bring changes to their home – they were the ones who'd placed him at 'Brutus, after all, incorrectly assuming that the institute would beat Harry into pliant normality.
Their mistake, really.
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched upwards in remembrance as he took a drag of his cigarette, his back against the wall as he sat on the grass, the open kitchen doors just to his side, the murmur of the TV audible from the inside. The hot summer sun was beating down on Little Whinging, so Harry had taken cover in the shadows behind the house, his wife beater clinging to his chest and sweat prickling on his forehead. School had let out about two months ago, so the summer holidays were in full swing. He'd turned 16 a week ago, but the occasion hadn't been celebrated – he doubted the Dursleys even remembered when his birthday was.
Everything was as usual, just the way summers at Privet Drive tended to be. Everything was normal, so normal it seemed unreal that some old woman would have come to 'Brutus to tell him about magic. Had it really happened, or had it only been part of some drug-induced dream caused by the joint he smoked later the same day? Harry snorted and shook his head, inhaling more of the poisonous smoke. Magic? How ridiculous – but then again, if not magic, then how did you explain what he was able to do?
He blew out a thin stream of smoke as he heard the doorbell sound from inside the house and the heavy steps of his uncle as the man rose from the couch to get the door. Leaning his head back against the bricks, he lazily watched the blue shy and the fluffy, white clouds gliding past, teasingly avoiding the sun. Damn, it was hot. The cigarette finished, he stomped it out in the dirt and got up to go over to the garden shed in the corner of the lawn where there was a tap connected to a hose to water the flowerbeds with. Deciding to put it to good use, Harry turned the hose towards himself and turned the tap, cool water spraying his face. Raising the hose, he poured water over himself, flattening his black hair to his skull as water ran in rivulets down his body, plastering the wife beater to his torso.
"Harry!" Vernon shouted from inside the house, making Harry frown. Who could it be at the door that wished to see him?
"At the back!" he shouted back, unwilling to relinquish the newfound source of defense against the summer heat. He was curious, however – whoever would come visit him?
"Hey, P!"
The shout made Harry freeze before he slowly turned around, his hand going out to turn off the water even as his gaze was locked onto the man coming towards him, tall with a strong built and broad shoulders, his way of moving expressing his confidence.
"What are you doing here, Stan?" Harry asked, too surprised to hold back his initial reaction.
"Ain't ya' happy to see me, Pea?" Stan answered, obviously thinking that he would be.
"I just… wasn't expecting you…" Harry replied slowly, well aware that the truth would not sit well with the man. In truth, Harry had expected to never see Stan again when the man left 'Brutus about a year ago, and he hadn't missed him. "It's been a year, Stan."
"I know, Pea. I'll make up for it – promise," Stan said with a grin, one hand reaching out to grab Harry's bicep and pull him closer while the other hand grabbed his black hair to pull his head back, eager lips sealing over Harry's. It was quick, sloppy and completely lacking in romance, just like it had always been.
"Where's your room?" Stan asked against his lips, finally pulling back for air.
Harry hesitated for only a moment, completely disinterested in getting fucked by the other again but too curious as to why he'd come here, to Little Whinging, to decline. It wasn't as if Stan was visiting him only for the sex, for he was sure to be able to get a woman easily, handsome as he was and with a knack for making a place for himself wherever he went. No, there had to be another reason for his visit, and Harry wanted to know what that was.
Instead of answering, he nodded and led the way back to the house, Stan's hand grabbing his ass as they went through the kitchen towards the stairs. Dudley stood in the doorway to the living room, looking every bit the fat little pig he was as the TV babbled behind him. His eyes were wide as he stared at Stan, full of admiration as he no doubt though he saw someone worthy of respect, an all too common reaction that people tended to have when first introduced to Stan. It was for that very reason that Harry had identified Stan as someone it would be beneficial to know and had, consequentially, given himself to him at the age of 13 in exchange for protection. As time had gone by, Harry had climbed the ranks from being Stan's little whore to being his right hand man, and had discovered that there was little behind the surface and that the older man lived on his exterior alone, so their agreement had never grown to become more than a mutually beneficial agreement, which was why Harry was so confounded as to why Stan had suddenly shown up again.
Leaving Dudley behind, they went up the stairs and into the smallest bedroom of the house, the room bare and impersonal with only a rickety desk, a closet where one door could not be closed fully and a bed with a thin, lumpy mattress. Still, it was Harry's room, a room he didn't have to share with anyone where he didn't have to worry about having his things stolen if he left them behind.
The door clicked shut behind them and Harry turned around to ask Stan why he was there, but the man grabbed him by his shoulders, turned him around and pushed him up against the door before he could voice his question, a mouth over his efficiently silencing him. When Stan pressed his muscular body against Harry's slighter frame, the reason for his hurry became apparent.
"Oh, Pea, you make me so horny," Stan mumbled, his lips moving to Harry's neck as the teen obediently turned his head to the side to grant better access. "I can't believe you, just standin' there, all wet like that. Shit, I really need to fuck you right now."
With that, he fumbled the button of Harry's loose jeans open and showed his hand down his pants, seeking out and grabbing Harry's disinterested member.
"Shit, Stan, just-" Harry protested but was cut short by a quick inhalation when Stan started stroking him with quick, hard motions to get a response. Harry tensed his jaw to keep any sounds from escaping and let his head fall back against the door as he felt himself hardening, his body long since accustomed to Stan's treatment. His breathing quickened and is chest heaved as Stan smirked against his neck.
"You're so good to me, Pea, so fucking sexy. Just wanna take you in the ass until you scream."
Harry scowled halfheartedly at him, but his frown deepened when he heard the creak of the stairs and muffled steps approaching his bedroom door, the very same door he was now pressed against. He grabbed Stan's wrist to still his hand and put his other hand over his mouth to silence him as he listened. He could not, however, hear the steps walk away, and after a while, a floorboard just outside the door groaned. Making a qualified guess, he turned his face to the door.
"You ain't gonna be able to join on that side of the door, Dudley," he said loudly, making sure that his voice would carry.
Sure enough, a startled, pig-like squeak sounded from the other side of the door, followed by heavy steps thumping down the stairs. Stan laughed and removed Harry's hand from his mouth, his hand continuing its ministrations on Harry's growing need.
"Imagine his face if he saw how sexy you look when you come," Stan chuckled, his free hand pulling down the zipper.
"Fuck, that's just gross," Harry complained and made a face as Stan's free hand wandered around him to his backside to dip into his jeans and boxers. Two dry fingers were pushed into his ass, and Harry hissed at the pain, his back aching off the door as he instinctively tried to move away from the invading digits.
"Shit, Stan, slow down!" he exclaimed. "I haven't done this shit since you fucking left."
"Agh, so tight, did you wait for me to come back to take you, Pea?"
The third finger was soon added and Harry hissed in pain again, realizing that Stan had no intention of waiting until Harry was actually ready. Just as expected, the fingers withdrew soon thereafter, and Stan pulled down Harry's jeans with one hand while the other unzipped his own jeans, seemingly intent on taking Harry against the door.
"Fuck no!" Harry disagreed angrily. "At least do it on the fucking bed!"
Stan groused a bit, as if inconvenienced by Harry's request, but then he pushed the teen onto the bed, face in the pillow and ass in the air, hands grabbing his hips. The fuck was quick and, to Harry, completely without enjoyment, grunts escaping him with Stan's every forceful thrust. When he was done, he collapsed onto Harry, knocking the air out of his lungs with his heavy weight and uncaring for Harry's discomfort as he stayed inside of him.
Nothing had changed.
"God, I've missed this," Stan sighed contentedly, his warm breath washing over Harry's sweaty neck.
Harry didn't answer – he saw no reason to tell the other that he didn't agree. He did, however, want to know why he'd just put up with acting as the good little whore again.
"I doubt you missed it enough to come here only to get to fuck me again," he intoned, letting the question remain unvoiced.
"You'd just know, Pea. Women are such a fucking bother," Stan answered, confirming Harry's earlier suspicion and, irrationally, making him feel used even though he'd known all along that there was nothing to it. In spite of his noncommittal answer, Stan did roll off and slipped out of Harry, making him wince in discomfort.
"I'm a man now, Pea," Stan stated as he sat up and took off his t-shirt to bare his back and show the tattoo of a black, poised snake bearing its venomous fangs. "I joined the Black Vipers, and now I've got my own place and a car."
Harry watched him silently, passively, while quietly wondering if Stan had earned so much money he could afford it or if theft and illegal means played into his success. He strongly suspected that the latter applied in this case.
"And when you're done with 'Brutus, you're gonna join me," Stan continued, making it sound like a statement, obviously taking Harry's agreement for granted.
Green eyes narrowed as Harry frowned. The Vipers was the biggest gang around, to a large extent consisting of young men wanting to fight and seeking to make a name for themselves. For most guys at 'Brutus, becoming a Viper was the most appealing future available as there weren't many opportunities for youths with their kind of background – 'Brutus didn't exactly mold them into law-abiding citizens aiming to contribute to society. A little more than two months ago, Harry, too, would have agreed that joining the Vipers was his best shot, but now he wasn't too sure. The old woman had presented him with another option, an option he still wasn't fully informed of and knew very little about, but his unwillingness to become another anonymous drugged up body in the ditch made him think that even the unknown option was better than that of joining the Vipers. Not to mention the fact that Stan was the one to invite him, which meant that he would have to return to being Stan's little bitch at least for a time should he join, and that was more than enough to assure him that becoming a Viper was not an option.
"No."
The word was spoken calmly, but it held all the strength and determination a monosyllable could possibly hold. Stan stared at him, muddy brown eyes showing anger and disbelief as if he was unable to understand that someone who was supposed to be his could defy him. He threw him shirt to the ground with an aggressive motion supposed to show his strength, but Harry remained undeterred as the considerably bigger man advanced on him.
"The fuck do you think you're gonna do with your life, huh?" Stan growled and grabbed Harry's shoulder in a bruising grip. "You think you're fucking special or something?!"
"Oh, I am – and you know it!" Harry answered, his magic building behind him as he grew angry.
"Quit that freakish shit, you can't hurt me with it anyway! You need me to protect you – that's why I'm the one fucking you and not the other way around!"
"Get out," Harry snarled, his whole frame shaking with rage.
"Yeah, as if," Stan answered mockingly. "I'm'a fuck you again just to show you your place, you little bitch."
Harry's magic whipped out and slapped Stan's hand off of Harry's shoulder, making him stumble back in shock. Harry got up from the bed, uncaring of the fact that he was pretty much naked, and followed him for each step he took backwards, his magic spreading out behind him, heavy, potent and dangerous.
"Get out and don't ever come back. If I see you again, I'm'a fucking kill you," Harry threatened, and in that moment, he truly meant every word of it, his magic ready to do his bidding should he wish.
Stan, now trembling with fear, face pale and eyes wide, snatched his shirt from the floor and made a mad dash for the door which he threw open, his rushed steps thumping down the stairs and the door slamming open as he left. Once Harry heard the growl of an engine start up followed by the screech of tires, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists and he concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths. His magic was slowly dissipating behind him, seeping into his body as it disappeared without a trace. It left him feeling weary, his shoulders slumping as he slunk out of his room and into the bathroom next door. Even after several years, he felt dirty and used and craved a shower in an attempt to clean himself, even though he'd learnt long ago that the water could never cleanse him and that the feeling of being dirty was something he simply had to accept.
As he turned the water on hot, he thought that the whole thing with Hogwarts had better be real.
With a crack, Professor Minerva McGonagall appeared in a shadowed, narrow alleyway between a couple of houses, her sharp eyes moving to orient herself before she exited the alley. A quick glance at the road signs revealed that she was, indeed, at Wisteria Walk, her modest heels clicking against the asphalt as she strode to a crossroads and turned down Privet Drive. Soon, she stood facing number 4, a brick building of two floors looking much like every other house in the area, with a green lawn and a driveway where a recently washed car was parked. Minerva had never held anything against muggles, but there was something about the house that was just so… muggle, for lack of a better word.
Walking up to the door, she rapped the dark painted hardwood while she tried to forget all the negative impressions she had gained of the Dursley family all those years ago when they had left Harry in the care of the muggles. They could have changed, after all. 15 years had passed since she had last seen the Dursleys, and a lot could change in that time. Then again, the fact that Harry had been placed at St. Brutus Institute was not speaking in their favour.
Before she could successfully convince herself that she should hold no prejudice against the family living in the house, the door was opened to reveal a man too well-fed for his own good, his pudgy face red and his knees likely to give in under his enormous weight. Looking like he did could simply not be healthy.
"Yes?" he asked bluntly, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her guardedly, her prim outfit no doubt making her look like some kind of official.
"Mr. Dursley, I presume? My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I wonder if Harry Potter is home?" she asked, deliberately not mentioning magic or why she wished to speak to Harry.
"Harry? What's the boy done now?" Mr. Dursley asked rather rudely, his face reddening further as he frowned.
"Oh, no, he hasn't done anything whatsoever," Minerva quickly assured, wondering about the history shared between Harry and his uncle that caused the man to jump to such a conclusion. "I am here in regards to his continued education. Now, where is young Mr. Potter?"
Small, pale eyes peered out at her shrewdly from deep within his meaty face, and then he turned his head towards the stairs and bellowed: "HARRY!"
Minerva barely refrained from filching back at the shout, her lips thinning disapprovingly as she abandoned all hope of ever finding Mr. Durlsey to be pleasant.
A door opened at the top of the stairs and Harry stepped out onto the landing, wearing worn jeans that hung inappropriately low on his hips and a white, loose-fitting tank top, his mess of black hair obviously not familiar with anything even similar to a brush or comb. Even from her position at the foot of the stairs, Minerva could smell the cigarette smoke on him. The boy really needed to clean up his appearance a bit, but he would surely look handsome in Hogwarts robes. As soon as his green gaze fell on Minerva, his eyes widened in surprise before relief washed over his features, a most unexpected reaction.
"Good day, Mr. Potter," Minerva greeted him as he descended the stairs. "Did I not inform you that a representative from the school would be sent to help you purchase your school supplies?"
"What school supplies?" Mr. Dursley demanded before Harry could answer her question, and Minerva turned to the muggle with a raised brow and a disapproving gaze.
"Mr. Potter will, as of this autumn, be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mr. Dursley. I thought your nephew would have enlightened you of this fact?"
Harry snorted derisively in answer while Mr. Dursley's face attained an unhealthily dark hue of red. His jaw worked furiously as he chewed uselessly, seemingly unable to form coherent utterances.
"Stuff it, Vernon," Harry said coldly before the man could gather himself enough to actually say something. Minerva's eyes widened slightly in disbelief as she had never heard a youth speak to his guarding in such a disrespectful way. "You'll get rid of me, so you've got nothing to complain about."
"I won't be paying for some freakish, good-for-nothing nonsense!" Mr. Dursley ground out furiously.
"No, you won't," Harry agreed, anger colouring his voice.
Minerva watched in surprise as Mr. Dursley unexpectedly flinched back, his face paling as fear flickered in his eyes. Harry, meanwhile, closed his eyes and clenched his fists as he took deep, calming breaths, apparently attempting to reign in his temper. When he opened his eyes again and turned to Minerva, the anger was gone, replaced by guarded distrust.
"We goin', or what?"
"Yes, of course," Minerva replied smoothly, and Harry stepped past her to open the door and leave the house, the elderly woman following him as they walked down the street.
"Where to?"
"To Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter. Please do hold on," Minerva instructed and extended her arm to Harry to take, which the teen reluctantly did. She made sure that there was no one around to see them and gave him a reassuring smile that was returned with suspicion, then she twirled in place and they disappeared from the warm muggle street with a crack.
They reappeared in the shabby, dim interior of the Leaky Cauldron, a few patrons turning around to see who had arrived. Harry stumbled unsteadily by her side, unbalanced and winded after the apparition, his green gaze flickering around the bar, eyes wide in shock. Minerva kindly reached out to steady him with a hand on his shoulder, making him whirl around to stare at her accusingly.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded angrily.
"I would appreciate it if you refrained from swearing, Mr. Potter," she said sternly, and did not answer until she had gained a miniscule nod from the teen. "That was side-along apparition, a magical means of instant transportation." Harry stared at her for a moment, seemingly having a hard time grasping this new information. Then he shook his head dismissively and said with feeling: "Whatever, just don't ever do it again."
Minerva smiled, silently acknowledging that it might have been a good idea to warn the youth beforehand while wondering if he would find the Night Buss preferable. Compared to muggle transportation, the magical kind could be quite uncomfortable, after all.
"Shall we?" she suggested, not leaving much room for question as she led the way through the bar, greeting Tom on the way out before exiting into the cramped backyard.
The elderly woman glanced over her shoulder at the teen, his green eyes narrowed as his gaze flickered suspiciously about the confined space. The bar had not brought much reaction from him, something that could be explained by his shock of experiencing apparition for the first time, and she wondered how he would react to Diagon Alley. Through the years, the Deputy Headmistress had aided a few muggleborns and orphans with their first entrance into the magical world, and she had to admit that she found their expressions of awe and wonder quite enjoyable to watch. Harry, however, was not an eleven-year-old, so she was quietly wondering how his age would affect his reaction.
Raising her wand to tap the brick wall, she paused as she remembered that she was still dressed as a muggle, and with a swipe of her wand, she transfigured the strict clothes into her usual robes of black, green and tartan designs, the pointed hat coming to rest on her head as she noted the widening of Harry's eyes. She smiled as she tapped the bricks in a well-known sequence and watched Harry's shifting expression as the bricks moved aside to reveal the bustling street of Diagon Alley.
At first, Harry's green eyes widened in surprise at the abundance of colours and sounds, a customary reaction seeing as the sight of the twisting, cobbled street filled with people dressed in wizarding robes could be quite overwhelming for one who had never seen it before. The exhilarated smile that often followed never came however, as the teen stood paralyzed, his eyes narrowing as his gaze darted around, taking in the crowd and the shops with a guarded expression. Perhaps large crowds did not agree with him?
"Come along, Mr. Potter," Minerva urged him gently, hoping that he would grow to like to famous alley once the shock had passed. As she walked through the brick arch, he seemed to hesitate before following her, and he made sure to stay close to her as they walked through the mass of people, his eyes darting around and his slight frame flinching away as soon as someone came too close for his liking. His distrustful gaze and scowling countenance seemed to suspect every person they walked by of being a thief and criminal who would cause him bodily harm, and his open distrustfulness made her grow weary. How ever would he react to the liveliness of the Great Hall during meals once he was at Hogwarts?
"There you have Flourish and Blotts, the book store," she pointed out, trying to distract him with useful information. "We have yet to settle a curriculum for you, but once we have done so, you will most likely purchase your course books there. In the building over there, you can see the apothecary where you will purchase your potions ingredients in the future, but as is the case with the books, we will not buy anything there today – unless you are interested in visiting the shop for personal reasons?"
She did not truly expect the guarded teen to reply as he did not seem to listen, but he was quick to shake his head. She nodded in acceptance to his wordless answer and led him to Gringotts, his eyes widening once more when he noticed the white marble building towering over them, imposing as it dwarfed all the other buildings of the alley. Perhaps the cool interior of the bank would agree more with him seeing as it was often sparsely populated? She could not imagine that he would fit in, however, what with his distinctly muggle clothing and unruly appearance. Hopefully, he would find the ride down to the vault enjoyable, though, as muggleborns tended to do.
"Gringotts Bank, Mr. Potter. Our first stop for the day," she informed him as they mounted the steep stairs to the bronze doors guarded by goblins.
She smiled, relieved that some of the curiosity of youth seemed to remain in the teen when she noticed that his gaze lingered on the goblins, his expression startled and wondering.
"They are goblins," she informed him quietly as they stepped into the great hall lined by tellers behind high counters. "Always be courteous to goblins, Mr. Potter."
His gaze soon moved to the little heaps of coins and gems that some of the goblins were counting, and she saw a glint in his eyes that was not very promising for his future. She could not blame him, however, and felt her stern expression soften. He had obviously not grown up with much, as his clothes were testament of, but it warmed her heart to know that at least that hardship was soon to be a thing of the past.
"Good day, Mr. Griphook," she greeted one of the tellers politely, his shrewd look and unpleasant sneer to be expected and long since unable to affect her in any way. "Mr. Potter here would like to access his vault."
"And does Mr. Potter have his key?" the goblin asked, its gaze turning to Harry with a greedy glint in his gaze, Mr. Griphook no doubt realizing the benefits of opening and activating the vault again after many years of dormant inactivity.
She produced the small, golden key from her pocket and gave it to the goblin, catching Harry's suspicious look from the corner of her eye as the teen no doubt wondered why she had the key to a vault that rightfully belonged to him. When they left, she would made sure that he had the key and understood that she had no interest in the admittedly considerable monetary capital that was known to reside in the Potter vault.
The trip down to the vault was just as bad as it had always been, and Minerva could not refrain from gripping the edge of the cart as her old heart beat far too wildly for her advanced age. When she saw that Harry had a smile on his face and a lively spark in his eyes, his messy hair wind-swept, she could not find it in herself to complain. The boy needed some fun as he seemed to have been largely depraved of it during his previous years, something that would most likely change when he came to Hogwarts. She would keep an eye on him, as was only prudent seeing as he was likely to be sorted into her house – in spite of his distrustful behavior, there was little doubt in her mind that there was a brave, strong Gryffindor under his guardedness.
"Vault 687, the Potter Vault," Griphook announced as he unlocked and opened the massive door, yellow light from his lantern shining into the dark space and reflecting back from the metallic surfaces of mountains of coins, gold, silver and bronze winking back, glimmering and shining before Harry's wide eyes and stunned expression. Minerva could only imagine what was moving in his head at that moment, and silently hoped that the money would not corrupt the boy.
"This is what your parents left behind for you, Mr. Potter," Minerva said, seemingly snapping him out of a trance.
She expected him to react to the mention of his parents, perhaps ask her about them or show some kind of emotional reaction, but just as had been the case when she had met him at St. Brutus, no reaction was given. Instead, she watched quietly from beside Griphook as he stepped into the vault and squatted down to simply stared for a moment, disbelief marrying his features as if he was unwilling to believe what his eyes were seeing. Then, to her surprise, he turned to look at her, his green gaze meeting her own, doubting and questioning. She wasn't sure what he was searching for but tried to show him how sincere she was in her care for him, and he seemed to find what he had wanted for he soon turned back to the money. He reached out towards the nearest pile of coins and scooped up a handful, weighting them in his hand before bringing them up to his face for closer inspection.
"What are these?" he asked, distrust and suspicion immediately lacing his voice when he did not recognize the currency.
"New to the magical world, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Griphook asked from her side, and Minerva pinched her lips in disapproval at the slight mockery behind the words. Harry, too, seemed to have picked up on it, for he turned towards the goblin with a heated glare.
"This is the wizarding currency, Mr. Potter," she cut in, intending to prevent an argument that the boy would no doubt lose and might come to regret in the future as goblins were known to be rancorous once slighted. "The gold ones are Galleons, the silver ones Sickles and the bronze Knuts. There are 17 Sickles to a Galleon and 29 Knuts make up a Sickle."
"And how much is it in pounds?" Harry immediately asked, his gaze returning to the coins before him as Minerva quietly complimented him on his quick thinking.
"1 Galleon equals about 5 British pounds," Mr. Griphook answered expertly.
The teen stared at the mountain of gold before him, his gaze disbelieving but his face cautiously hopeful when he realized how much money there actually was in the vault.
"A real shame, it is, that all these riches of the Potters' have been untouched for so long," Mr. Griphook said and Harry turned to him sharply while Minerva frowned at the goblin's obvious greed.
"Yeah, well, I'm the only one who gets to touch them," Harry snapped in answer, protective of his sudden wealth.
He turned back to the money again, frowned and hesitated for a moment before turning to Minerva in question.
"How much will I need?" he asked, and Minerva smiled understandingly.
She advised him on a sum that would cover the day's expanses and suggested that he take an additional, smaller sum to convert into muggle currency, should he need anything. She did not mention his clothes, but he seemed to understand all the same, and when they left, the teen had the advised money in one pocket and the vault key in the other, his hands showed down in his pockets as if to assure himself that the things were still there and had not been taken from him.
Their next stop was Ollivanders, and Harry looked around the cluttered, dim shop curiously, a certain eagerness to his expression when he noted that Mr. Ollivander was not to be seen. Minderva could only hope that the boy was not an habitual thief and while she did not doubt that his harsh upbringing had caused him to break the law, she expected such behavior to come to an end once he entered Hogwarts, especially since his inherited money meant that he no longer lacked the money needed to buy what he wanted.
"This is where we will purchase your wand, Mr. Potter," she informed him as she wondered where Ollivander was off to. Knowing the man, he was likely hiding somewhere, watching them at this very moment.
"My wand?" he asked skeptically and frowned at her. "I need one?"
"Oh yes, you do," Minerva answered. As she had grown up with magic, she was sometimes startled by some of the things that muggleborns could question, things that she herself had always taken for granted even though she knew that she should know better. She was not a complete stranger to the muggle way of living, after all, even if she had never practiced it herself. "It is your wand that channels your magic, enabling you to control it. Wandless magic is exceedingly difficult and only the most powerful and accomplished witches and wizards have been known to fully master it."
Harry's from remained, however, and he looked decidedly skeptical as if he did not believe her, but Mr. Ollivander decided to make his entrance at that moment, appearing out of the shadows of a corner and startling Harry. Minerva, who had learnt to expect the man's eccentric behavior, simply sighed inaudibly at the silly antics.
"Ah, Mr. Potter!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "I'd expected to see you some years ago, of course, but I am happy to have you all the same."
"What?" Harry asked, clearly confused.
"Good day, Mr. Ollivander," Minerva greeted the man, and he turned to her with recognition. Of course; the man never seemed to forget anything, after all.
"Professor McGonagall," he answered. "Nine and a half inches, made of fir with a core of dragon heartstring, I remember. Very suitable for transfiguration, as you have proven. It functions properly, I hope?"
"Certainly, Mr. Ollivander, but I do believe we are here for Mr. Potter's wand," she pointed out politely, seeing Harry's increasingly confused look as the poor boy could not understand a word of what they were saying.
"Oh, yes, yes of course," Ollivander mumbled, and Harry's eyes narrowed distrustingly. "Well then, which hand is your wand hand, Mr. Potter?"
"My what?"
"Your wand hand, Mr. Potter. The one in which you hold your hand, the one with which you write."
"I'm right-handed," he answered with a scowl, clearly not bearing the patience to tolerate Mr. Ollivander's queer ways.
"Good, very good. Measurements, now," Ollivander said while nodding to himself and waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the counter, a measuring tape shooting up from the countertop and zooming over to Harry where it proceeded to twirl around him, now and then taking a measurement or wrapping itself around some random part of his body while the old man went behind the counter to choose among the many boxes. Harry scowled at the tape as it measured his nose to then wrap tightly around his head, making him bat angrily at it to make it go away. Having pity on him, Minerva waved her wand at the tape to subdue it, causing it to fall harmlessly to the floor. When Harry turned to her with reluctant gratitude, she simply smiled understandingly in answer. She, too, had felt a certain dislike for the measuring tape when she had bought her wand all those years ago.
A moment later, Ollivander returned to them with his arms full of boxes, which he placed at the countertop with the vague instruction for Harry to "try them". Minerva sighed patiently. Really, could the man not be a bit more precise in his directions?
"All you need to do is take a wand and give it a swish, Mr. Potter," she explained to him, and he nodded and proceeded to do just that.
The first wand was quickly taken from his hand, however, to be replaced with another one.
"No, no, absolutely not! Another one, Mr. Potter!"
Finding a wand for Harry appeared difficult, and Minerva was surprised at how long it took. Never before had she experienced the search for the proper wand to be so time-consuming, and even though she knew the immense importance of the procedure, she could not help growing impatient. She had hoped to finish their errands before lunch, after all, so that she might treat Harry for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.
A lamp exploded and a vase of flowers caught on fire as the pile of discarded wands grew and grew, and Harry looked more and more dejected and reluctant, to the point where Minerva halfheartedly expected him to simply leave without a wand.
The professor took the opportunity to regard Harry quietly, and she had to admit that while he looked quite a bit like his parents, he was nothing like she had expected. Guarded and distrustful with a negative outlook on life, he was far from the happy youth she had thought she would find, and the thought that those muggles were to blame for it angered her. He seemed to be used to taking care of himself, never confiding in or accepting support from another, which lead her to wonder how he would interact with the student at Hogwarts, many who had enjoyed happy and comfortable upbringings. Would he be able to relate to them at all, or was he simply too different? Suddenly, she wasn't so sure that he would become one of her lions, but she would try to look out for him all the same.
"Ah! Now I've got it!" Ollivander suddenly exclaimed, startling Harry so that he nearly dropped the wand he was holding. The man hurried in behind the counter and searched among the boxes, long, thin fingers fluttering before him as he mumbled: "Yes, I am sure. This one must be it, here…"
He returned with a wand in a box, neither wand nor box looking all that different from any of the other on the counter, but nothing exploded when Harry picked up the wand and a shiver made the teen grip the handle more firmly.
"Yes, yes, definitely," Ollivander stated with an air of accomplishment. "A tricky wand, tricky indeed; tricky combination, holly and phoenix feather. Difficult to bond with due to the phoenix core, you see, and hard to win its allegiance, but perhaps that's why it fits you, hm?"
The words of insight only confirmed Minerva's earlier speculations, and Harry glared sharply at the man, his grip on the wand tightening in agitation as he was clearly upset by the man's unexplainable ability to know the strangest of things.
"Thank you for your services, Mr. Ollivander," she said. "We do have more to accomplish before lunch, however, so perhaps if Mr. Potter could pay?"
"Yes, of course," Ollivander agreed and Harry reluctantly parted with his galleons. The wand went into its box and the teen got a little brown paper bag to carry it in, and then they were out on the street again.
Minerva led the way through the crows in a brisk pace, glad that the matter was over with so that they could proceed to their next errand.
"Marianne!" Minerva greeted her old friend from their shared Hogwarts years warmly as they stepped into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the bell chiming overhead.
"Minerva! It's been long, too long," the stout seamstress answered heartedly, spreading her arms for a quick hug. "Now who is this handsome young man in need of clothes that you have brought with you?" Marianne Malkin exclaimed upon spotting Harry over Minerva's shoulder, her keen eye immediately spotting the state of the teen's clothes.
"This is young Harry," Minerva introduced, waving Harry forward as he had been standing back, eyeing them wearily. "He needs his Hogwarts uniform along with the cloak, gloves and hat."
"A student?" her friend quickly concluded and, eager for some gossip, the woman said: "I have never seen him here before, of that I am sure."
"Well, I doubt he has ever been here before," Minerva answered, skirting around the unvoiced question and nipping the discussion in the bud. "Now where do you want him?"
"Ah, on the stool over there, by the mirrors will be fine. I'm afraid Agnes will have to take care of it, though," she excused herself as she ushered Minerva and Harry towards a low stool behind a foldable screen.
Agnes proved to be a young woman in her early twenties who Minerva recognized as a previous student, and she bobbed politely to her former professor before turning to Harry, wand in one hand and measuring tape in the other which made Harry scowl. Minerva watched quietly as the young assistant took the teen's measurements, and she noted with a raised brow how Harry seemed to tense as soon as the young woman stepped close, his eyes narrowing as he followed her every move while reluctantly following her instructions to raise his arms or turn around. Minerva frowned, unsure of what might be the cause for his strange reaction. He had, admittedly, been distrustful the whole day, but this was something different. When she realized the cause, she smiled in amusement, and her guess was soon confirmed when Agnes left to gather the fabric needed and Harry's shoulders slumped in relief.
"She is a woman, you know," she could not refrain from teasing, and Harry's scowl snapped towards her as he drew his brows together. "The way you look at her made me think she was a prowling lioness or something the like."
Harry mumbled something sourly, and Minerva chuckled as the assistant returned with black, grey and white fabric in her arms, causing Harry to freeze up again. It was only understandable, Minerva decided with a kind smile, as the teen had no doubt had limited experience with women his own age. He had grown up in an all-boys school, after all, so it was only logical that he would be unsure of how to act around a young woman. Agnes was ever professional in her manner as she carried out her duty with the hard-working attitude of someone who held pride in her work, and the clothes were sewn, wrapped and packed for them before long, a paper bag with Madam Malkin's written over it testament to their visit. Anxious to leave, Harry sighed in relief as soon as they were back on the street, and Minerva smiled amusedly as she led the way.
"Would you like to buy a pet, Mr. Potter?" she asked as the Magical Menagerie came into view, and Harry gave her a confused look.
"What?"
"Students at Hogwarts are allowed to bring pets in the form of toads, cats and owls with them," she explained and gestured towards the shop, a group of younger children she recognized as Hufflepuffs awing over the puffskeins displayed in the window. "Owls are generally recommended as they can be of use by carrying mail. An animal can also be a companion of sorts. Would you like to take a look?"
She slowed their pace a bit as Harry gazed at the shop, his expression curious when it suddenly hardened and he shook his head decidedly. Minerva's brows shot up in surprise at the unexpected answer; or rather, the answer itself was not as surprising as the way he had answered, and she could but wonder what the cause was.
A quick trip to the cauldron chop for a cauldron along with required paraphernalia and a visit to Scribbulus Writing Implements for quills, ink and parchment, and then they were finally done.
Having forgotten how exhausting it would be to shop school supplies, Minerva sighed in relief as she sank into a chair at the Leaky Cauldron by a table of Harry's choice where the teen could sit close to the wall, a choice that did not surprise the old woman much after a day of observing the boy. A waitress came over to take their orders, and once again, Harry tenses at the proximity of the young woman.
"You do realize that you will have to get used to interacting with women, I hope?" Minerva pointed out once the waiter had left.
Harry simply shrugged noncommittally and picket up the knife, the cutlery twirling effortlessly between his fingers as sharp green eyes swept over the bar, regarding the other patrons watchfully.
"Are you looking forward to Hogwarts in a couple of weeks, then?" Minerva asked, not to be deterred in her attempt to strike up some easy conversation.
The teen's attention reluctantly moved to her, and he gave a reluctant nod in answer.
One of the patrons rose from his seat a few tables away, his unsteadiness and flushed face telling of his drunkenness in spite of the hour, and Minerva pinched her lips in disapproval before returning her attention to the young man before her.
"It must seem pretty exciting to learn about magic?" she prompted, but the teen only shrugged after a moment of hesitation. It appeared he was not much of a talker, the young Potter.
"Sh'loh," the drunkard slurred unintelligibly, having staggered over to their table. Minerva frowned and was about to call for Tom when the inebriated man stumbled over his own feet and tumbled into Harry's chair, a hand gripping the teen's shoulder in an attempt to steady himself. The teen moved too quickly and suddenly for Minerva to catch what he actually did, but then the chair clattered onto the floor and Harry was standing behind the man, keeping the drunkard's arm bent up behind his back. The knife he'd been playing with glinted sharply where it was poised threateningly against the man's throat, Harry's grip steady and sure, his expression hard without the slightest hint of hesitation.
The entire bar had fallen silent, every pair of eyes focused on the teen and the drunkard, shock written on the faces of the other patrons. Minerva swallowed to gather herself, her aged heart beating wildly in her chest as she realized the true extent of what St. Brutus had done to Harry Potter. She pushed back her chair and rose slowly, making sure not to startle the teen.
"Harry?" she asked softly and green eyes snapped to her. "I am quite sure the man meant no harm, so there is really no need to scare the wits out of him and the rest of us."
Harry's gaze flickered to the man, taking in the obvious signs of intoxication, and then he abruptly released him and stepped back, a dark look on his features. The man's legs gave out under him and he scrambled away, sobered by the threat on his life. The slam of the door signaled that he had left, but he bar was just as still and all attention was upon Harry, who seemed distinctly troubled by the attention, his eyes flickering about the room, continuously returning to Minerva as he licked his lips nervously. At least the boy knew that he had done something bad, Minerva reflected tiredly and sighed.
"I'm sorry for the commotion, Tom," she said, turning to the bartender who seemed to snap out of his shock upon being addressed.
"Oh, no, professor McGonagall!" he exclaimed, rounding the bar and hurrying over to them. "Please, it is I who should apologize, letting the man inconvenience you in my establishment."
He tried an apologetic smile as he raised Harry's chair.
"Return to your meals! There's nothing more here to see!" he called to the other patrons, who were slow to avert their attention, hoping for something more exciting to happen or, perhaps, hoping to find the identity of the young man. That, Minerva hoped would not happen, as she could not even imagine how people would react to the fact that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had not only been found but had also threatened the life of a grown wizard before his first day in the wizarding world was over.
Tom hurried away to see what had become of their food, and Minerva watched Harry closely as the two took their seats again, the teen breathing a bit harshly and a prickle of sweat on his forehead due to the adrenaline that must be coursing through his veins after the sudden explosion of activity. His fingers were playing with the knife again, which seemed more of a nervous habit then conscious action, and Minerva's gaze was drawn to the knife which seemed… different.
"Can I see the knife, Harry?" she asked, deciding that formalities could wait in the situation.
The fingers stilled and the teen hesitated, his gaze flickering between Minerva's face and the knife before he slowly, reluctantly, handed it over to her.
As she took the knife in wrinkled hands, she noted that it was quite different, indeed. The dull cutlery in need of sharpening had gained a pointed end and a sharp edge that would easily pierce through skin and flesh, the handle remodeled to fit better in the hand. This was most definitely not the same knife, yet must be the same because it was the knife he had had at hand.
"Would you mind telling me how this happened?" she asked, looking Harry in the eye.
The boy looked uncomfortable and it was quite clear that he did not want to tell her, but them he shrugged and, without further probing, answered: "I changed it."
"You changed it?" Minerva asked disbelievingly, and he nodded. "You transfigured it without incantation and without using your wand?"
"Yeah," he answered, and it didn't seem like he understood how truly monumental this was. No one has such control over their magic at the age of sixteen, especially not when you had no magical education whatsoever.
Minerva felt faint at the revelation, but the boy didn't seem to think that that was enough.
"I've been doing it for years."
Later that afternoon, Minerva stepped out of the fireplace and into her office at Hogwarts, her head pounding and her mind in disarray.
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had disappeared a little over six years ago, or rather, his disappearance had been discovered a little over six years ago when the owl carrying his Hogwarts Letter had returned with the envelope unopened in its beak, unable to find the child. A visit to Harry's relative had been immediate, but they had been mysteriously unable to find the address.
At that point, true fear for the child's safety had set in, and they had begun their search. In the beginning, Dumbledore had insisted that they should keep the matter secret, but it did not take long until they went to the Minister and soon, the Ministry and their Aurors were taking part in the search. It quickly became clear, however, that they had nothing to go on, and after more than a year of desperate searching, they had to admit that they had lost the boy and had no way of finding him. Speculations had been aplenty, but no one had actually known anything of what had happened to the boy.
Until about three months ago, that was, when he had suddenly reappeared again. Minerva had gone to St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys the very next day to meet him and make sure that all was well with the boy, as well as persuade him to come to Hogwarts so that they would not lose him again.
Now, after spending almost a full day with the boy, she could safely say that he was nothing like she or any other had expected. He was uneducated and had clearly been strongly affected by his all but ideal childhood, his behavior as well as his violent reaction today attesting to that. He also appeared to be magically powerful and had, somehow, managed to learn to control his magic on his own over the past few years, something that was completely unheard of. No wand, no incantation, no education – it was simply not meant to be possible, but the boy had managed all the same.
This meant that they would have to reevaluate everything, especially how to plan his education. Originally, they had thought to place him with the first years, but she now doubted that it would be productive, at least in the more practical classes such as transfiguration and charms. Would he even be able to use a wand normally now that he was used to channel his magic freely? She did not know, and she doubted at they would gain any answers until they had in some way evaluated they boy's ability.
Turning to the fireplace again, she took a handful of floo powder and threw it into the flames, her head following when the fire had turned green and harmless.
"Headmaster's office!"
I hope I didn't repeat "distrustful", "reluctant" and "guarded" too many times – I wanted to get the point across, but I realize I might have overdone it a bit ^^'
Hope you liked it all the same! :D