Chapter 3

I own nothing.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

On July 30, 1991 11:59 PM, Dumbledore rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared intently at his silver instruments. Midnight passed. There was a click. Nothing.

Dumbledore scratched his head, deeply perplexed and worried. He paused and surveyed the instruments again. Where was the letter that would begin to write itself and would tell him at last what he needed to know?

He needed to think. But nothing came to mind at the moment. He opened the Registry and spotted the name. H.J Potter. Everything was where it ought to be. Even if he was overseas, it wouldn't be a problem. Unless…

Dumbledore had to think to himself that what he had been dreading, but expecting had occurred. The Fidelius charm was impregnable after all. At that moment however, a barn owl was tapping at the nearest window and he hurried to retrieve another letter. To his surprise, inside the envelope there was only a single slip of paper.

The residence of Harry James Potter may be found at Number Seven Rosebury Drive, Sutton.

Dumbledore sighed and dropped down into his chair and rested his face on his desk. Now that the wait had ended, he supposed he was in for a real shock.

Beside him imperceptibly, the quill was at last putting ink to paper, scratching out the standardized Hogwarts letter.

Diagon Alley

Harry spun over in the fire and collapsed in a heap of ashes in the Leaky Cauldron. He had blonde hair, perfect vision, and crooked teeth. He had borrowed one of his classmate's and brewed the potion himself entirely for the first time under supervision from Sirius but forgot about the braces. Behind Remus (looking like himself) and then Sirius, (disguised) sprang up in the flames and straightened him up and he brushed the ash from his robes. Thankfully it was a regular enough occurrence especially among kids for them to fall over that nobody even twitched.

He had been to Diagon Alley three times in his life and this was the fourth and he supposed now it would be a regular trip at least once per year. He felt the magic swirling in the brick wall with his hand for an instant, closing his eyes to test his abilities, and as Remus and Sirius watched from behind he tapped the appropriate tiles that he could discern. The right ones that felt faintly hollow and rang unevenly compared to the rest and it all fell into place.

Soon they were in the midst of the noon day crowd, jostling for a path and as usual Harry felt his senses come alive with fire at the sheer variety of magic that flowed in all the bustling shops and magical items, each with very different and fascinating signatures. He had always been able to sense magic in a rather elaborate way that he had been unable to communicate with Remus or Sirius. For example, he found with his eyes if he stared hard enough at something, in a sudden flash of vision he could see magic in its varying forms: wavelike, then burning, buzzing colored haze of what he assumed was a special kind of energy, magic itself. He could see its tones and gradients, ripples in its recurring patterns, the varying concentrations of differently devised intents and spell signature shapes jumbled together. If he stared long enough, he found he could sometimes even work out the specific mixture of different swarms of internal mechanisms functioning together, which he supposed was what allowed spells fundamentally to work. This sometimes gave him sudden insight on the principle of how to perform a spell more effectively by instinctively altering the nature and flow of his own magic, which allowed him to master spells at what Remus and Sirius both called, an unprecedented pace.

And then in an instant it was over, as soon as he dropped that necessary gaze that was able to reveal, just for a moment, the intricate visual complexities of what magic was really like.

It was a ton of information to register, and so it was not surprising that in public wizarding society, he often felt overwhelmed by it all. And it wasn't just in sight either. Although weaker certainly he was able to feel certain magical auras, although they only registered when they were significantly powerful, whereas his special induced vision could find some trace of magic, no matter how minute or well disguised. He was also looking forward to finding out whether he could hear the magic when it was infused with song. In taste he could certainly make out the unique blandness associated with magically cooked food, and he never ate it if it was possible, but he imagined at Hogwarts he would have to get used to it or stop eating entirely.

Sirius was the one who a few years back suggested that he tried to read magic intent to give him an advantage in dueling but it was hopeless. If anything it was a distraction when he sometimes got disorientated at critical moments by unintentionally reverting to magical sight and losing track of how Sirius (or he himself) was physically moving. The information was just all to fast in a duel for him to make anything out. It required often minutes of head-wringing analysis to establish anything of value, and moreover he was sometimes wrong. But his abilities had been improving as he grew older and became more attuned to his special senses.

It was also because of his unique gifts, Harry reflected, that he unilaterally deplored all manner of spells which required intent, especially dark intent. He was very sensitive to any such spells used against him, as if he could feel for a moment the full emotion of anything that was directed against him, as Sirius soon found out. It upset his mood and he could feel those despicable sentiments emanating that made him cringe in anger. He had absolutely refused to practice anything of the sort. And not only this, but he was extremely wary of their deceptive nature that could imperceptibly change your character if you used certain intention spells enough, your character would align itself towards that intention. It was a scary thought.

As they approached Gringotts, Sirius disguised as a rather shaggy-skinned, dilapidated older man with ruddy cheeks, (probably off a muggle vagabond to be honest) slapped his shoulder and trotted off in the direction of Quidditch Quality Supplies as he and Lupin approached the bank. They were going to use Lupin's account, which was really Sirius and his account pooled together that they all shared.

They were inside the bank now, and as usual Harry attempted to focus his gaze upon the multilayered and formidable wards that guarded the establishment and gave it such a fearsome reputation. It was well deserved. The wards were massive, was the first word he had to describe it as. Paying no heed to the long rows of goblins sitting at their polished desks, and the marble pillars that flanked them, the gilded atmosphere, he proceeded to focus his attention on trying to come to grasp with the enormity of the mutually working defense systems, first in their parts, and then how they synchronized would work together holistically. The task was altogether out of his depth, and the more he probed the more astounded he got, not to mention confused, for magic of this magnitude intensity he could not even hope to examine in any clear detail, only feel and be awed. If he opened his eyes he supposed the sight would blind him.

After Lupin had given his key and introduced him as a squib relation, they followed Griphook down to the carts and soon they were zipping in exhilarating fashion on the swerving tracks and Harry dropped his attentions and focused on enjoying the ride. After they had retrieved three bagfuls of gold, they were about to restart the cart when all hell broke loose.

Alarms shouting! Griphook shouting! Blaring signals and automated voices sounded everywhere and the noise of crashing gates, discordant flurries of movement. His senses in total overdrive by the sudden incredulous spike of magic, he duly fainted.