Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived
Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit
Chapter 2
Harry couldn't contain his excitement. Diagon Alley looked closer to back home than anything else he had seen. And he had never seen so many shops side by side, selling different things. It felt like one of those festivals Mistress Aching would tell him about.
They headed straight for the bank that the bartender had pointed out, where they emptied their pockets of money. The stolen muggle money fetched little; fortunately, the Nac mac Feegle had brought coins from their loot back home. After an explanation of the value of galleons and sickles and knuts from the strange and bad-tempered goblin at the desk, they went to the store marked Owl Post.
Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,
We request that you send a guide to meet us at The Leaky Cauldron and show us this school that you wish Harry Potter to attend. Given certain circumstances, we need the reassurance before we agree to let him do so. We await your reply.
Sincerely,
Mistress E. Weatherwax
Harry was surprised at the wording of the letter, but Granny whispered in his ear that pompous wizards respond better to pompous letters. Harry grinned at that, while watching a small brown owl carry the envelope tied on his leg.
"How about we buy the laddie his school things, mistress?" Rob Anybody asked Granny. He and his men had tried several times to steal things from the stores in the alley but they were somehow stopped by weird spells around the merchandise. Paying for things isn't as fun, but it will do. They had some interesting things here.
Harry got out his list and they looked at it together.
"Hogwash," Granny murmured, scanning the parchment. She approved of the books, although too much book-learning was bad for the mind. Magrat was proof of that. The cauldron and the scales seemed practical enough, and the robes. But this wand—what useless piece of frippery! At least a wizard's staff actually helped steady the old codgers with their weak knees and fat stomachs. A wand was for making wishes, and its power always tempted one to use it unnecessarily.
Being so, she rather wanted to see a store full of wands. So they headed that way first, asking a passer-by and being told that Ollivander's was the shop they needed to see. As they walked, she watched the boy watch everything. There were so many things to dazzle, but although Harry was obviously excited, he remained by her side, and looked at people more often than the things in the stores.
Good, Granny thought. People were dangerous and needed watching most of all. And the way they dressed, talked and moved said a lot as to how things really were in this magical society. She frowned. This still felt wrong to her, all this magic bound in a single place. Shouldn't the rest of this world feel its lack?
They entered a small shop where dust motes danced in the air, and there was a faint scent of polish. Ollivander's, the sign had read. And indeed, there were shelves and shelves full of wands. Granny Weatherwax almost shuddered.
"Harry Potter! What a surprise." An old man appeared from behind the shelves. "So you have survived after all. Here to get your wand, are you?"
Harry's eyes had widened when his name was called. "Yes, sir."
A tape measure suddenly came to life, wrapping itself around his arm. Harry stood shock still, as if it were a snake. The old man with the round glasses had already turned around, rooting in boxes on the shelves.
"Here, try this." Again and again, Harry was handed a wand, and as soon as he touched it, it was taken away. "You're quite a picky one, eh?" The man seemed oddly pleased by it, as if he faced a challenge.
Finally the man stilled his frenetic searching and reached slowly for a different box. "I wonder—perhaps this one will do." He held out a wand and even before Harry could touch it, he knew it was something different.
Yellow and green sparks erupted from its tip as soon as Harry waved it in the air. It felt right in Harry's hands. But when he looked up into Granny's stern face, he suddenly thought that it felt too right. Magic wasn't supposed to be easy. He placed the wand on a nearby table and fought the urge to rub his fingers against his trousers.
Granny paid for it without a word, ignoring the old man's muttered, "Curious," as he placed the wand inside a box and handed it to Harry.
They would have continued on to other shops but night had completely fallen, and they were all hungry. So they returned to The Leaky Cauldron to have dinner. Tom met them and greeted them more graciously. He had a letter in his hand, the headmaster's reply. Granny opened it as soon as they finished eating.
Mistress Weatherwax,
We would be pleased to extend to you an invitation to visit Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you could stay the night at The Leaky Cauldron, your guide will meet you there tomorrow at eight in the morning. I await your presence with excitement.
Yours truly,
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore
While Granny arranged two rooms for them, Harry looked around surreptitiously at the other diners in the pub. He couldn't see the wee free men, but he had left little saucers of liquor for them anyway, to the bartender's amusement. There were all sorts of people, different shapes and sizes, hidden by dark cloaks. There was a cackle from someone in the far corner, quickly hushed. Nobody was looking at everybody else. They all felt strange, with an overwhelming scent of power and an aura of danger.
Harry had been surrounded by powerful women all his life. But although Mistress Weatherwax always made the back of his neck prickle, magic had never felt like this back home. Were all witches and wizards here like this? How would an entire school of them feel like, then?
Despite his questions, sleep came to Harry with no trouble that night. He was weary, and did not even hear the murmurs of the Nac mac Feegle he shared his bed with. Rob Anybody was talking to his men, discussing what they've seen and heard. Nac mac Feegle were never known for their intelligence or their ability to plan ahead. But they took their responsibilities seriously. And as far as Rob was concerned, Harry was his to protect, just like the hag was his, and the Chalk.
888
They were up by six and had had breakfast by seven. Armed with Harry's letter, Granny Weatherwax herded them all through Diagon Alley to buy the rest of supplies listed upon it. Harry had let the older witch lead him, and only allowed himself to linger in the bookstore called Flourish and Blotts.
Mistress Aching would have salivated over all those books. There were a few, however, that pulsed with magic, and none of them would come near those titles. But the ordinary books bound in plain leather still held its own extraordinary secrets. Harry could not resist buying a couple of them to read and to take home with him. But he waited for Granny's approval first. It was a good idea to read more about this world, though, so she nodded reluctantly and the books were added to a set of titles from the list: Felice Shadwell's A Comprehensive Peek into the Ministry of Magic: A Clerk's Point-of-View and The Muggle-Born's Guide to Wizarding Britain 6th Edition.
He didn't have time to scan either, however. A lumbering seven-foot tall man with a tangled black beard and arms the size of tree trunks met them near the entrance to the Alley, and introduced himself as Hagrid, the groundskeeper at the school. He carried with him a pink umbrella that didn't look big enough to cover his entire head.
"We 'ave permission to floo there, straight into the Headmaster's office," Hagrid explained as he pointed at a large fireplace inside The Leaky Cauldron. "Ye take a pinch of the stuff in that jar, throw it into the fire, an' when it turns green you can enter and say Hogwarts really loud. It can get a bit dusty, so close your mouth tight, and just jump out when you see the swirlin' stop."
Harry looked at the roaring fire uncertainly. It didn't sound very comfortable. But he did as told, getting a pinch of the black dust in the earthen jar, all the while feeling Rob Anybody climb his legs to ride inside his pocket. The rest sat on his shoulders or on top of his head. He threw it into the fire and stepped in.
888
Harry Potter was alive.
Albus Dumbledore shook his head. He had tried his best to piece together what happened at Godric's Hollow that one Halloween night ten years ago, but although the Dark Lord surely perished there, there was no sign that the boy had survived. Albus had thought him lost, his body turned to ash as Voldemort's body had been.
"And neither can live, while the other survives," Albus murmured, remembering the prophecy made several years ago. And yet there really was no surety that Harry was the one. He did not even know what kind of boy he had turned out, if he would accept the mantle of hero. Prophecies gained and lost power in the shifting mist of free will and fate.
He would just have to see.
His fireplace turned green and spat out a boy in a simple white shirt and trousers. There seemed to be something blue on his shoulders. Albus blinked, but they disappeared. Then an old woman with a stern face arrived next, followed by Hagrid.
"Welcome," Albus smiled at them, his magic briefly making his eyes twinkle. He noted that neither smiled back. In fact, the woman frowned at him. The boy merely nodded back politely, his face expressionless. "I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and this is my office. Hagrid will show you the rest of the school. But may I offer you tea first?"
They accepted, much to his relief.
Granny Weatherwax introduced herself and Harry to this ancient wizard who looked like another product of the Unseen University. Hagrid shuffled into a large chair near the back of the room, obviously respectful. Granny sat gingerly, Harry at another chair beside her.
"It was quite a surprise, Mr. Potter, to learn that you are still alive. We did not know what have happened to you ten years ago."
The boy bit his lip and looked up to the old woman before answering, which Albus keenly noted. "I was saved, and brought to a different universe, Headmaster, where I grew up in peace. I'm afraid I know little of your world."
Albus eyes widened a little, before regaining their twinkle. "You are not alone in this, my boy. We've also invited students from non-magical families. To them, all of this is new."
The woman leaned forward. "So it is true, magic is hidden in this world?"
Albus wondered at her reaction. "Yes. There was an International Act of Wizarding Seclusion in 1692 following witch-hunts and persecution that have strained the relations between magic and non-magic users beyond repair. It was the only way we could survive."
Granny Weatherwax nodded. She had suspected as much. People have always feared magic. And when that fear becomes so unreasonable that it warps everything in their lives, it can rise up in retaliation. She had seen it happen to other witches, and had worked hard never to let it happen to her.
Harry spoke up in the silence that followed. "Did you know my parents, Headmaster Dumbledore?"
"Indeed my boy," Albus nodded, "They were my students several years ago. Lily and James Potter were both Gryffindors."
"Gryffindors?" Granny asked sharply.
"Students are sorted into four Houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, which correspond to four dominant traits: courage, cunning, intelligence and loyalty. Your parents were very courageous, Harry. Did you know how they died?"
Harry shook his head, thinking it prudent not to say anything about what Granny Weatherwax's saw from the ruins of his childhood home.
"They were killed in a war against a Dark Lord," Albus said softly. Behind them, Harry could sense Hagrid shifting in his chair.
Granny's eyes sought the headmaster's. "Maybe this place is too dangerous, then, if there is such a war. I don't think this is the place for you, Harry," she turned towards the boy who merely nodded.
Albus had tried to see into the mind of this formidable woman in the brief moment of eye contact, but had found himself facing a solid wall. "Oh, but the war is over, madam, and the boy will be safe here at Hogwarts. And it is necessary that he learn to wield his magic; otherwise it will turn on him."
Granny internally winced, knowing the old man was right. She gave a sharp nod and stood up, with Harry following her lead. "I think I would like to see the grounds and meet the professors first before I decide. If that would be alright?" She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze at the old man behind the desk.
Albus stood up as well and nodded benevolently. "Of course. Most of the professors are away on vacation, but Hagrid could introduce you to Professor McGonagall, if you have any questions about the curriculum. Hagrid?"
The tall man stuttered a yes, and led them out the door down a circular stairway and into a hallway full of portraits and tapestries. Harry's composed mask fell as soon as he realized they were moving. There was nothing like this back home. And although he could feel Granny's disapproval, he could do nothing but stare, back and forth, as men and women, old and young talked to each other, sliding into another frame, then back into their own.
Distantly, he could feel the whispers of the wee free men as they went off and explored on their own. This place seemed perfect for them. There seemed to be enough rooms and levels to keep their interest awhile.
Hagrid had relaxed as soon as they stepped out of the Headmaster's Office and had chuckled out loud at Harry's awe. "They're brilliant, aren't they? Hogwarts itself is a magical castle, and so everything's a bit odd here. Your mother acted exactly the same way. She was a muggle-born you know?"
Harry turned back to Hagrid when the words registered. "What's a muggle-born, sir?"
Hagrid looked flustered. "Oh ye need not call me that, Harry. Just Hagrid will do. And a muggle-born is someone who grew up in a family without magic. Yer mom didn't know anything about the Wizarding World either until she received her letter. There are several like her in every year."
He continued chattering about Harry's parents when they were students, and different rooms in the castle. All the while, Granny Weatherwax was taking his measure. She saw in Hagrid the same gentleness she often saw in Jason Ogg, the Lancre blacksmith and Nanny Ogg's son. They were both strong men who learned how to curb their strength and use it well. He was a little subservient to the headmaster, but she thought it was mostly out of respect.
She gently interrupted his tale about a strange game called Quidditch, "Perhaps you can give Harry the tour while I speak to this Professor McGonagall, Hagrid. I have several questions to ask him."
"Her, madam. Perfessor McGonagall is a woman. She's the Deputy Headmistress, and the perfessor in Transfigurations, and the Head of Gryffindor."
Granny raised an eyebrow. "A busy woman, indeed. Do you know where she is right now?"
Hagrid nodded, and led them to an office on the same floor. He introduced Granny to a tall woman with a stern face who greeted her with a certain coldness, and yet seemed to soften when she saw Harry.
"I would like to know more about what you teach your students here, Professor," Granny said.
Minerva McGonagall inclined her head and offered her a seat.
"Now, go on, Harry. Keep close to Hagrid," Granny called out to two before focusing on the other woman sitting behind her desk. She seemed to be someone who would not lie to her. Perhaps she will finally find answers to her questions.
Minerva was burning with curiosity as soon as she recognized James Potter's son. But she turned her steady gaze onto this woman. She seemed to know what Minerva needed to ask. Perhaps she held the answers to her questions.
Neither noticed how eerily similar their expressions were.
888
"The wand's just nonsense. Something's wrong with the way those children are taught. But—"
"But?" Harry asked, sitting on his rickety chair back in Mistress Aching's cottage. They were discussing his fate. He wanted to contribute his opinion, but he didn't really have any. He didn't know what he wanted, even after seeing Hogwarts, or reading the books he had bought about it.
"But you belong there my boy. There's no question. You need to learn their ways, even if you never use them."
Both Tiffany and Harry nodded. Knowledge was a weapon in any craft. It was a lesson that Mistress Aching taught him well.
"But I'm still worried about what you saw in that ruined house, Granny," Tiffany added. "Harry seems to have enemies there, powerful ones," she looked sternly at a saucer on the floor. "Perhaps you would do well with a protector or two."
By the time all the saucers were emptied, it has been decided that Rob's sons, Killem All and Hobble would accompany Harry to Hogwarts. Their situation was actually an ongoing problem with the Nac mac Feegles who thought the two pictsies were too bookish, for their kind anyway. They had taken to Jeannie's reading lessons like a typical Nac mac Feegle took to drink.
Harry immediately relaxed upon hearing of the decision. He knew them both well, since they practically learned to read side by side and they had often been his childhood companions. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad to leave an entire world behind, as long as he took part of it with him. And this was before he received the Gifts.
Granny never approved of the tradition of fairies arriving at christenings to give Gifts to babies. Of course, she had done it herself. But that was different because that was her.
This was different, too. Harry was eleven now, and going off to school. And the Gifts were plain objects in wrapped carefully in paper, and not Beauty or A Good Singing Voice and other useless things. Of course, even under the paper hers wasn't much of a surprise. The shape gave it away immediately.
"I had the dwarves make it special," she muttered when Harry smiled up at her. "Not as fancy as yon broomsticks from your world. But it'll get you where you want to go."
"Thanks, Granny."
Magrat had sent him a witch's diary, covered in leather with an occult symbol on the cover. Tiffany had scoffed at it, but grudgingly admitted that it could be handy. "As long as you really use it." Her own was a bit less practical: a piece of flint hanging on a leather cord. "A reminder to be hard and sharp and useful." And she packed him some cheese.
Rob Anybody gave him more gold. And Nanny Ogg's strange box turned out to contain one of Greebo's kittens. "His name's Garbo. Isn't he a darling?" She beamed at Harry who nodded weakly, while the kitten hissed up at him. It eyed the wee free men in the room, but was wise enough to avoid them. It settled on shredding a piece of wrapping with its sharp claws. Harry winced.
Then it was finally the first of September and both Tiffany and Granny accompanied him to a building, where another doorway masquerading as a wall led to the ruckus of children bearing trunks and cages full of owls and cats.
Harry stood at the doorway, trunks in hand, and met the eyes of the two black-clad women who had raised him. He swallowed back the tears. Neither of his guardians would care to see them fall.
Granny nodded in approval and Mistress Aching almost smiled. Harry carried that last image with him as the strange and noisy, long, metal contraption they called the Hogwarts Express sped away from the platform.
