AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here were go and moving right along. Firstly, to those who have messaged me; yes, I am aware and saddened by the passing of Alan Rickman. He is without doubt, among my favorite actors, even before he was and forever will be known as, Severus Snape. I have a really good tribute chapter coming down the pike in his memory, but it will be a few chapters before we get there in a logical fashion.
Secondly, thanks for the all the follows, reviews, and messages. I'm glad many of you are enjoying the story. Just a friendly reminder, as some folks are getting their canon and fanon mixed – Dumbledore did not know that Peter was the Secret Keeper, nor is he an overly manipulative old man who sealed the Potter wills and vast fortune for the sole purpose to control Harry and his relatively modest wealth.
Thirdly: we have not seen the last of the Dursleys, though readers will have to suffer them far less than canon – I won't tell you how that comes about exactly, but we will entertain them for one more summer.
Lastly: it all belongs to Jo, so enjoy!
Chapter Four: Rita Writes Again
Tom had set Harry up in room eleven upon the conclusion of his meeting with Fudge. Aside from his belongings already in the room, Hedwig had also turned up, feathers ruffled and looking considerably annoyed with her owner. The Leaky Cauldron was comfortable and Tom had seen to his every need. Breakfast, for instance, Harry found, was an enjoyable and peaceful time without the Dursleys, as he neither had to cook or risk the chance of going hungry.
However, it was his newfound freedom from any responsibility Harry enjoyed most. True to his word to Fudge, Harry did not stray back into Muggle London, choosing instead to spend his free time in any number of the fascinating wizarding shops that were crammed impossibly tight together along the long and narrow cobbled street of Diagon Alley.
Harry's first order of business had been a visit to Gringotts, the Goblin-controlled Wizard's Bank, where Harry restocked his coin bag with stacks of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Wanting to have as much free time as possible in Diagon Alley as he could, Harry first completed his school shopping. He visited the Apothecary first; Potions Class was his least favorite of all the subjects taught at Hogwarts, and he would be the first to say he was probably the potion master's least favorite student of all time. His visit to Madam Malkin's had been much more enjoyable than years past, as Malfoy was noticeably absent. His final stop that day had been Flourish and Blotts, also a noticeably quieter affair than the previous year, or so Harry thought as he entered the old book shop.
A large iron cage exhibit obscured the front window that housed nearly a hundred or so copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. Torn pages flew between the iron bars and littered the floor as every book battled with one another like arena gladiators. Indeed, the violent books were such a distraction to the store owner he hardly looked up to register that Harry had entered the office. Instead, he had rushed to the iron cage while dressing his hands with thick hide gloves. The man had been so relieved to learn Harry had already procured the book that he insisted Harry take a discount on the rest of his school books.
Of all the shops in Diagon Alley, Quality Quidditch Supplies was his favorite to frequent. Everything he could ever imagine could be found on one of the many shelves inside the squeezed shop. There were climate-controlled carrying bags for his broom, reinforced foot saddles, handle wraps enchanted with warming charms, and much, much more. However, it was the shop's latest arrival that most tested Harry's unbridled freedom; The Firebolt.
"This one's a prototype," Thomas, the shop owner, told Harry after his third visit of the week. Thomas was an elderly wizard, member of the International Association of Quidditch and retired Quidditch referee. Despite his old age, Thomas retained his Chaser build and a very well attended-too mustache. "And you, of course, are Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century to play on one of Hogwarts house teams, yes?"
"How did you know that," asked Harry, shocked.
"My dear boy, everyone knows who you are," said Thomas with a chuckle.
"No, I mean, how'd do you know I was a seeker?" Thomas let out a hearty laugh this time while clapping Harry loudly on the back.
"Ah, well, the International Association of Quidditch always sends representatives to all the major wizarding schools throughout the world," said Thomas. "You see, the IAQ is supported from membership dues paid by every team that competes for the World Cup—part of the agreement is that we keep a limited profile on young fliers that play for their schools. You, Mr. Potter, are among the top tier candidates. Don't be surprised if a team or two begin courting you around your sixth year or so."
"I had no idea," said Harry truthfully.
"Yes, we do try to keep from being a distraction," said Thomas. "You currently fly a Nimbus Two-Thousand, if memory serves me correctly? I do believe the order was made to this shop at the time."
"My broom came from this shop," asked Harry.
"It did indeed," said Thomas with a proud nod.
"Who ordered it?"
"A professor from Hogwarts," said Thomas. "Of course, I can't tell you who, as that's a confidentiality issue, but I can say the professor is quite fond of you." Harry had always suspected that Minerva McGonagall had purchased the broom for him, but he had never had the nerve to ask. While Harry was treated well by most of the professors, only Dumbledore and McGonagall had ever shown him more than cordiality.
"Anyway," said Thomas, gesturing enthusiastically to the Firebolt, "There are several enhancements you'll find on this broom over your Nimbus series—which, by the way, is still a league standard broom—particularly notable is the focus on its durability. This broom is virtually indestructible. Many brooms have met their end from colliding into audience stands, I can tell you. Seen it happen plenty of times." Thomas took the broom from the window display and held it out to Harry.
"Go on," he said with a large smile, "you can hold it." Hands trembling, Harry took the Firebolt in hand and was immediately surprised by the feather-lightness of its weight. The handle was incredibly smooth and the finish glistened beneath the sunlit window.
"No need to be timid," said Thomas, "your fingers won't be able to smudge the wood either—diamond-dust polish on hand-selected Mountain Ash, imported from Australia. The builder selected the wood species due to its high durability and resistance to decay. And if that wasn't enough, each Birth twig of the broomtail was individually selected and honed aerodynamically before it was attached to the broom handle. Most people are only commenting on the speed and acceleration of the broom, which is impressive, but I'll tell you what really sets this broom apart, Mr. Potter." He took the broom back and set it back on its window display.
"What makes this broom special is the turning precision that comes with the speed—the rider can change direction almost as quickly as a Snitch does—that's the true marvel of this broom."
"How much is the broom," asked Harry, no longer able to deny his desire. Thomas chuckled and ruffled the hair on Harry's head.
"It's a bit too much of a broom, even for someone with your talent, Mr. Potter, at your age," said Thomas. "I'm afraid only the professional teams have the kind of budget to purchase one of these. But since you're asking, I'll tell you; its six-thousand and ninety-eight Galleons, fourteen Sickles, and eleven Knuts. There's also a growing waitlist. However, for an additional and modest one-thousand Galleons, you can purchase preferred status, and the builder will include a climate-control carrying bag specially made for your Firebolt and will have your name engraved into the handle." Harry felt his jaw drop. This made Thomas chuckle as well.
"That's the typical response I get, even from our more affluent customers," said Thomas. "Tell you what, Mr. Potter, how about I treat you to a broom-servicing kit? What do you say?"
"Thank you," said Harry, "but I actually just got one for my birthday from a friend at school."
"Oh, what product did they get you?"
"Fleetwood's," said Harry happily.
"I see," said Thomas. "Someone evidently did their homework; I endorse their product myself."
"Well, Hermione never does anything without having thoroughly researched it," said Harry with pride for his friend.
"She's a keeper, Mr. Potter, in more ways than one," said Thomas with a knowing smile.
"Oh, no, I don't mean, she's not," began Harry, his tongue feeling quite unwieldy, "she's just one of my best friends, that's all."
Of course, of course," said Thomas with another clap on Harry's shoulder. "Well then, how about one of these then?" He handed Harry one of the enchanted handle wraps in Gryffindor Red.
"How much," asked Harry.
"Absolutely nothing, and I won't take no for an answer," said Thomas. He pushed the package into Harry's hands and sent him on his way.
Harry's second favorite place to frequent was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, where he spent his afternoons completing his summer holiday assignments. Florean, like Ernie and Stan, was ever insistent that Harry never paid for anything so long as he owned the parlor. So, as Harry wrote his essays—with the occasional help from Florean—he was treated to free sundaes every half an hour on the dot without fail. Honoring his agreement with Fudge, Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner, well before nightfall.
At the start of the second week, Harry received a brief correspondence from Dumbledore, asking him to meet at the conclusion of the opening feast at Hogwarts. Harry responded with a simple yes and the Hogwarts owl was away. Having explored every shop, Harry now focused his attention to keeping an alert set of eyes and ears for Ron or Hermione as Hogwarts students had begun to filter into Diagon Alley in droves. He had already met with Seamus and Dean, his fellow Gryffindors as they ogled the Firebolt and asked Harry if he was planning to get one. The boys nearly fainted when Harry whispered the going price for the broom.
He spotted Neville as well, but didn't have any opportunity for anything other than eye contact. Neville, cursed with an overly forgetful mind, had misplaced his school list and was getting a thorough telling-off by his grandmother. With only three days left of the holiday, Harry began to wonder if he hadn't simply missed Ron and his family—which would have been hard to do, given the number of red-headed members of the family. But as Harry sat down at Florean's Parlor just after lunch, he heard his name yelled from down the street.
"Harry!" Hermione was running down the street, her bushy brown curls bouncing with every step. Her parents followed behind, clearly taken by surprise with their daughter's sudden change of pace.
"Hermione," said Harry, standing as he greeted his friend with a hug. "I was starting to think I'd missed you already."
"Just got back from France yesterday," she said as her parents caught up. Harry had met them in a quick exchange the year prior but hadn't really spoken to them amidst the chaos of Lockhart's press release at the book store.
"Friends of yours, Harry," asked Florean as he brought Harry's sundae to the table.
"Uh, yes," said Harry. "This is my friend, Hermione Granger, from school, and these are her parents—" but he stopped as he realized he didn't actually know their names.
"William," said Hermione's father with an extended hand. As soon as Mr. Granger had smiled, Harry knew Hermione had gotten hers from her father. He was a solid build; tall, broad shouldered, with an almost square chin. Likewise, his hair was trimmed short and though brown like Hermione's, it was several shades darker.
"And this is my wife, Jane," he continued with a nod. Mrs. Granger looked like a much older Hermione, Harry thought, with almost identical brown curls but noticeably without the frizzy embellishments that often characterized Hermione's. Like her daughter, Mrs. Granger's face was smooth and her brown eyes reflected a sharp intelligence.
"Good to meet you," said Florean with a grand bow. "Any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine. What can I get you?"
"I'll have the same as Harry," said Hermione as she eyed the sundae already on the table. "With extra chocolate sauce, please?"
"Hermione, dear, that's a bit excessive, don't you think," asked Mrs. Granger.
"Mum, I already floss twice a day and brush three times a day," she said irritably. "I've naught a single cavity."
"Oh, alright then," she said with a smile.
"Excellent choice," said Florean. "And for the parents?"
"Vanilla Bean, for me," said Mrs. Granger, "and Chocolate for him," she added with a playful poke to her husband's ribcage. Less than a minute or two later, once all the Grangers were seated and ice cream had been served, Hermione immediately began to question Harry.
"Are you here alone, Harry," she asked suspiciously. "I don't see your aunt or uncle around, and Ron said he and his family wouldn't be here until later in the afternoon."
"Yeah, I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron, actually."
"Why are you alone, Harry," asked Jane, her eyes growing just as narrow as her daughters.
"It's, um, a long story," said Harry, looking down at the table.
"What is it, Harry," asked Hermione.
"Well, I had a bit of accidental magic go off at my relative's place," he began, not entirely sure how this would be received.
"Ah, yes, we remember those days, don't we dear," said William with a smile. "Hermione did the strangest things before she got that letter in the mail."
"She did indeed," said Jane with a playful smile. "One day she was complaining that the books in our study weren't alphabetized and the next moment, all the books flew from the shelves and began arranging themselves."
"That's not surprising," said Harry laughing.
"Mum, stop," said Hermione, her cheeks going pink. "You do know this is Harry Potter, my friend, from school?"
"Of course we do," said William, his smile very mischievous. "It's our job as parents to make sure you get embarrassed around the company of your friends."
"Even so," said Jane, "what does your being here alone have to do with accidental magic?"
"I accidentally blew up my uncle's sister," said Harry quickly. "My family…doesn't like magic."
"When you say blew up, Harry, do you mean…" began Hermione, but Harry shook his head.
"Like a balloon, Hermione," said Harry reassuringly. "Not that it made much difference, mind you."
"It's reversible, isn't it," asked Jane, her eyes wide.
"Yeah, she's been fixed," said Harry. "She doesn't even remember it."
"I wouldn't want to remember that either," said William.
"So they dropped you off then, for the remainder of your summer holiday, because they don't like magic," asked Jane incredulously. "William and I certainly aren't comfortable around magic, but we'd never just drop Hermione off to fend for herself."
"Well, they didn't," said Harry, growing increasingly more self-conscious by the moment. He let out a deep breath before the next bit. "I ran away." He watched the quick glances that passed between the Grangers.
"Harry, is everything alright," asked Hermione, her sundae now forgotten.
"I'm fine," said Harry. He quickly gave them a rundown of a heavily edited sequence of events that led to his two week retreat.
"You spoke with the Minister for Magic personally," asked Hermione in awe. Harry nodded.
"Yeah, he's really nice, actually."
"But Harry," interrupted Jane, "Why were you running away in the first place?"
"Oh, right," said Harry quietly. He turned to Hermione. "Have you told your parents about my, er, history?"
"Harry, apart from Hogwarts, A History, you're her favorite subject," said William with a sly grin.
"Dad!"
"We know your parents were killed by what we would call a terrorist," said Jane. "Of course, from what Hermione has told us, it was much like a civil war. Before she boarded the train, she was already telling us about you and how she hoped she'd get to meet you. It seems you were famous before you could walk or talk, Harry."
"I didn't know until I got my letter," said Harry. "I didn't know my parents were magical, or that I belonged in a separate world hidden in plain sight. My aunt and uncle—they hate magic—they never told me the truth. Told me my parents died in a car crash. That's why I ran away, you see, and well, why my emotions got the better of me and I blew up Aunt Marge—she only knew what my uncle told her—she went on and on about how worthless my parents were, how my mum was bad blood and my dad was an unemployed drunk. It's what they told me for the longest time." Harry had hardly finished his explanation before he felt the warmth embrace of Mrs. Granger. Harry felt his body turn rigid at her touch, but it was only momentary. As Mrs. Granger held him, his body responded with a release of tension.
"You poor dear," she said, wiping a tear from her eyes. Not to be outdone by her mother, Harry received a very different hug from Hermione as her bone-crushing hug enveloped him and her bush hair smothered his face. Harry was surprised by his own openness, knowing Hermione was likely as shocked as he was; he never talked about his home life.
"Harry," said William, resting a hand on his shoulder once Hermione had relaxed her grip around him, "they didn't…didn't hurt you, did they?" Harry felt his heart leap into his throat.
"Er, no…no, they didn't do anything like that," said Harry quickly. "They just don't like magic is all. Fudge was really nice and said I could stay here for the rest of my holiday, as long as I didn't go out into Muggle, I mean, normal London," he added with an apologetic glance to the Grangers, "and checked in with Tom before nightfall."
"Alright," said William with another shared look to his wife. "Just wanted to be sure—I didn't mean to imply anything, er, was out of place."
"I understand," said Harry, feeling relief wash over him. "Thank you. I really am fine. There's plenty here to keep me busy, and I've managed to get all my holiday school work completed."
"That's wonderful, dear," said Mrs. Granger. "Hermione, what time did you say the Weasley's were to meet us?"
"Ron wasn't specific," said Hermione, "which isn't a surprise. He only said they'd be here in the afternoon."
"We're not in a hurry, so no harm done," said William, leaning towards Harry. "Hermione tells me you're an athlete, Harry. Something about a game called—"
"Quidditch," said Hermione.
"That's the one," said her father with a nod. "She says you play a very important position on the team?"
"I play Seeker," said Harry. He then went on to explain the finer points of the game and his position that Hermione—despite her unparalleled ability to absorb every detail—had neglected as she had no first-person experience to convey.
"What I wouldn't pay to see a game," he said after Harry had told him about Dobby's rogue Bludger.
"I don't see why you couldn't," said Harry. "Sometimes magical parents visit on game days to see their kids play."
"Hermione says it's impossible," said William, looking downtrodden. "Something about enchantments to make us look elsewhere, or forget what we're doing and what-not."
"Not to mention you get there by train," said Hermione. "You can't get onto the platform."
"Maybe we'll talk to Dumbledore when we get back," said Harry. "I'm sure if it's possible, he's the one who'd know how to do it."
"I'd be tickled, Harry," he said with a clap on Harry's shoulder. "And to see this magnificent castle you learn at."
"It's never been done before," said Hermione. "Muggles have never been allowed at Hogwarts. The enchantments keep them from seeing the castle. All they'll see are ruins."
"I think there's a way around it," said Harry. "Look at Filch—he doesn't have a drop of magical blood but he has no problem at Hogwarts." Hermione's eyes grew wide.
"Of course," she said slowly. "Of course, how could I miss it? I think you're right, Harry. Oh I'm so speaking with Dumbledore right after the feast!"
"If that's the case, you can come with me to see him," said Harry. "I'm supposed to meet with him after the feast."
"You're not in trouble, are you," asked Hermione, her suspicion aroused once more.
"Actually, I don't really know, exactly, but—"
"Harry! Harry!" He and the Grangers turned their eyes upon the street to see the herd of red-headed Weasley's making their way towards them. Ron ran at the front, followed not too distantly by Fred and George. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley walked behind with Ginny in company. Percy, Harry noticed, was absent.
"Blimey, Harry, everything seems to happen to you, doesn't it," he said, a big toothy grin plastered on his freckled face.
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, he's good, Fred," said George.
"Agreed, Georgie," said Fred, nodding enthusiastically. "His denial is so natural—"
"What are you three going on about," asked Hermione.
"You don't know," asked Ron with disbelief. He turned to Harry. "You haven't told her?"
"Told her what," asked Harry, getting slightly annoyed.
"Give it here, Fred," said Ron. Fred handed Ron a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet, to which Ron flattened out on the table just as Arthur and Molly arrived. There on the front page of the Daily Prophet, was a picture of Fudge greeting Harry outside the Leaky Cauldron with large block-print headline letters.
BLACK'S FIRST TARGET REVEALED
HARRY POTTER SURVIVES
AFTER DARING RESCUE BY THE KNIGHT BUS
By: Rita Skeeter
Hermione snatched the paper form the table and began reading aloud.
The Knight Bus, currently operated by Ernie Prang and his loyal conductor, Stan Shunpike, may very well be the heroes of the year. Sirius Black had been on the loose for little more than twenty-four hours when who should be out alone wandering the streets of Magnolia Crescent, in Surrey, in the dead of night? Why, none-other than Harry Potter himself. And who should Harry Potter stumble upon? That's right—Sirius Black! Thanks to the timely arrival of the Knight Bus to Harry Potter's location, it's almost certain the wizarding world would have lost its well-celebrated, fateful savior.
Why Harry Potter, readers may ask? This reporter asked the very question. You would be hard pressed to find a wizard or witch unfamiliar with the tragic hero's tale. Harry Potter, orphaned at early infancy, remains to this day, the only known wizard to survive the Killing Curse. This feat alone would garner a great deal of fame. However, it is the boy's mysterious and simultaneous defeat of the darkest wizard ever to stand on British soil that made Harry Potter a common house-hold name; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
While most in Magical Britain celebrated the demise of You-Know-Who, Sirius Black, one of his most loyal followers, was sent to Azkaban. Readers unfamiliar with Black's history should read last week's edition. The unlikely-ness of a chance meeting between Harry Potter and any of the Dark Lord's faithful is as high as the existence of a tame Hungarian Horntail. One wonders if this meeting was random chance at all, but rather, the work of fate? This reader believes Harry Potter is lucky to be alive.
Why was our young hero wandering the streets of Britain, alone, and unwatched? Yours truly made that very inquiry to the Ministry, as well as a request for the records of Harry Potter's security detail be made public. The request was denied. Not to be deterred, this faithful reporter has her methods and her sources.
Speaking to the Minister on the night in question, Harry Potter revealed to the minister there had been an altercation at his home with the relatives responsible for his upbringing. Details regarding the exact location of Harry Potter's residence, as well as the security details surrounding the home were sealed years ago, by then Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold, then head of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Sr., and Albus Dumbledore, serving in his capacity as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. It is also a known fact within the Wizengamot that Albus Dumbledore is also the magical guardian of Harry Potter, a generously superficial title given to those who arrange the care of orphaned magical children with no other magical relatives to assume care.
While details of said altercation are largely unknown, members of the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad were dispatched to the residence of Harry Potter, where they are reported to having punctured and modified the memory of one Muggle, Marjorie Dursley, who, it appears suffered magic fueled by an emotional outburst from young Harry Potter and was inflated significantly beyond her normal figure.
The Minister also forgave Harry Potter for his breach of the of The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, telling the visibly distraught hero, "Harry, you did accidental magic; the Ministry does not go about throwing people in Azkaban for a bit of emotional magic." While I'm sure the magical community will join with me and applauding the Minister's display of leniency, it also raises concerns that Harry Potter, grateful as we are for what he's done, may develop a behavior and expectation for special treatment that our Minister's lacking discipline may cause further down the road.
However, the Minister's true motive appears to be out of warning for our hero, who concluded their meeting with this stark reminder we should all heed, "…Black is convinced he can bring You-Know-Who back to power again if you [Harry] are defeated, just as you once defeated the Dark lord…its's madness, silly, deranged thought, but that doesn't matter to Black…he lost everything the night You-Know-Who lost his powers, and he, like so many of his kind, holds you responsible for that loss."
Opinion of Fudge's brutal honesty with the young lad will vary, but this reporter worries the news may be too much for a wizard barely thirteen years of age.
Hermione gave the paper to her parents and looked at Harry, eyes wide and fearful.
"Who's Sirius Black," asked William, looking up at Arthur and Molly. The Weasley's all gathered around the table and Arthur pulled off his heavily-patched traveling cloak.
"Perhaps another round of dessert," offered Mr. Weasley, waving at Florean. "This will take a bit of time."
