Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.
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Muggle-Raised Champion
Chapter 3 – Unexpected Present
4:05pm
Tuesday, 1 November 1994
Park near Stonewall High, Surrey
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"Welcome to adulthood, Harry," Bagman beamed, shaking Harry's hand.
Glancing at his watch, Harry let loose an exasperated growl.
"Sheesh, I'm late for work!" he exploded. "You guys said that you could get me there instantly? Well, now's the time to do it."
Bartemius Crouch's raised hand froze him as he half-stood from the bench seat.
"In a moment, Mister Potter," the wizard said. "Firstly we'll need to get you to show us where it is on this map." A map materialised from an outside pocket of his jacket. "But you may want to take a moment to think about things before you go rushing off."
"What things?" Harry snapped.
"The fact that you're about to leave Surrey to go to Hogwarts," Crouch replied. "You will need to quit your job."
Dropping back into his seat, Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you're right. I am going to have to quit, aren't I?"
"Not to mention do a spot of shopping," Bagman suggested. "At the very least you'll need school supplies and, if I might suggest it, some new clothes?"
Harry's eyes dropped to survey the old clothes of Dudley's that his Aunt Petunia had dyed for him before sewing on the badge that adorned his jumper. The man was right. He did need new clothes. Suddenly an image of a small gold key dropping into the bottom of the cavity under his floorboards blossomed into his mind.
"I'm going to need money for that," Harry said slowly before looking up. "I've still got the key to my vault at home."
"That'll be a help," Bagman beamed. "As will this."
Harry's eyes shifted to the envelope that Crouch had just placed between them. With a quizzical look at the two wizards, Harry picked it up and opened it. Its thickness was explained the instant that he looked inside it. His head snapped up, piercing the wizards in his gaze.
"A little something from the Ministry of Magic for the … disruption that this is causing in your life," Crouch explained.
"How much is in here?" Harry asked sotto voce.
"A thousand muggle pounds," Bagman beamed. "Should be enough for some new clothes. And it matches this."
This was apparently a small bag of large gold coins.
"Two hundred galleons," Bagman stated, giving the combined answer of how much was in there and what the coins were called before Harry could ask.
With more money than Harry had ever seen in his life, if he discounted the mountain of gold inside the vault that his parents had left him, his mind suddenly went blank.
"We understand that this is a little overwhelming," Mister Crouch said gently, "but we really are on a tight schedule. We can give you the rest of today and tomorrow to get your affairs in order. The day after, you must be at Hogwarts."
"Okay, okay," Harry said slowly, trying to get the thoughts that had gone from nothing to a thousand miles a second back under control. "How will I be getting around?"
"We are available to escort you for the remainder of today, but tonight we'd recommend that you stay at the Leaky Cauldron," Crouch replied. "That way you'll be able to do what you need to do at your own pace in Diagon Alley tomorrow."
"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry mused. "That's a … pub, isn't it?"
"And a boarding house," Bagman confirmed.
"Right then, I can think of a few things that we'll need to do here in Surrey before you take me to London," Harry stated, coming to a decision.
His head turned to the left as he looked down the road towards his high school. Another glance at his watch decided him on his course of action.
"If you can take me to Keating's, that'd be a good place to start," Harry said, reaching for the map. "But we won't be there long; just enough time for me to quit face to face. After that, I'll need to come back here."
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4:15pm
Tuesday, 1 November 1994
Keating's Wood n Furniture Workshop, Surrey
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"You're late," a gruff voice noted the instant that Harry had stepped into the workshop.
"I know," Harry replied, looking across the room to note that Sid had already ducked back under the cabinet that he was currently building. "Do you know where Terry is?"
"Office, I think," Sid replied without emerging.
"Thanks," Harry replied.
Setting off to the left and the tiny office half-hidden behind bins full of off-cut pieces of timber, Harry noted the dual pair of footsteps following him. Reaching the door, he rapped on the frame.
"Hey, Terry, you got a minute?" he called.
Terry looked up from the books spread over the surface of his desk. Throwing his pen down, he gave a weary grin.
"You betcha, Harry. Anything to get me away from doing up these accounts."
Stepping into the room, Harry took in his boss. The man was big, easily as big as Uncle Vernon, but where his uncle was made of fat, Terry was all muscle. Even without trying, the simplest movement of his arms flexed considerable muscles. Numerous white scars littered his arms and hands from his decades of working in the business. If Harry didn't actually know him so well, he would have been terrified of the man and the dark bushy beard that covered most of his face only emphasised how dangerous he looked.
But that wasn't who Terry was. Harry knew him as a kind man, if a bit rough at times, but that was simply a by-product of working upwards of fourteen hours a day, seven days a week with men just as rough as he was. It was his eyes that really gave him away. The lines that surrounded his dark brown eyes were made from the full-bodied belly laughs that he seemed to be capable of at a drop of a hat.
When Harry'd first been brought to the workshop by his Uncle all those years ago, he'd been terrified. He had no idea what to expect, especially after being told that he was an old friend of Uncle Vernon's. But it had never been bad. Terry, along with Sid, Pete and Old Angus had all taken him under their wings, showing him the ropes of working in a carpentry workshop.
He'd started with simply sweeping and moving pieces of wood from one place to another. Before long, though, he was being taught about what it took to work as a carpenter. And the day that Harry'd come in and told them that he'd signed up for woodworking at school, they'd fought to be the ones to teach him everything that they knew.
Terry, Sid and Pete spent the most time with him, showing him the secrets of how to use all of the tools, from the sanders to planes, chisels to bevels and even the correct way to apply lacquer. Old Angus took a different approach. From him, Harry learnt more of the old ways, how to do things without power tools and interestingly enough, how to carve, or whittle as the old man called it, small animals out of off-cut pieces of wood.
"Got some friends with you today?" Terry noted, nodding at the two men that had followed Harry into the small office.
"Uh, yeah. This is Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman," Harry introduced, indicating each man. "They're the reason that I'm a bit late. And the reason that I'm going to have to quit."
Terry's eyebrows, never easy to see at the best of times under his unruly mop of greying hair, completely disappeared. "Quit, you say? Now how can these two gentlemen make you do that?"
"I've, uh, I've been given a scholarship to a, uh, a private school in Scotland," Harry replied, giving the best reason that he'd been able to come up with in such a short space of time.
Terry eyed the men speculatively before turning his gaze onto Harry. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but I wouldn't have thought your grades were good enough for that. Unless it's an art scholarship? That I might be able to believe."
"The scholarship was set up by young Harry's parents," Mister Crouch stated. "After their death, when Harry went to his aunt and uncle, we lost track of him and have only just managed to find him again."
"This is something that you want to do? You're not being pressured?" Terry asked intently.
Harry shook his head. "No, no pressure. I … I want to go. It's where my parents went to school …"
Terry reached out and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder after he trailed off.
"We'll be sorry to lose you. You're a good worker, Harry," Terry stated. "At least tell me you'll continue your woodworking classes."
"I'm afraid that Hogwarts doesn't offer woodworking as a subject," Mister Crouch stated.
"Now that's a crying shame," Terry frowned. "You'll be letting all of those talents go to waste."
A thought seemed to occur to him them for he leaned back in his chair as he contemplated the men standing in the doorway.
"Does your school have any space where a workshop could be set up for Harry to work if'n he had the wood and tools?"
Crouch and Bagman shared a look before Mister Crouch carefully answered.
"While it is possible that space could be arranged, Mister Potter wouldn't have any access to … to elec ... electric-ity,"
"No power, huh," Terry seemed to muse before turning back to Harry. "When'll you be heading off?"
"I've got to be up at the school the day after tomorrow, seeing how far into term we already are," Harry replied.
"You'll still be at Vernon's tomorrow, then?"
Harry shook his head. "No, there's a bit that I'll have to do in London tomorrow, so Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman have arranged to take me there tonight."
"What time do you reckon that you'll head off?"
Harry did some quick calculations in his head. "I want to do a bit of shopping here, not to mention I'll need to collect my school records from Stonewall High and then pick up my stuff from Privet Drive. Maybe eight?"
Once again Terry hit the men in his doorway with a piercing look. "You'll be taking him up by truck, I presume."
"Uh, yes, yes, of course," Mister Bagman declared, although if Harry had to guess, he'd say that the wizard had no idea what a 'truck' actually was.
"Good, good," Terry nodded. "Well, we'll be sorry to see you go, Harry. Make sure you come back for the holidays; we'll always have work here for you."
"Thanks, Terry," Harry smiled, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "Can … can you tell the others that I said 'good-bye'? And thanks, thanks for everything."
"It was our pleasure, Harry," Terry said.
Then, with one heartfelt handshake and a last nod, Harry turned and walked from the workshop, hoping that it wasn't the last time that he was doing so.
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7:50pm
Tuesday, 1 November 1994
4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
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Slipping in the back door, Harry took a careful look around.
Good, he sighed, no sign of them.
As quickly as he could, he eased the door shut behind him. The small click of the latch engaging was the only sound to be heard and Harry was sure that it was too soft for anyone else to hear.
On tiptoe he slunk through the kitchen, passed his old cupboard and sidled up to the doorway to the living room. The sound of the blaring television alerted him to the fact that at least one of his relatives was in there. Sliding further along the wall, he eased his head out, just far enough to peek in.
Sitting in his usual armchair, one hand wrapped around the glass that was balanced on his enormous stomach, was his uncle, his eyes glued to the quiz show. His aunt, he noticed, was in the matching chair. Neither had noticed that he was there.
Softly, he ghosted across the opening, glad that he'd had the foresight to leave his new trainers outside the back door – feet only covered in socks made so much less noise. From there he slipped up the stairs towards his room, careful to keep his feet as close to the wall as possible where the joints were the most secure and the wood was least likely to creak with his weight.
With a sigh of relief, Harry reached his room undetected. Leaving the door open behind him, he systematically began gathering his things.
A small pile of books, sketch pads and other art supplies were gathered from his desk and dumped on his bed. A single look in the cupboard and a shake of his head was all that it took for him to abandon all of Dudley's old cast-offs that had been deemed 'worthy enough for a freak'. But then, he knew that he had no need for clothes, not after the last couple of hours.
The myriad of shrunken packages in his old school bag now attested to that fact. If he'd still harboured any doubt about the existence of magic, then seeing Mister Crouch take the dozens of shopping bags from him and tap them with his wand, shrinking them to the size of a matchbook dispelled them instantly.
Those few miniature bags represented what would eventually be his very first wardrobe full of clothes exactly his size and included everything from new Stonewall High uniforms to pants, shirts, jackets, shoes and even underwear and pyjamas. All it would apparently take is a second tap from Mister Crouch's wand to return them to regular size once they were in London later that night.
Dropping to the floor, Harry removed the floorboards that hid his secret stash. There, he'd kept the half dozen animals that he'd carved under Old Angus' tutelage, as well as the couple of certificates that he'd earned from school and the most important thing of all: a tiny golden key that he'd been given more than three years ago.
As quickly as he could, he loaded his school bag with everything that he wanted to take. Then, after slinging it over one shoulder, he started to retrace his steps back towards the back yard and thence on to a Dursely-free future.
The ringing of the doorbell froze Harry as he was about to slip past the living room once more.
A groan of frustration escaped him as he heard his uncle rocking his bulk out of the armchair. Seeing no other option open to him, Harry took the couple of steps backwards and answered the door.
"Terry?" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Hi Harry. The boys and I wanted to give you a going away present," the big man explained.
"What? A going away present? The boy's not going anywhere," Uncle Vernon exclaimed confusedly from behind him.
Terry looked at Harry, confusion written all over his face. "But Harry said …"
Harry hurriedly cut in. "Could you just give us one minute, Terry."
Ducking hurriedly, Harry quick-stepped past his uncle and then his aunt who was now standing in the living room doorway and entered the kitchen, confident that his relatives were following.
"What does he mean you're leaving?" Uncle Vernon hissed.
Knowing how close he was to leaving Privet Drive for the last time, a touch of bravado entered Harry's demeanour.
"Those two wizards came and saw me after school today," Harry began before being cut off by a growl from his uncle.
"They were told that we weren't going to allow you to go."
"I know," Harry replied. "But they had another solution. One that I was very pleased to accept."
"And what was that, boy?" Uncle Vernon growled.
"They emancipated me," Harry simply replied. "That means that I can make my own decisions. And the very first one that I made was that I was never going to live here again."
A gasp from his aunt caused Harry to send a curious glance in her direction, but it wasn't enough to stop him.
"And the second thing that I decided is that I'm going to go to Hogwarts and learn how to be wizard, just like my parents."
Vernon's eyes narrowed. "Fine then. Get out. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Make sure that you never darken our doorstep ever again."
"With pleasure, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied before pushing his way past the man on his way back to the front door. "Oh," he said, pausing to look back, "say goodbye to Dudley for me, won't you?"
"Sorry about that," Harry said to Terry as he took some deep breaths to calm himself down. "What was it you were saying?"
"I've brought over a going away present for you from me and the boys," Terry repeated.
"A present?" Harry blinked. "You didn't have to do that."
"Seemed only right," Terry grunted. "Especially after all the hard work you put in over the years and never seeing a penny of your wages, including what you would've earnt from the pieces that you created and sold."
At Terry's gesture, Harry followed him out the door and around to the side of the house. There he froze at the sight that awaited him.
Neatly stacked alongside the wall of the house were piles of timber. Harry easily made out oak, pine, rowan, teak, mahogany, maple and a handful of others. A quick scan confirmed that there were a dozen or more quality pieces of each type. And that wasn't all. Off to the side was an old wheelbarrow and a couple of large buckets, each filled with off-cuts of varying shapes and sizes.
It was the final item that really caused Harry's breath to hitch, though. Sitting proudly on the grass was the elegant desk that he'd finished making the day before.
"If'n you look in the bottom left-hand drawer, Angus left you something," Terry stated, indicating the desk.
With shaky steps, Harry moved forward and opened the indicated drawer. Inside he found a drawstring bag filled with odd pieces of different type of wood, all perfect for carving and, laying on top, a pair of new knives.
"There's also this," Terry said, drawing his attention once more with a kick to an old box that Harry had failed to notice. "There's a bunch of old tools in there that we've been meaning to throw out. Figured that maybe you could use them."
"Thanks, Terry, I don't know what to say," Harry choked out.
"Nothing to say, really. You earnt it all. Just make something beautiful out of it all," Terry replied. "And don't forget, if'n you ever need a job, there's one waiting for you here."
Terry cleared his throat then glanced around and shuffled his feet. "Better be gettin' back, the misses will be wondering where I am. You take care, Harry."
And with that, he was gone into the night.
Harry felt a presence come up behind him and he glanced to either side to see Mister Bagman and Mister Crouch to either side of him.
"Will I be able to take this with me?" Harry asked doubtfully.
"As easy as a tapping my wand to it," Mister Crouch replied.
"Here," Mister Bagman said, thrusting a piece of paper into his hand. "Tomorrow when you're in Diagon Alley, you go to Stanford's Trunks and give this to Eli Stanford himself. He'll take care of what you need there."
A few minutes later, with the desk, wood and other items shrunk and placed into his now bulging schoolbag and with his new shoes retrieved, a double gunshot-like crack marked Harry Potter leaving Privet Drive for what he hoped was for the very last time.