-Aside from OCs and AUs, everything is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling-
-IX- Meet the Public-
The next day saw all of them up early. The five of them; even Aunt Mim was available at half six most mornings, sat around the table in the small breakfast room it had been decided was infinitely more suited for so few to eat in.
The much-anticipated pop of a house elf's arrival had them all turning eagerly.
Kreacher came over to Harry and placed a large stack of papers in front of him. The urgency of his mission had been impressed upon him to such an extent that those he presented were neither carefully ironed, nor on a silver tray.
The Daily Prophet sat on top of the pile.
'The BOY-WHO-LIVED RETURNS' blared the headline, text dully factual, but font twice the usual size.
"They could have gone with 'BOY-WHO-LIVED LIVES!'" Sirius suggested disappointedly. "That would at least have had some irony. I like the photo though."
An enormous photo of Harry was plastered to the front page, waist-up, standing in front of the doors of the Wizengamot chamber and smiling lazily.
"It's not bad." Harry admitted, as he turned the paper back round to stare at his own face.
"The article?" Remus asked.
Harry scanned what text they'd managed to fit beneath the attention-grabbing stuff. 'Thunderstruck Wizengamot… missing saviour arrives to the apparent confoundment of Chief-Warlock… Minister Fudge supports demand that he accede to his seats on the Wizengmot three years earlier than he would ordinarily be allowed to… no clue as to whereabouts, past or present… anticipated to be attending Hogwarts in September.
He read these salient points out to them, before handing the paper over for Remus to look at the following two pages of article.
"They chose a boring feature writer." Sirius said, pouting slightly.
"I should probably just be thankful they didn't let that Skeeter woman do it."
"Oh, I don't know," Sirius replied lightly, "she'd have liked the opportunity to do another hatchet job on Dumbledore."
"I think even the people who don't like him have had enough of those from her. Anyway, how about this?" He suggested, smiling slightly as he held up a copy of The Quibbler.
Sirius grinned back even more broadly as he took in the big photo of the bewildered looking Dumbledore.
'Chief-Warlock POSSESSED by Rogue Crumple–Horned Snorkack.' Declared the batty headline.
"Xenophilius is my new favourite person." Sirius declared. "Even if he is still going on about those bloody imaginary Snorkacks of his."
"Mmm, he's asking his readers to fund an expedition so that he can go to Sweden and actually find them, presumably to stop them possessing important and much-loved politicians."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "And the others?" He asked, gesturing at the pile.
"Mostly similar to The Prophet. Oh dear." He said, both amused and faintly embarrassed as he reached the publication at the bottom of the pile.
Sirius leaned forwards.
"Bahahaha." He burst out laughing, falling back into his chair. Dorea and Aunt Mim chuckled softly.
'HOTTEST BOY-WHO-LIVED?' asked Teen Witch Weekly. An enormous close-up of Harry's face filled the rest of the magazine's front cover. It showed him wearing the flirtatious grin he'd given Lady Longbottom during their initial exchange.
"I think that should replace my mother's portrait instead." Sirius suggested.
Harry growled. "This is definitely sexual harassment of a minor, or something." He said, looking at his aunt.
She raised her eyebrows innocently, amusement plain. "I fear I know little about that sort of thing in the wizarding world." She said.
"And, to be fair, you did sort of bring this down on yourself with what you said to Lady Longbottom." Remus said, faking seriousness.
"I was nervous. It seemed like the easiest way to get her to shut up."
"Well, it worked." Sirius said. "It's probably got you lots of new fans as well." He noted, before beginning to read the accompanying article, having snatched the magazine.
"Do I want to know?" Harry asked with a pained expression.
"I doubt it."
"So, plans for the next fortnight?" Remus asked.
"Thanks," Harry said, grateful for the change of subject. "Well, we're going to have to hire some staff, and get the decorators in here. I think Lord Shafiq wanted a meeting, but he'll owl about that."
Remus nodded.
"I'll wait a couple of days and then ask Dumbledore about a position. Although," he said, frowning slightly, "I heard a rumour that he's lined up Mad-Eye Moody to take the empty DADA slot."
Sirius snorted. "Mad-Eye, a teacher? Dumbledore wants a generation of students scared shitless of their own shadow?"
"Language, Sirius." Dorea reprimanded smoothly.
"Sorry," he apologised, entirely unrepentant, "I wonder how Dumbledore even persuaded him to sign up. I mean, he trained a few batches of aurors, but he really doesn't have the temperament to coddle eleven year olds."
"Excitement, I suspect." Remus suggested. "Retirement must be agonising for someone like him, and Mad-Eye is about the only one who would actually find the supposed curse on the defence positions interesting rather than terrifying. He will probably kill a few students, though." He admitted.
"Sounds interesting." Harry said. "I think I'd like to meet him."
"I suspect not many people have said that about him." Remus noted
"Particularly not after they actually have met him."
"I think we'll be friends." Harry said cheerfully.
Sirius frowned. "You seem to be saying that a lot."
"I can't help it if people like me. It's the sheer magnetism of my personality."
"According to this article…" Sirius said, tapping Teen Witch Weekly, "it's your sex appeal."
"That too."
Aunt Mim, Sirius and Harry went to pick up his school supplies a few days later, Sirius heavily and carefully glamoured, whilst Harry was draped with judiciously applied Notice-me-Not charms.
Astana Tattings, owner of Twilfitt & Tattings, actually dropped her measuring tape when she saw Harry walk into her shop and restore his own appearance.
"Lord Potter." She fluttered, curtseying deeply, once she'd gathered herself.
"Madame Tattings." He replied, noting the name embroidered onto her robes. "I've been informed that you are the only respectable option for sourcing Hogwarts robes?"
She nodded eagerly. "Indeed. Twilfitt and Tattings has been the purveyor of the finest quality student robes for nearly three centuries. The Potters have been customers for generations."
Harry smiled. "Then I'm glad to be continuing a tradition. I appreciate it's terribly impolite to barge in here without an appointment, but would it be possible to arrange a fitting with some degree of expediency?"
She nodded eagerly. "Immediately, my lord. I will fit you myself."
Half an hour later they walked back out into the sunshine, bearing promises of garments ready within a day.
"Books next?" Aunt Mim asked.
Harry agreed, and they made their way to Caxtwell & Son's, estd. 1476.
It was probably the most upmarket of the bookshops which still stocked the Hogwarts set texts, and in this case that exclusivity translated into the books for each subject having already been gathered into sets and bagged according to year. Harry listed his electives to a surprised looking assistant who asked, blushing, for his autograph as she added up his purchases.
Trips to an apothecary and a fantastically expensive luggage shop, where Harry bought a set of cases bound in fine Hungarian Horntail hide and chased with silver, followed. They then spent what Aunt Mim considered an inordinately long time in Quality Quidditch Supplies before both Harry and Sirius bought a Firebolt, along with collection of accoutrements.
"Do you want one, Aunt Mim?"
"I'm sorry?"
"A Firebolt. You know, muggles can fly broomsticks too."
"I'll stick to my jets. Speaking of which, I must go back now."
"Of course. We're honoured to have had the morning in your presence."
Ollivander's was their last stop. Harry had a wand, but it would certainly not adhere to any of the English Ministry's requirements.
The old man looked up as the entered. His shop was small but well-kept, with a polished counter opposite the entrance, a pair of comfortable chairs and row of glass display cases in the section customers could access.
"Lord Potter." He greeted Harry querulously. "I have been expecting you."
"Yes, sorry about that. I appreciate three years is a long wait, but I suppose it just heightens the anticipation?" Harry said hopefully.
The old man chuckled. "Indeed it does, indeed it does." He surveyed Harry through large moon-like eyes for a while, before turning suddenly and seizing a narrow box, which he placed on the counter.
"Try this."
Harry raised an eyebrow, but did as he was bidden.
Ollivander watched curiously.
The wand felt dead, even when Harry tried to force some magic through its length.
"I see." Ollivander murmured softly, before sharpening. "Lord Potter, it is my professional opinion that you are already bound to a wand."
Sirius snorted with confusion behind him, but Harry looked at Ollivander for a few moments before nodding.
"I am. It was my understanding, however, that that should not be a particular difficulty?" He asked curiously.
Mr Ollivander paused, muttering to himself under his breath, before speaking.
"It shouldn't. I can only suspect that your wand is particularly well and tightly bound to you."
Harry frowned. "You see, the wand I have I acquired overseas, and I fear that it does not adhere to the letter of Ministry strictures."
"I should like to see this wand of yours, Mr Potter."
Harry paused.
"How far does your customer-client confidentiality extend?"
He was eyed inscrutably.
"It is absolute. My word is my bond, but I am, of course, willing to swear an oath of silence."
"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to do that."
Harry grinned once they were finished, and drew back his sleeve to expose the auror-style wand holster strapped to his right forearm. As soon as he drew the wand itself from its protective sleeve he heard Sirius expel a soft breath and step back. Ollivander froze, gaze locked in.
Harry paused to cast a few detection and security charms to prevent the recording and eavesdropping that wouldn't be covered by Ollivander's oath, before placing the wand carefully on one of the velvet pads on the counter.
"I didn't know you had a wand?" Sirius asked from behind Harry, apparently recovering himself enough to step forwards curiously.
Harry snorted
"I can do most things wandlessly, but it's still easier with, and much better for fine control. It would have been difficult to find tutors who were comfortable enough to teach wandlessly. I have another, slightly more innocuous wand that I use for most training sessions. But this is my wand."
They watched Ollivander pore over its length, nose nearly touching it as he drew out a jeweller's monocle.
"So what is it?" Sirius asked eventually. "I can feel it from here."
Harry was about to answer when Ollivander stood back up.
"African blackwood and the heartstring of a nundu, thirteen inches."
"A nundu?" Sirius asked incredulously. "They're extinct."
"Most of the time, yes." Harry replied. "They seem to disappear and reappear from history. I believe it's currently theorised that they don't actually procreate, but are created in the desert by some amalgamation of rare natural phenomena. The heartstring in that wand came from the last known nundu, lured out to sea by the Egyptian army in 1798. He drowned, but not before destroying a string of settlements throughout north Africa, and killing an estimated twenty thousand in the Great Massacre of Alexandria."
"That's probably why I can feel the power." Sirius said, the strain in his levity betrayed by his widened eyes.
"I have never seen a wand crafted from either of these materials." Ollivander noted, actually looking impressed. "I suspect that your own magic must be considerable, Lord Potter, for such a creation to deign to choose you."
"We can just about handle one another." Harry said lightly.
"Where exactly did you get a wand like that?" Sirius asked, now sounding slightly suspicious.
"Maybe I'll tell you one day." Harry said, shrugging.
"You didn't steal it, did you?"
"You'd love it if I had."
Sirius nodded. "Probably."
Harry refocused his attention on Mr Ollivander.
"Would it be possible to think about solving my problem?"
"Quite, quite." The old man seemed suddenly excited. "I think that the issue is as much the magic of your existing wand as it is your own. A wand like yours will have a certain degree of independent will, and I believe that it would appreciate a certain amount of say in the selection of its mate."
Harry raised an amused eyebrow.
"I suspect your assessment is accurate. Are you able to make any suggestions?"
Ollivander paused.
"I have one possibility." He scurried back between the ceiling-high stacks of wand boxes, disappearing from sight for a few moments, before coming back clutching one.
He placed it in front of Harry reverently.
"This, out of all the many thousands of wands I have produced, is amongst the few dozen I am particularly proud of."
He opened the box reverently.
"Twelve and three-quarter inches. Basilisk fang. I would like you to tell me about the core, Lord Potter."
Harry looked at him curiously again, before returning his gaze to the beautifully carved bone-white wand. Like with his other, he could feel the raw hum of magic, a vibration of almost living strength clinging to it. He stretched out a hand and plucked the wand from its cushioning. His own magic purred in instant approval. He picked up his other wand, and was strangely unsurprised when it, also seemed to express a peculiar contentment.
He concentrated on the basilisk wand, turning over the old man's words, confused.
"It doesn't have a core." He said absently, unsure about the source of his sudden certainty.
Ollivander smiled. "Very good. And?"
Harry forced himself to grapple with the problem logically.
"Well, something must be neutralising the venom. Which is interesting, when even phoenix tears are supposedly unable to help a person when more than a few drops of venom are in their blood; and to effectively neuter the fang of a basilisk as large as this one must have been would be a vastly more difficult task."
Ollivander nodded.
"Nicholas Flamel." He prompted suddenly.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Elixir of Life then, presumably."
Ollivander smiled.
"An old friend of mine. He was more than willing to give me some elixir to use in my experiments. I am told the potion would have lost its properties had I attempted to use it to prolong my own life, but research, research is the very foundation of alchemy. Steeping basilisk fang in Elixir of Life has made a quite fascinating wand."
"Indeed. I am curious, however, as to your motivation for offering it to me?" Harry questioned.
Ollivander shrugged, smiling deprecatingly.
"I expect great things of you, Lord Potter. I would like one of my creations to be involved and celebrated. I am also able to charge one such as yourself a price concurrent with the materials and time spent."
Harry actually laughed. "Of course, and why should a comfortable retirement not be an admirable ambition?"
Ollivander nodded. "You are most understanding, Lord Potter."
Harry drew out a bearer book.
"Would it be possible to ask you to cease providing information to Albus Dumbledore about all of the wands you sell?" He asked casually.
Ollivander frowned.
"Lord Potter, I have no idea what rumours you have been listening to." He said sharply.
"Then let us make it more abstract. I would ask you to swear an Unbreakable Vow which prevents you from providing Dumbledore with information, irrespective of whether that is in fact a practice you currently indulge in, and in return I pay you generously for my magnificent new wand."
He ignored the silent wandmaker for a few moments as he sketched out a bond for ten thousand galleons and laid it on the counter.
Ollivander eventually extended his hand to clasp Harry's, who gestured Sirius forward. He formulated the oath, and Ollivander repeated it calmly. Harry signed the bond with a flourish and presented it to the man.
"You have my thanks."
Sirius followed him from the shop silently, only speaking once they were sat comfortably in the window of an expensive restaurant.
"You bribed Ollivander!" He exclaimed in a fierce whisper which was probably less quiet than he'd hoped.
"I did." Harry agreed calmly.
They had a relaxed lunch, full of laughter and excellent food. Afterwards, Sirius dragged Harry off to Zonko's Joke Shop, assuring him that it was necessary for an aspiring Marauder to be properly equipped, although he noted that what they sold wasn't in the same league of outrageous as some of the things he'd managed.
"It sounds like I'm going to have to blow up the whole damn school to outclass you." Harry said drily, when Sirius had finished telling a particularly lengthy story involving a Professor Slughorn and half the contents of restricted greenhouse three.
"Probably." Sirius said, nodding wisely. "Though maybe wait until seventh year for that one. It could be a back-up plan in case you fuck up your exams."
"Quidditch?"
"Yes. It's the wizarding sport, well, the biggest one."
"You want me to go to a sports match and sleep in a tent?"
"I want you to attend an enormous social event where lots of reporters will be, meeting the best of British wizarding society."
"And the accommodation?"
"Will be more than up to your exacting standards."
"Fine, I'll come."
"Excellent."
"Why do we need to leave on Friday when the match isn't until Saturday?"
"Because the social event thing, the bit you'll actually enjoy, I'm hosting, is on Friday evening. Everyone stays overnight anyway, and seeing as the match could drag on for days they like to make themselves comfortable."
"You're all magical. Why on earth would you camp when you can be back at home?"
"For the excitement and sense of community, of course. You'll love it; the Ministry, in some random flight of bureaucratic fancy, has decided the whole event is muggle themed."
His aunt's lips actually quirked in amusement. "So the idea is that these wizards pretend to be muggles for a couple of days?"
"I think that's basically it. It sort of smacks of Dumbledore's involvement to me, what with the muggle-understanding and dressing up."
"So I'll get to meet your new headmaster?"
"Probably. He's bound to wander in at some point; I've invited him to the gathering."
She smirked at him. "Gathering? Are you trying to make it sound grown up?"
"I'm trying to avoid the word party. I suspect a fourteen year old inviting you to a party lacks a certain gravitas in the minds of most people."
"You mean we're not all getting drunk and having a disco?"
"Is that really how you meet new people?"
She pouted. "It's how I want to meet new people; your 'event' is sounding remarkably like the cocktail evenings I attend for work."
"The ones of those I've been to haven't been that bad."
"You could just stand there and be outrageous and everyone thought it was charming. I have to laugh politely and network and actually listen to people's anecdotes and remember the names of their children."
"Poor you. Let's hope the company at this one makes up for it. You and Granny are the hostesses, after all."
"That's probably the shortest notice I've ever been given for something like this."
"I know your social calendar is normally booked up six months in advance, but you can do this for me?"
"I've said yes, haven't I?"
Updated- 16/04/19
