Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter. Therefore, all of this incredible universe where this fanfiction will take place belongs to J. K. Rowling. No profit, except my entertainment, is being made.
Mendacium - S1/C1 - The Potters
31st of July of 1988 – Charing Cross Street – The Leaky Cauldron
Hardin had been staring at the grubby-looking pub with a sign written Leaky Cauldron for quite some time now. It definitely wasn't what he had pictured when Professor McGonagall had told him about the Diagon Alley entrance, especially considering it was meant to be a famous place.
The pub could certainly use more illumination. Although it was very dark, Hardin could still see everyone in the place. All of them were wearing old-fashioned clothes, like a fifteenth-century wardrobe, and Hardin assumed that this was what Professor McGonagall had called a robe. A group of middle-aged men was loudly talking while drinking, a woman was reading a book sitting alone at a table, and a couple, on the furthest left, was talking about the high price of something called dittany.
"Can I help you, lad?" A voice came from behind his back, and Hardin made a lot of effort not to jump.
He turned around and faced an old and bald man that resembled a toothless walnut. The man didn't have a friendly appearance, but, somehow, he didn't seem unfriendly or threatening. He was just ugly, very ugly. Again, he missed the appealing factor Hardin was hoping to find in the Magical World.
"I'm looking for Tom," Hardin said, trying to keep a calm voice, although his heart was still racing due to the unintentional scare.
"Well, then this is your lucky day. I'm Tom." The man smiled, and Hardin could verify he was, indeed, toothless. "What can I do for you?"
"I need to get to the Diagon Alley. Professor McGonagall said you could show me the way."
"Oh, that's quite simple," Tom said, placing a hand on Hardin's shoulder, and he made a lot of effort not to remove it. "Come on. I'll show you the entrance. Are you a muggle-born? It's quite unusual for muggle-borns to come here by themselves…"
"No," Hardin said shortly, and it was enough for Tom to stop making questions and start walking.
In fact, Hardin had no idea if he was or not a muggle-born, although he strongly believed he wasn't one. Though Professor McGonagall had said there was no difference between people born in the Muggle World and the Wizarding World, he had a feeling that being a muggle-born was not a good thing, so why should he say to anyone that he was one? Hardin could keep saying that he was a muggle-raised person - it seemed better than being a muggle-born. He wanted to believe that, whoever his parents were, they were also special.
He and Tom were now in a small, walled courtyard with a dustbin.
"After you get your wand, you'll only need to tap three up and two across, you see…" Tom explained as he took his wand and made the brick sequence.
The bricks Tom had recently touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared, growing wider and wider, until, a second later, he was facing a large archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. The place was incredible. He was thunderstruck.
He could see multiple stores, in the most diverse shapes, selling things like cauldrons, telescopes, and even broomsticks. Hardin was so distracted that he didn't notice Tom saying goodbye and leaving his side.
With a smile upon his face, glad to finally be in somewhere he genuinely felt like he belonged, he started to walk around the new-found place.
Multiple hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Many kids had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it, and many others were staring at a shop called Gambol Japes. Some shops sold robes, others apothecary items, a few had strange silver instruments he had never seen before, and one store even claimed to have globes of the moon – whatever this was.
Now, even behind his broken lenses, it looked incredible. This was the Wizarding World he had imagined.
Deciding not to waste any more time, Hardin started his mission to find the store that sold the one thing he had been dreaming about to get: a wand. According to the parchment piece that came along his acceptance letter, the best store was the Ollivanders. Professor McGonagall had warned Hardin that although he would have a wand, he wouldn't be able to use it outside of Hogwarts until he completed seventeen.
'What's the point of having a wand and not being able to use it?' He wondered.
At first, randomly walking around the Alley had been fun. But, after some time, he was already getting quite frustrated. Fortunately, soon enough, he saw the peeling gold letters over the door of an old shop that said: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
He entered the shop, and a tinkling bell rang. It was a tiny area filled with thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic. Although a bit unusual, the shop gave him a nice feeling.
"Ah yes…Yes, yes. A new customer…You are?" The voice came from an older man who was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop. He was an odd-looking man.
"Hardin Sayre."
"Oh, so another Sayre has finally come..." The man closed his eyes as if he was trying to remember one long-lost information. "Cedar, core of unicorn hair, ten and a half inches. Very good for charms...Yes, yes...That was it..."
"What was that?"
"The wand of the last Sayre to come here, of course...You have the same name as him, Hardin Sayre..." Ollivander replied, causing Hardin's eyes to widen. "Now...where have I placed my tape?"
"So, I have a family here…" Hardin murmured to himself, while Ollivander seemed to be too distracted looking after something. "Do you know him? Do you know where I can find him?"
"Don't you know him?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "I was certain he was your grandfather, perhaps father...Hardin Sayre...Not a common name…Sayre, such a peculiar surname..."
"Do you know where I can find him?" Hardin repeated slowly.
"I'm afraid not. I've met him only once, and he was just a young boy like you."
"How long ago was that?"
"Perhaps, four or five decades ago?" Ollivander seemed to be hypothesising. "I was never good with dates. I have never forgotten a wand I sold. Ask me a date, however, and my mind will be blank."
'Four or five decades…' Hardin thought. 'Ollivander must be right. He was probably my grandfather. I'm not a muggle-born then.'
Could he maybe go to the equivalent of police and ask for help? Nevermind, as fewer interactions with adults he had, the better.
He was taken back to reality by Ollivander, who was holding a long tape measure with silver markings, "Now, Mr Sayre, what's your wand arm?"
Was his wand arm the same as his writing arm? He didn't know but replied, "Right."
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Hardin from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round his head. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Sayre. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
"Which one is more powerful?"
"Powerful?" Ollivander repeated as if he hadn't heard correctly, "Ah, yes, children and their need to compete...The wands are equally powerful, Mr Sayre. The wand doesn't make the wizard, but the other way around."
"So, there are stronger wizards than others? The wand doesn't make any difference?"
Ollivander seemed thoughtful yet amused, "Well, technically, the wand is only a way for a wizard or witch to channel their magic out. Therefore, theoretically, the stronger the wizard, the stronger magic he can produce, regardless of the wand…" He started to walk around the shop, collecting boxes… "...However, as someone whose family has worked with wands production for centuries, I say that the correct wand does make a difference in how the magic will be performed... For instance, some more loyal wands will only answer with perfection for their true master. Thus, if someone that is not their master tries to use them, they will display resistance, which will cause the magic performed to be weaker than if it had been done with the correct wand." He made another pause. "In conclusion, the answer to your questions is: depends. Magic has many layers, Mr Sayre, many more than we could ever fully comprehend..."
"Oh..." Hardin said, a bit unsure. His reply had been way more than he was expecting. Hardin wanted to question more, but he figured he shouldn't bother the man with his questions. Maybe he could find a book about it later.
Mr Ollivander approached him again, now carrying many boxes.
"That will do." He said and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor.
Mr Ollivander was closely looking at the boxes he had selected.
"All right, Mr Sayre... Try this one. Beech and unicorn hair. Ten inches. Quite whippy. Go on."
Unsure of what to do, Hardin took the wand and waved it. Suddenly, a jet of air came out of the wand right to Mr Ollivander's face. Mr Ollivander quickly took it out of his hand.
"Definitely not this one. You see, this is what we call an incorrect match. This wand would never truly perform all of its potential for you." Mr Ollivander said, and Hardin nodded. He handed him another one. "Chestnut and heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible."
Hardin tried it again, but he had hardly raised the wand when it was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.
"No, no…here, Hawthorn and phoenix tail feather, twelve and a third inches, supple. Go on, go on, try it out."
Hardin tried, tried, and kept trying. Curiously, Mr Ollivander was getting even more excited as the wands were being rejected. The pile of rejected wands was becoming even taller. Hardin had been trying wands for half an hour now.
"Now, let's see this one, Mr Sayre." Mr Ollivander said, getting out of a box a beautiful light-wooden wand. "Pinewood, eleven and a quarter inches long, with a core of dragon heartstring. Supple. Try it on."
Hardin took the wand and felt a warmth in his fingers. Something felt right about that wand, a feeling of acceptance and belonging. Hardin waved the wand, and dozens of red sparks came out of it, just like fireworks that came together and shined.
"Oh, bravo! Bravo!" Mr Ollivander exclaimed happily.
Hardin happily paid seven galleons for the wand. After some instructions about making the wand maintenance - Ollivander had also fixed his glasses, once he realised they were broken - Hardin left the store with a bright smile on his face. Mr Ollivander was a nice old man, Hardin had decided. It was a shame he couldn't use his wand yet.
Unlike he had imagined, buying his school items wasn't as fun as he had considered. First of all, not having enough money to buy what he wanted bothered him. Second, for whatever reason, the Diagon Alley was crowded, which meant more prominent lines. Considering how he wasn't the biggest fan of crowds, this was not being a pleasant experience.
At least, he learned and saw more about magic, and, so far, everything he had seen was terrific. One of his best decisions had been to stop by Sugarplum's Sweets shop, around lunchtime, to try some of the Wizarding's World food - or better, sweets. He hadn't been able to buy much - after all, he still had to buy his uniform - but, with the few sickles Hardin thought were okay for him to spend, he had been able to try a Chocolate Frog, a Pumpkin Pasties and a Cauldron Cake. That had been one of the best lunches in his life.
Before finally being set free from buying his school stuff, his final stop was at a second-handed robes store, where he meant to buy his uniform. He had learned today that the wizard's fashion was a bit atypical, and he wasn't positive if he would ever wear these robes.
Buying clothes at a second-handed store was a weird experience. A lot of the clothes Hardin tried on either had a horrible smell or were way too worn out. Hardin wondered if they had ever been washed – but he was pretty positive they hadn't. Fortunately, after what felt like ages digging into the piles of clothes, he was able to found three good school robes sets, a winter cloak that didn't smell like an old-man-that-had-never-showered-in-his-entire-life, and gloves that weren't entirely damaged. Hardin had also found a cool-looking jersey, which he decided to buy. None of his picked clothes fitted him perfectly, most were a little too big on him, but he didn't see this as a big problem, as this meant he would be able to use them for longer, meaning he would be able to save some money on the following year.
As he was in the line, waiting to pay for his new clothing, he couldn't help but observe the family in front of him. First, they were all gingers. Second, they were seven, seven, kids. Hardin had never been a parent before, but he was quite sure that having seven kids wasn't an easy job. The two youngest of the family, a little girl, and a boy, were particularly annoying him, as they wouldn't stop saying, "I want to see Ed!" or "You promised!". Honestly, Hardin was about to yell at them to shut up.
"Percy, dear, have you found a new cloak for you?" The woman, probably the mother, asked a boy who was almost falling into the piles of cloaks.
"Not yet!"
"Arthur, go help him with it, please." The mother said and, Arthur, probably the husband, followed straight away.
"Mom, can I take this?" Another ginger that seemed older than Percy asked, showing his mother a leather jacket that contained a colossal dragon that moved on its back. Wizarding things would never stop surprising Hardin.
"Charlie, you already have a lot of dragon-themed clothing." She said, and Hardin could spot the sadness in the boy's eyes. "Besides, it's twelve galleons. We cannot afford it, honey. I'm sorry."
"Mom." A little girl called this time. "We have been here for so long! What about Ed? You promised we'd see him! Please, mom!"
"Yeah!" The youngest ginger boy exclaimed.
"Oh, kids…" The mother looked around, likely trying to spot someone. "Ah…Bill, yes...can you take Ginny and Ron to Flourish and Blotts for me? Ginny won't stop until she sees the Potters...I'll meet you three there."
"Sure, mom." A cool-looking boy said while handing to his mother his selected clothes. "Come on, Ginny, Ron."
"I'll meet you three there."
'Potters…' Hardin thought, 'Like in Harry Potter?'
According to his orphanage file, when he had first arrived at the orphanage, he was found lying on the doorstep, unaware, having a single note attached to his clothes saying 'Hardin Sayre, 1977'. However, once he woke up, he claimed that his name was Harry Potter, which confused the orphanage staff. For him, the name Harry Potter had always felt more natural and, if he could choose, he would pick Harry Potter over Hardin Sayre any day. However, as none of the countless researches made by the police officers found any evidence of a Harry Potter's existence, they decided to register him as Hardin Sayre, in the hope whoever had left him came back, searching for him.
Therefore, he started to be called, by all purposes, as Hardin Sayre. Before all of Eliot's situation happened, his friends used to call him Harry, and there was no denying that Harry felt more natural than Hardin had ever sounded.
Suddenly, Hardin had another mission to complete: find out who these Potters were.
Hardin watched as the mother kept talking with her kids, sometimes husband, deciding what they would take, arguing with Charlie about dragons again, and trying to convince Percy they couldn't afford to buy a fancy robe that seemed to be formal-wear. When the cashier called her, Hardin had never seen such confusion in his life. All the reminiscing, four kids threw things at the balcony, and Hardin could have sworn to see the leather jacket in the middle of the pile of clothes. Charlie certainly didn't give up easily.
As the woman was paying for clothes, an explosion noise was heard from the store's back. Hardin spotted the ginger twins with a tricky look on their faces, making everybody immediately turn their heads back. Before anyone had the time to process what the heck had happened, the duo ran out of the store, leaving a great deal of smoke behind.
"Oh, Fred and George!" The woman cried, covering her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry for the mess, Lester. Arthur and I will clean everything."
"It's alright, Molly. It's alright." Lester, the cashier, said. "Nobody can keep those two out of trouble."
After some time, Molly left the store with her small army of children while her husband stayed behind to clean the twins' mess. Soon enough, Hardin paid for his clothes, and he heard the cashier commenting, "Weasleys…Way too many to control. Poor Molly!"
He couldn't help but agree with the man.
Finding his way to wherever the shop these Potters were had been relatively easy, as he found out all he had to do was to follow the crowds. Almost every person was talking about the family.
"Come on, dad, I want to see Ed!" A random boy said as he pushed an older man through the streets. "Do you think I can get a picture as well?"
A group of teenage girls, however, were talking about the Potter couple. "Have you seen her robe? It's so beautiful! I'll ask dad to buy me one just like hers."
"She has the prettiest eyes." The girl by her side added.
"But have you seen Mr Potter? He's so fine!"
"I wish I had their luck…" Another girl seemed to be daydreaming, "Powerful, rich and beautiful. Can anyone ask for more?"
From what Hardin could gather from the conversations he heard as he walked, the Potters were some celebrity - there was no other possibility. He wondered what they had done. Were they actors? Musicians? Writers?
Finally, after squeezing through the crowd, he got close enough to the Flourish and Blotts shop entrance, which he found out to be a bookstore.
'Probably writers, then.' He thought.
Pushing his trunk inside the store, he saw that the whole area was covered with posters and exposed books of one Edward Potter, a child, much to Hardin's surprise. Well, thinking about it, it made sense that those two redheaded kids were so thrilled to see him.
At the entrance of the store, there was a poster that said:
The Adventures of Edward Potter
Get your autograph from our dearest Boy-Who-Lived,
today, and only today, at Flourish and Blotts!
Half of all the profit will be donated to Students in Need, Hogwarts Fund.
Contribute today with the education of our young Witches and Wizards!
Hardin had no idea what these Potter people had done nor what Boy Who Lived meant, but he thought it was a nice gesture for them to donate the profit for a school.
He couldn't come up with a single reasonable explanation to justify this fame this Edward Potter boy had. Was it only because of the "The Adventures of Edward Potter" book series that this kid was famous? Why did the boy on the cover of the books have a lightning scar on his forehead?
Hardin went deeper inside the store as he saw the opportunity, moving towards a restricted section and hiding behind a pile of Edward's books. Giving a glance around, he noticed that there was no one looking at him and enjoyed the opportunity to grab one of the books in the pile and place it inside his bag.
'For educational purposes, of course.' He thought. Yes, he knew stealing was wrong, and he could get in trouble if he were caught, but what was life without a risk?
Now, redirecting his attention to the store's movement, he saw a large table in the middle of the room, surrounded by paparazzi, where a boy - no older than seven years old - was sitting, in the middle of two adults. A little behind the table, separated from the paparazzi, two other men, and two kids sat on a bench, clearly looking annoyed as if they were waiting for them to be allowed to leave.
For Hardin, it was evident that the kid didn't want to be in there. However, he was clearly making his best to still be polite with all of the children - and adults - that came to talk to him and asked for his autograph. Hardin thought it was funny how some bearded men asked for autographs and seemed more thrilled to meet Edward than the kids. The woman by his right side - definitely the most beautiful woman Hardin had ever seen - didn't look much better than Edward. Although she was smiling, it was empty - as if she was trying to suppress some other emotion. Mr Potter, however, had a smile on his face and, for every kid that showed up at the table, he would make something to make them laugh. In Hardin's opinion, he tried to compensate for his wife and son's lack of emotion.
What truly felt weird to Hardin was that they seemed familiar to him, although he had never seen those people before.
Perhaps it was the fact that Mr Potter remembered a lot of himself when he looked in the mirror, with the messy hair and the round glasses. Or was it because Mrs Potter's eyes were shaped like his and they had the same colour?
'This is insane, Hardin…' He thought as his heart beatings became stronger than ever. 'You've never seen them before. It's just pure coincidence that you look like them and that you thought you were Harry Potter.' He took a deep breath. 'You are not related to them. Potter is a common last name. They are famous! If you were related to them, people would know you too. They don't look like the kind of family that sent their son to an orphanage.'
However, every minute he spent watching them, his doubts became stronger - they were too similar. The way Mrs Potter held the quill was identical to how he held a pen, and their dimples were in the same position. Mr Potter had the same habit of running his hand through his hair every time he was reading something, and Edward's laugh was identical to his.
"What are you doing here, kid?"
Hardin almost had a heart attack. He turned around in a jump to see that a bald, dark-skinned man, wearing a single gold hoop earring, was looking at him disapprovingly.
"I'm just looking," Hardin replied quickly.
"Have you seen that this is a prohibited area?" His voice was strong but not threatening. "I work with the security, you see, and I can't have anyone this close to the Potter's table." He made a sign for Hardin to get up, which he did. "Now, if you want an autograph, you have to stay in the line. Cheating your way to getting closer to them won't work."
Hardin's true wish was to tell the guard to sod off, tell him he wasn't skipping the line, that he actually thought that the Potters were his relatives, maybe even his parents. But, the last thing he wanted to do was to cause a scene on his first day on the Wizarding World, with so many people watching him, over a very insane hypothesis. So, admitting defeat, he decided to leave, but he wasn't dropping his suspicions.
However, he couldn't help but just look back at the family one more time.
It only lasted a second, but he felt like the whole world had stopped. Maybe, he was starting to imagine things, but he was sure he had seen Mrs Potter truly smiling at him and that her eyes were getting watery. It was as if he had just looked into a mirror - they had the same eyes. The similarity was there. Only a blind wouldn't see it. Somehow, looking at Mrs Potter made him feel peaceful, as if, from now on, everything would be alright.
He had given one step towards her, but the man pushed him towards the exit. "Kid, don't make me drag you out. Come on. Out. Now."
Sighing, he turned his head to the exit, started to walk, and didn't look back. He was afraid if he looked back, he wouldn't be able to leave without talking to her. Within instants, he was out of the store, randomly walking around, with his head filled with thoughts about the Potter family. He was so distracted that he hadn't noticed the strange movement happening in the store he had just left.
'It's just coincidence, Hardin. You are overthinking this.' He thought as he walked, pushing his trunk, aiming to find the Leaky Cauldron. 'They aren't your parents. If they were, they wouldn't have left you. Why would they? It doesn't make sense. It's just a coincidence.'
His travel back to the orphanage was silent.
He pondered if he should have stayed in the line and tried to talk with them. But, just what would he say?
'Hey, I know this sounds crazy, but I think I'm your son. You know, when I was four, I told the orphanage staff that my name was Harry Potter, though all my documents say I'm Hardin Sayre. So, as you look a bit like me, I was wondering: are you my parents that dropped me in an orphanage almost seven years ago?'
Well, that would have been an exciting conversation. Hardin could even imagine the heading those paparazzi would make in whatever journal wizards used: "Delusional orphan child claims to be a Potter.".
'No, you've made the right choice. Your name is Hardin, not Harry.' He reminded himself. 'You'll be going to Hogwarts as Hardin Sayre. If you were Harry Potter, the letter would show Harry Potter, not Hardin Sayre.'
Over the last hours of the day, he tried to keep his mind occupied. He flicked through his school books, polished his newly-bought wand, and ate the last Chocolate Frog sweet he had bought at Sugarplum's Sweets Shop. He knew that he had spent way too much money on sweets, money that he could have used to purchase other things in the future, but nobody can expect a child filled with money not to spend with what they liked, right? What was he going to do with the money if he hadn't spent it? Bought more books? No, he wasn't a library rat. He had better things to do with his time.
However, as the night approached and he went to bed, his last thoughts were still about the Potters: there were just way too many coincidences for him to ignore and, he vowed to himself, not to ignore it.
Author's Notes
First, I would like to apologize for any grammar mistakes, especially because English is not my first language, so I may commit some flaws.
Thank you for reading. Please comment and give me your thoughts. I hope you've enjoyed it.