Chapter Nine: In Which The Story Actually Starts and Things Begin to Actually Matter
It must be said that, objectively, Harry was doing a hell of a lot better than poor Canon!Harry when it came to this living-with-the-Dursleys thing, but that didn't mean they weren't aware that the underlying detestation for Harry's sub-species was there, ready to spring and make them utterly miserable for them at the drop of a hat. Harry was lucky that they had a getaway plan in play, but what they lacked in comparison to Canon!Harry in misery and unwitting resignation to an unfeeling fate Harry made up for in heart-thumping, gut-wrenching, painfully-aware dread that they would be revealed as the "freak" they were any day now and no longer have the Dursleys' tolerance.
After that time a while ago when Harry had gone to Diagon with Kenneth's family and finally learned their legal name in this life at Gringotts, Harry had immediately gone to scope out a luggage store for the Space-Expanded briefcase they were hoping to purchase when the time was right. Lo and behold, said briefcase was around as expensive as Harry had anticipated — luckily, their coffers were much plumper than they had feared; they still didn't know the specifics of the Potter Family's investments, but they had enough that the Expanded briefcase Harry wanted could be bought several times over easily.
As the clock ticked down to the arrival of their acceptance letter, Harry unobtrusively gathered what of their meagre belongings they would take with them and set aside what they would leave, preparing for when they'd have to stuff their backpack and make a run for it. Fortunately, their essentials were already always in their bag, and Harry had seen videos on YouTube in the future-past on how to pack clothes space-efficiently.
It would be fine, Harry told themselves. They'd snatch their letter as it came with the post and hide it, preventing the whole destroy-Harry's-letters-and-try-to-escape sequence. They'd book it and leave the note for Aunt Petunia they'd already written saying that Harry would try not to come back but no promises. Then they'd go to Justin's for a bit before both of them would meet up with Kenneth for their school shopping. After that, Harry would book a room in the Leaky Cauldron and hang out in Diagon until it was time to catch the train to school.
Easy. Straight-forward. They'd had it planned out for literal years now. It was fine.
Still, their hands constantly trembled, nausea was ever-present, and they really wished they had [REDACTED]'s inhaler. Think contestant on an American competitive cooking show being told they have one minute left; think solo PowerPoint Presentation in middle school when you've got a stain on the back of your white skirt from sitting in chocolate milk; think making a phone call for a doctor's appointment, but you're also on a stage dressed as a zucchini in a theatre version of VeggieTales, and everyone in the audience literally hates you and your portrayal of King Xerxes.
It was fine. It was fine — Harry was not. Harry was very, very not fine. They hadn't been fine since Dudley's eleventh birthday.
Harry had paid especial attention to project 'normalcy' as they had been herded into the back of the car with Dudley and Piers. It wasn't the worst position to be in since Harry had made nice with the two boys for a long while now (and they were pretty sure Piers had a crush on them), but being seated between the two meant Harry was right in line-of-sight whenever Vernon glanced back in the mirror. Vernon had never quite gotten over his suspicion of Harry — neither really had Petunia for that matter — so he always had a wary eye out whenever Harry was around him.
The entire zoo sequence had played out essentially the same as canon, but with less blatant favouritism and barely-veiled negligence. Wandered the zoo, had ice cream (of which Harry got a proper double-scoop cone instead of a cheap ice lolly), wandered some more, had more ice cream after lunch, and then it was the Reptile Exhibit. With Dudley and Piers being friendly instead of horrid, it wasn't a bad run even with Harry's internal screaming playing on an eternal loop in the background of their mind.
Harry did the sensible thing and didn't talk to the Brazilian boa constrictor. From what they remembered, it got recaptured later anyway, so it wasn't like there was any point on that front in getting its hopes up. If they wanted a constrictor friend, they'd adopt one from the pet store in Diagon.
Having not caused a scene on Dudley's birthday, they were not locked in their cupboard until the summer holidays had already started and Dudley had already destroyed a handful of his birthday presents. They got through the acquiring of Smeltings' and Stonewall's school uniforms without a blip; Petunia even bought Harry the official uniform instead of dyeing Dudley's old clothes grey as per canon.
So far, so good.
And then the day arrived.
Harry had been in the kitchen making breakfast with Petunia, Vernon at the table with his newspaper and Dudley banged his Smelting stick against his chair as the two waited for their food. Harry was tending to the sausages when they heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.
Harry's stomach felt like it hit the floor with the rest of the post.
"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the mail, Harry."
Harry didn't have the heart to follow the dialogue script for the scene.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," they answered as they deftly removed the sausages from the stove and onto the serving plate. They slid a couple slices of bread into the pan to fry and then trotted out to the door.
Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — the letter. Harry picked it up and stared at it, their belly doing jumping-jacks.
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp, of course. Turning the envelope over, their hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
Msm H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
'Msm'? Hadn't that . . . ? It was sitting in the place 'Mr' had been in canon. Was this a term of address? It had to be, didn't it? Was this . . . ? Harry's heart could help but flip with untimely glee. Was this an instance like 'Boy Who Lived' being 'One Who Lived' instead? Was this the abbreviation of a gender-neutral term of address that wizards used?
Gods, why was this reality as awesome as it was nerve-wracking?
Vernon then bellowed for Harry to hurry it up, making that lame joke about searching for letter-bombs. Harry was forcibly jolted out of their small delight, and their feet started moving again. As they passed, they shoved the letter through the ventilation slits of the cupboard door. Bustling back into the kitchen, their mind was already racing with their plans again.
This was it — Harry was running away that very day.
Harry slipped into their cupboard after doing the washing up, heart thumping like a drumline. Dudley had run off to one of his friends' places, Vernon was off to work, and Petunia was showering upstairs, so there was no one around to hear Harry stuffing their backpack. Once that was done, they popped back out and set the visibly plump bag by the door, hidden slightly by the coats of the coat-rack.
Keeping an ear on the sound of water coming from up the stairs, Harry trotted out to the garden to inform the snakes.
Dozens upon dozens of tiny scaled heads poked out from the underbrush when Harry stepped onto the grass.
§The time has come,§ Harry hissed, scooping up Dewey who slithered up to them. §I leave this nest today.§
There were murmurs of discontent.
§When will the overlord return?§ asked an elderly grass snake. §Order will fade if there is no master to command.§
§I will return with the next summer,§ Harry responded quickly, stroking Dewey's head, agitation making their fingers twitchy. §I will return with a new nest that I can carry with me so that I may live anywhere without worry. A magical nest. When that time comes, any serpent that desires to come and share my new nest may do so and stay with me as long as they desire. Any that chooses to stay here or leave for new territory for themselves may also do so. In the meantime, stay here as long as you please.§
§May we not go with the overlord now?§ asked an adder hatchling, the newest to Number Four.
This gave Harry pause.
§Where I will go will be cold and made of stone. And I will not have a place to keep you safe and properly fed for at least a few days after I leave here,§ said Harry. §Also, I will not be able to carry many of you with me today — my carrying pouch is currently filled with what I need to take with me to live. At most, I can carry two — maybe three if they are small enough.§
§Take me with you, Overlord,§ begged the little adder, slithering up to Harry's feet. §I fear I will be eaten while you are away.§
§If Cold-Evening-Wind goes, I will go as well!§ said Dewey, wrapping around Harry's wrist. §A baby is no help! Overlord will need a useful serpent!§
§I can be useful!§ Cold-Evening-Wind protested. §My venom will become more painful as I grow! In the meantime, I can hide and spy on enemies! Very useful!§
§Alright, alright,§ Harry sighed.§I don't have time for arguments. Both of you may come. Is there any else that desires to come along at this time? Answer swiftly.§
Fang presented himself proudly before anyone could contest him.
§Naturally, it must be this one that accompanies No-Longer-Hatchling Overlord.§
Harry picked up the sound of the upstairs tap being turned off and so hurriedly hoisted the snakes into their arms.
§Cold-Evening-Wind, into my hair!§ Harry hissed urgently as they glided near-silently across the kitchen floor, ears locked on the sounds of footsteps upstairs. §Fangs-Glinting-in-the-Water's-Reflection and Spring-Dew-on-Grass, into my carrying pouch!§
The little adder settled into Harry's voluminous curls and the two older serpents slipped into the crevices of Harry's backpack smoothly. Harry hoisted their backpack up and onto their shoulders in one smooth movement. As they heard the sound of Vernon and Petunia's bedroom door opening again, Harry yanked open the front door and dropped a folded-up sheet of notebook paper onto the floor behind them.
And then Harry was out the door, door slammed shut behind them before the piece of paper even hit the floor. Heart in their throat, panicked tears prickling their eyes, they were dashing down the street at top speed before any nearby nosy neighbour could twitch back their curtains and peer through their windows to see what the noise was all about. By the time Petunia got to the entrance way — where she had rushed to after jumping and shrieking at the sound of the door shutting so loudly — Harry was long gone.
Petunia didn't notice the piece of paper sitting on the floor right away, she was too preoccupied with carefully searching the ground floor of her home for home-invaders, a lamp held like a bat in her hands. It was only after she had calmed down and returned the lamp to its usual place that she saw what Harry had left behind.
Petunia picked up the folded bit of paper with a frown, opening it cautiously.
In blue ink, written in tidy, slanted script, it read:
Dear Aunt Petunia,
You can probably guess where I'm going. Thank you for providing me with food and shelter for all these years. I know you and Uncle Vernon never wanted me, and that you've been scared about what could have happened to Dudley with me around. I'm sorry that you were pushed into taking me in despite how scared and angry you've always been. I've always done my best to not be alarming, but I know it can be scarier when you know something is there but it's never shown itself.
I will try not to come back. Please, rest more easily knowing that I will never come back if I can help it. I will do what I can so that they will not know and then try to make you take me back. I will keep considering Number Four my home as long as I can so that you can keep the protection, but you don't have to worry about seeing me or being involved in my matters ever again.
I will be fine, so don't feel obligated to let anyone know if they somehow think to come and ask about me. I will be safe and I will not let them find me where I'm "not supposed to be" when not at school.
Best wishes,
Harry
Insert obligatory shopping scene here and all that.
In their base form that the Finch-Fletchleys knew as Justin's friend, Harry crashed at Justin's place for the weekend. Justin's letter from Hogwarts had come that morning as well, of course — delivered by a professor to explain since Justin was a muggle-born. The Finch-Fletchleys were kind of strung out and nervous at first when Harry showed up, but Harry and Justin put them more at ease by explaining that Harry, too, was a wizard.
Well, Mr Finch-Fletchley broke out in nervous laughter, and Mrs Finch-Fletchley looked like she really needed a drink, but Justin's siblings took it rather well. If nothing else, all five were relieved Justin would have a friend going with him that they knew and were familiar with. They were doubly relieved when they were told that Harry knew their way around the wizarding district.
Cue Harry and the Finch-Fletchleys meeting up with the Towlers at the Leaky Cauldron Monday after lunch.
The Finch-Fletchleys were rather hilariously out of place in Diagon Alley in their fashionable muggle clothes. Even the most mugglishly dressed muggle-borns didn't tend to wear the latest and greatest of muggle trends; the chic Finch-Fletchleys stuck out like a green apple in a basket of purple sweet potatoes. Next to the Towlers who wore cloaks over low-key muggle casual-wear, it was comparing apples to rutabagas.
Despite their differences, the two parties got on rather well. Mrs Finch-Fletchley was a socialite who knew how to make friends, Messrs Finch-Fletchley and Towler were both the easy-going sort, and Justin's siblings were just so excited to be there that they forwent picking on their youngest sibling altogether. Add in Kenneth who was just so PTA-approved in general, and the two families were very happy together.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons as the crowd of them passed in front of a neatly-kept shop. The sign hanging over the front window read: Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible.
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry couldn't identify, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon — taking it all again with the chorus of awe that was the Finch-Fletchleys was almost like seeing it anew once more.
The Towlers kindly led the Finch-Fletchleys to Gringotts to exchange money, gently warning about the goblins and to be mindful not to stare. Justin's sister Josephine didn't manage to follow instructions, but Harry prevented a potential incident involving a battle-axe by distracting the girl with talk of currency.
As far as shopping sequences went, it was pretty standard even including the extra characters. Harry knew it was rather uncharitable to think of the Towlers and Finch-Fletchleys as extras, but Harry was still generally numb and internally screaming in the back of their mind from finally reaching the start of canon and having their low-impact days uprooted, so it should be considered an achievement that they still remembered to smile and reacted to outside stimuli at all.
Harry went through the motions — bank; supplies; books (Ooh, okay, their subconscious stirred for books); clothes; trunk (and they picked up that Space-Expanded item they'd been after, only it was a multi-compartmented leather document bag); and wand.
They were more present and lucid when it came to the wand. It might have had something to do with the heavy feel in the air as they stepped into Ollivander's; like humidity, thick on the skin and filling the lungs, but it was cool and crisp — more of a thin spread of peppermint lip-balm than humidity's sticky, honey-like feel. Ducking into the shop with the Finch-Fletchleys while the Towlers went off for their own business temporarily felt like stepping into a mist of aloe vera gel.
Despite Harry's misgivings, they still did acquire the holly and phoenix feather wand. However, Mr Ollivander muttered to himself for a bit before outfitting the wand with an ash handle extension, taking it from eleven inches to fourteen.
"An ash handle for that unyielding heart," murmured the wandmaker as he handed it back to Harry. "Holly and ash . . . a wizard unwavering from their principles."
Harry stood with their back almost touching one of those impossibly tall shelves, the chill of the wood seeping in against their back despite the lack of direct contact. A beam of sunlight streaming in through the window fell on the hand that lightly held the modified wand by its corded handle. The wand looked absurdly long in Harry's little hand at first, but then the ghost of muscle memory possessed them and they slipped into a bow grip without thinking.
Harry weaved their wand in the air with precise turns of their wrist.
Yes, this was right. This was familiar. This they knew well.
"Do you sell holsters as well, sir?" Harry asked quietly underneath the sounds of Justin's family still oohing and ahhing over his prettily filigreed chestnut wand. Harry didn't have pockets deep enough to hold a fourteen inch wand.
"I do indeed, Mistrum Potter," Mr Ollivander replied with an incline of his head. "If you look over here—"
"What did you call me?" Harry couldn't help but say pertly.
Mr Ollivander paused.
"'Mistrum Potter'? Ah, that's right — Muggles don't have that word? I always seem to forget. Muggle-borns always take a turn when I address them with the term."
"Is that . . . ?" Harry said slowly, heart beating excitedly. "For . . . for neither 'Miss' nor 'Mister'?"
"That's correct. People nowadays seem to be more comfortable in just asking when it's unclear if one or the other or neither is appropriate, but those of my day find the inquiry far too invasive. We simply go with the neutral when in doubt unless told otherwise." Mr Ollivander smiled sympathetically. "Shall I assume from your reaction that this address suits you?"
"Oh, yes, sir!" Harry breathed, beaming.
Mr Ollivander then sold them an arm holster that looked like a chunky leather wristband with copper buckles, charmed to grow up to three inches. Together with their wand, it cost Harry nine Galleons.
Harry practised sheathing and unsheathing their wand, quietly marvelling at the prodigious length disappearing and re-emerging from its slot at the back of their left hand parallel with their middle finger. Though they had long gotten their head around this reality, the novelty had yet to fade.
They drew it out once more and just let it rest in their hand for a moment, thumb, index, and middle finger pinching it at the raised hilt like a conductor's baton. A wand for one unwavering from their principles — that was what Mr Ollivander had said. Harry didn't feel very unwavering at the moment, but . . . with the wand finally in their hands, they felt like they had an anchor at last.
