Chapter Three: The Sun II

AN 1: I have written a prologue. I am not certain where the link will bring you when you click my update, if it is here, sorry not a new chapter, the new chapter is in the chapter one spot. It is a brief writing from Dumbledore's perspective on the tragic Halloween. I thought I would use it to show some differences in my world and to have more things happening then what happens in The Hermit.

AN 2: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. At this point, I have completed through chapter 5. This story idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. Note I enjoy naming characters. If they speak, they will most likely have a name. That does not mean that they are a major player, or even that you need to remember it. I am still short a beta, this chapter will be of a lower quality than the previous two. Please contact me if running over phrasing and grammar (as well as making sure that I used the correct homophone) for this story would be interesting for you, it would help a lot. I did not gain permission to use McDonald's in this story, all rights are reserved for McDonald's.

Chapter Three: The Sun II

The Sun.

Harry was thankful for the sudden interruption to his current conversation, both goblin and human staring at the new being that had just entered the room. The new goblin upon further evaluation looked slightly different from Gugkrat, his nose slimmer, ears shorter, his brow less defined. Overall, if Harry had to choose, he would spend time with the new entry then with his current counterpart. This was definitely due to appearance and had nothing to do with the rising tension of their previous conversation, Harry decided to inform himself. Gugkrat eyes cut into both the new entry and Harry, the yellow masses inflamed with fury, his eyes flickering between an elegant silver sword on his wall and the new occupant of the room.

The new goblin was unfazed by the situation and merely called for Harry to follow him, his cool eyes indifferent to the malice of Gugkrat, which Harry wasted no time in complying with. Jumping out of his chair he said a quick thank you to Gugkrat and gave a quick polite bow, muttering something about being sorry for being so rude. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and bolted from the room and back in the endless hallway. His new companion led him back from the way they had entered, to the main room of the bank.

Despite seeing the cathedral-like room before the sight still stopped him in his tracks. He wondered at the sight, the light ever painting the room in a myriad of soft, warm colors. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful piece of architecture he had ever seen. Harry was sure if he devoted the rest of his life to find a place more beautiful, he would be wasting the rest of his life. Upon reexamining the room his eyes fell on the form of his future professor. The pair made eye contact despite being so far separated, and the good professor gave Harry a small and reassuring smile. Harry decided that that would have to be enough for him to continue.

His new escort wasted no time and continued his path, his pace never wavering, his small strides quicker than Harry's own. Seeing the goblin flee from his peripheral Harry quickened his pace to be in step with the yellowed creature. Eventually, the duo had moved behind the counters and into a small railyard. The darkened room full of stone and misplaced debris was in direct contrast to the pristine hall they had just been in, with no door to transition them. It was as if the room prior had been built upon the mouth of a cave. The goblin continued forward and into a mining cart, configured with cushions. Harry's companion sat in the back gripping tight to the break bar with one hand, pushing his other taloned appendage in a violent way forward. Harry tried to decipher what the goblin wanted. As he stood there, confused, the goblin finally took pity on him, or was perhaps too angry to continue waiting, "Sit in the cart so that we may get your gold, sir." The way he hissed at Harry was condescending. His tone carried with it a sense of importance, as if he was of more use to the world and Harry wasn't good enough to clean his shoes.

Harry wondered whether it was a good idea or not to enter the cart, but the growing hostility on his guide's face was enough to make the answer for him, scurrying into the cart he took a seat. "My name is Brunrak and I will be your supervisor today, we are going to vault 687, does Mr. Potter have anything to declare." As if the goblin was reading from a script he repeated the line, much like a fast-food worker when asking for your order, it came from a place of false happiness, this was discounting how Brunrak was a worse actor then the sixteen-year-olds at McDonald's. Thinking of the food place reminded Harry of his skipped meals for the day, hunger moving into his mind. The goblin took his silence as an answer and the cart slowly pushed forward. That was until they hit what was the mouth of a cave and dropped.

Harry was sure the speed they had just hit was terminal velocity, the wind ripping at his face, the walls blending into one blur, and eventually disappearing into the dark entirely. Every so often Harry would lurch into the side of the cart, surprised to not feel hard steel but instead a soft plush. A cornucopia of sounds echoed throughout the tunnels, the hard steel on steel of the cart over the tracks, the sound of roaring and yelling, and various other animalistic sounds. As time had faded, he had no clue how long the trip had taken, he and Brunrak were stopped. Brunrak lit a lantern illuminating the chamber they were in. There seemed to be no landmarks that discern their current position from any other, but he assumed that is why the goblin was escorting him. Getting out of the cart Harry heaved onto the stone floor. Collecting himself he looked at Brunrak who looked back at him in disdain. Harry grew smaller at the look causing the goblin to grow a cruel smile. The beast then started down a natural hallway, his shadow casting a large monstrous shape behind him, Harry dutifully following. The two walked in silence, far cry from the sounds of the cart ride was the pitter of footfall echoing into the soft nothing.

Harry's heart began to accelerate, was he to be killed for his rudeness, was the sharp-toothed monster going to kill and eat him. His muscles tightened, ready to do what he needed to get to safety. Would Professor Sprout save him, did she even care, she left him with this thing. Harry's disgust with the humanoid was only growing the longer they walked, why was such a vial thing entrusted with money, the lifeblood of the world. He should kill the miserable bugger, preemptively start the pest extermination. Harry took a moment and stopped, breathing deeply, pushing the thoughts away, confused about how they had come to him. He had done this before, always when he least expected it, at times his mind was not on guard. It was often the reason he believed the Dursleys when they called him a freak, he knew what he thought was wrong. After calming himself, breathing like he was about to do cleromancy, the murderous instinct left him, but the distrust of Brunrak never fled him.

"Stop." Brunrak suddenly announced, stopping in front of the wall. Pressing his small, acute, fingers against the wall, dragging them in a short pattern. In response to the caress, the wall creaked. The wall then began to open revealing an offshoot chamber. The cavern was the size of Dudley's spare room and matched the hall they currently were in, a dark and tight tomb of rock. Stepping into the room a dozen torches blazed to life, illuminating the contents of the room.

Seated in the middle of the floor was a large ornate chest. The chest was made from dark wood and banded in a silver gleamed metal. Sitting directly above the break was an elaborate design, depicting a shield surrounded by green curling vines which spring from a full plate helm above the shield. The shield is green with a silver arrow pointed up. In addition to the arrow are three animals on it, the top left housed a griffin, colored in purple, next to it a lion in blue, finally a stag in red. An inscription in a language he was not aware of was written upon a banner.

Approaching the large box revealed a keyhole that perfectly matched his key. Turning the key until it clicked allowed Harry to push up the lid, surprised at the lightness of it, slowly brushing over the elaborate symbol. As the lid opened Harry debated what he had known before, as maybe magic was not his sun. Reflecting what was all of the light in the room, bathing Harry in a golden glow, was a large collection of golden coins. He could feel the power of such a collection of money. It was not the same as his book or the cards, it was a subtle humming. As if it was calling out into the world for something, it was powerful but subtle. As he began running his hands through them, feeling the soft metal, he understood why the goblins would not invest it, it was a beautiful thing to be treasured, to be held, to be protected.

The lid of the chest held three different items, two buckets, and a baggie. Harry grasped the bag and turned to the goblin, sheepishly questioning him, "I don't know how much I will be needing sir, and I would hate to have to come back and waste more of your time." Harry knew that appealing to the disdain that Brunrak held for him would get him the answers he wanted. He was not disappointed at his small attempt at manipulation.

Brunrak sneered at him, hissing in response, "You will need a few galleons, less than five, but also clear out the sickles and knuts." Harry looked at the chest for the bronze coinage, eventually locating it in one of the buckets, with silver pieces next to it. Shoving all the lowered valued currency in the bag, as well as five of the gold pieces. A whirling wind sound reverberated in the room. Investigating despite the hard task of finding the direction in the echoing room found the sound came from a corner of the trunk, along the edge of the seal, hidden when the chest is closed. Looking closely at the ridge a combination lock like object sat displaying 0005101G 000S 000K. He gingerly closed the sack and the chest. Carefully removing the key and placing it in the bag, putting the large strap around his neck, not feeling the weight of coinage. Harry took one last look at the stunning treasure chest before leaving the room, weary to leave the powerful coins behind. The goblin muttered something in a sweet-sounding language closing the room off again, leaving only the smooth piece of indistinguishable wall.

Again, in silence, they returned to the cart. Harry kept on guard the entire trip to the cart, jumping at the strange sounds and menacing shadows. As before the ride was thrilling, but Harry was worried and could not focus on his ride. Ever since he had discovered his divinations the thoughts of doing horrid acts had left him, so much that he had nearly forgotten them, yet seeing the cursed looking humanoids had brought it back in full force, making an effort to quench the demonic thought. He sat tight and rigid at the prospect of him reverting to the thoughts, of letting it run free, he remembered the horror of the younger years: slip poison in Petunias drink, smother Dudley so his incessant snoring stops, take the knife and thin out your uncle. He often felt like a stranger in his walking in his skin when those thoughts began, it was horrifying, the thoughts themself not making him sick, and for that reason alone he felt sick. His trail of thoughts ended as they had reached the surface, welcomed by the blistering bright light of the world. The sun itself purging his body and mind of the dark thoughts. Taking more than a few seconds to orientate himself Harry glanced around the room. Other people were led by goblins to carts to go down the way he had just come from, none looked happy to be sharing the sulfured smelling creatures' company, none looked trustful of them.

Harry did not thank Brunrak for his service, somehow the goblin had beaten his decidedly low expectations into the dirt and caused him to like the thing less than Gugkrat. Gugkrat was honest and frontward, Brunrak was a creature of deceit. It seemed both parties wanted to be out of the other company with great haste. Rushing into the atrium Harry approached his soft-featured professor, thankful to see her kind form, even if still surrounded by the sharp-featured goblins.

"How did it go?" She asked him, her soft voice filling the boy with cleansing relaxation.

"It was great."

The Sun.

The duo was again out on the spilling streets of the Ally, being prepared this time Harry avoided gawking at everything in his view. Despite that, the sight of a small puppet show with self-aware puppets harassing the puppeteer was enough to make him laugh with the rest of the small children clogging the street to watch, the man's clothing even more colorful and extravagant than the common folk. The sun had begun to sink below the tops of the buildings that hugged the street, it's warmth going with it. Professor Sprout brought the boy to some basic shops, dropping a full galleon on a combination of his trunk and telescope.

Following that he was led to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Inside the quaint shop, there were a few witches and wizards of various ages, each specifically tending to their personal customer. The customers also had a variety of ages with some being as young as Harry looked. Harry was pulled from his musing as Professor Sprout greeted one of the occupants of the room.

"Ah, Filius I had not expected to see you today." The man she addressed looked to be a smoothed-out goblin as if his hard corners had been worked by a master craftsman, his voice was much like his appearance, taking the harsh goblin sounds and fitting them into a less harsh voice.

"Well Pomona, I could say the same to you." He jested back. "I have the wonderful honor of escorting Mr. Dean Thomas over there and his mother Charlotte." He pointed first to a tall black boy then turning his finger on a beautiful woman with the same coloration.

"It's nice to meet you, I am Pomona Sprout, the Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts and head of the Hufflepuff house." She greeted the woman curtly with a forced smile. "This is Harry," she pointed at the small boy who slumped at the attention, "He is also his first year."

Filius perked up at this. Harry looked into his eyes and got a flash of the same 'the-boy-who-lived'. That was all he was able to ascertain before the goblin-like-man broke eye contact with him, looking confused. "As in-"

Professor Sprout cut him off before he could continue, "The very same, so I am not of the opinion to advertise it." She said in a commanding tone. It was at that moment that a woman in her early 40's approached Harry and led him into the room. The lady had a nametag declaring her to be Doris. He was being measured with a magical tape with the lady noting the dimensions. Looking to his right to avoid the embarrassment of being scrutinized in such a way he saw another young person. This time a girl with a cute face, freckled, with straight chestnut hair. He didn't realize he was staring until she cleared her voice.

"Is there something on my face?" She admonished the boy with her tone, despite only asking a question.

"No, no you are fine." He looked away feeling his cheeks warm up, attempting to fix his mistake he offered conversation. "I am Harry, this is my first year, I am going to Hogwarts." He said, still not looking back.

"Gemma Ansley," her response was curt, "And I am going to Hedgeridge, I should be glad to be away from all the muggleborns in that falling school I guess." Glancing back at her made him wish he hadn't as she was giving him a hard glare. That was until she noticed both the person working on him and the one on her giving hard looks at the young woman. She looked away, her face hard and unflinching.

The pair did not speak again, and Harry couldn't bring himself to look at her. Eventually, after what felt an eternity, his tailor brought out a cart full of clothes, in addition to his required three robes, cloak, and hat, the young man also asked for three sets of shirts and slacks, with a pair of shoes as well. She handed the batch over asking for his name to go on the uniform.

"Harry Potter." He answered and the lady chuckled.

"I was being serious young man." She said through her glee, as if in an attempt to reprimand him, but failing.

"So was I, my name is Harry Potter." He said the sentence so quietly that the rest of the store could not hear it. Was something wrong with his name?

She gave the boy a quick glare, muttering something about a funeral, and spelled the name on the clothing. Giving him a large number of clothes, glaring at him she let the boy go. Moving back to the professor saw her standing alone. The second professor, Filius, and the Thomas's have finished and departed already. Seeing his approach, she reached down and opened his trunk for his new apparel to go inside. Dumping the multi sickle purchase in the trunk he hurried out of the store, for the first time leading the kind professor, wondering how he had gotten two people upset at him already.

After that stop the day started to blur, going to various shops to get various necessities, and his stomach started to growl. Hearing it his companion stopped, just after the two had exited the Potage's Potions Shop (all your potions needs in one place), asking if he was hungry. Answering in the affirmative she asked him another question.

"Would you like to get your wand first?"

Thinking about it, he decided that the food needed to wait. He assumed the wand was how Professor Sprout had done all the amazing things today and the sooner he had one the better. She led him to a tall shop that curved over the street, looming over it. The store had no windows and was called Ollivanders. Harry took a step inside and again found himself alone. Taking another step into the room he looked around the long shop. Directly in front of him was the counter with rows and rows of shelves behind it. In the middle of the counter was a single bell. Ringing it he waited. He was still alone, wondering the merits of going to get the food he wanted. That was until he heard a soft voice behind him, which was odd since the door he came in was directly behind him and still closed.

"Mr. Potter, I had wondered when I would find you here to buy your wand." It was a masculine voice which despite its tone carried through the store, "I wonder if you will be like your father, Mahogany, 11 inches, a particularly proud thunderbird. So much so I'm surprised the pair could do magic with each other given their individual pride," he gave a light laugh at that, finding humor in his joke, "his was pliable, a wand built for power and transfiguration."

A short break occurred, and Harry was about to interject to ask for more. That was until the man cut him off, "Or maybe you will be like your mother 10 ¼ inch Willow, swishy, with the core of a Swedish Short-snout that was no doubt as temperamental as she was, but was excellent at charms." The man was rambling, but Harry held firm to every word, memorizing it, swimming in it. This was his parents, proud and hot-tempered for his dad and mum respectfully. The man then moved in to Harry's view.

He was a short man and horribly thin. Harry imagined his appearance is what was in his future. His eyes though, much like Harry carried more than his body did. His were a sparkling blue that radiated curiosity as if he was on an endless search for a question he did not know. His head was overlaid with tight wrinkles and framed with a silver mop of hair. If someone were to tell Harry that the oldest man in the world was standing in front of him, right now, Harry would believe it in a heartbeat. The dinosaur of a man moved behind the counter with surprising speed and nimbly hopped over it grasping at a stick of wood and holding it out in offering for Harry. "Give it a wave."

Harry did. Then he did it again, then again, and again. Each and every time the result was the same, each and every time ending in failure. He gained no connection on any attempt and every wand refused to do anything for the young wizard. Harry grew more and more desperate with every wand, his terror that he was not a wizard growing every time, not noticing the smile on the wandmakers face growing with each attempt.

Finally, after at least one hundred attempts, Harry gripped at a wand and it was different. It was much like his other special items, attaching to him, telling him that it was his. It was smooth on his fingers, sending a comforting feeling up his arm to the center of his being. It was a cool feeling, pulling him down, anchoring him to earth. This object was as much his friend as his cards. His partner gave him a promise to be with him always, to be the team that would do great things. This wand made him feel like standing up and proclaiming, 'I am Harry Potter, and I am destined for greatness.' As the power in the room slowly turned around the boy the smile was gone from the wandmaker's face. A more stoic stance was taken instead. Harry looked at the wand in his hand and saw a bright wood, white, with light brown shoots on it, it had a distinct handle, which turned at a sharp angle to the shaft. Waving it in front of him directing the magic around him sending the chilling toll of a bell throughout the shop, yet despite the eeriness of the sound, it brought comfort to the young wizard, for the toll sounded was not his own.

The same could not be said for the master wand crafter, the combination of wand and its declarative magic, reminding him of another who had stood in this shop. Another young boy, alone and ragged. He looked into the boy's eyes and found himself looking into his own. The master crafter broke eye contact and began to tell a story, "Yew, 13 inches, with the optic nerve of a dying reclusive demiguise, ridged. Especially adept at illusions." He paused and looked back at the boy with a seriousness that was new and unfamiliar upon his face. "I remember every wand I have crafted, for decades upon decades I have done my craft and remember every face for every wand, the yew tree which gave its wood for yours I visited three times." He paused and collected himself, taking a deep breath, recounting the story as if the fall of a loved one occurred, "The first two I gathered samples from the proud old tree, the last I watched its final embers go out. One Tom Riddle has its one and only brother, and he did terrible things, not limited to your scar." He reached across the counter and touched the covered spot on his head, shocking Harry at the accuracy of his facial disfigurement. His touch was as cold as death itself and brought with it the realization that the scar once attributed to a car accident was more.

Suddenly, as if a switch had flipped, the serious man was gone, as quickly as he came, and the jovial shop owner was back, "If I throw in a dragonhide holster we can call it an even two, what do you say, short-snout in honor of your mother." Despite the situation that had occurred Harry couldn't help but to smile and accept the offer. He watched the old man move to the back of his selection coming back with a multi strapped armband which looked like liquid sapphire had been poured on it, despite its malleable nature. Harry quickly took it cradling the holster to his chest in an attempt to hug his mother.

The old man proceeded to show him how to set it up, how to slide his wand in and out, and generally told him how to best take care of his expensive purchase. After a few more minutes, almost making Harry forget the serious demeanor the man had previously, Harry was outside the shop. Sadly, it was only almost.

The Sun.

The streets population had been culled in the hour he was away from it. A few stragglers moved from shop to shop, groups of teens gossiping about this and that, pointing at various new items in the windows. Harry did not know what he should be doing, as Professor Sprout was not in his vision. Taking his alone time, Harry sat on the ground, summoning his wand from its holster on his wand. He began to twirl it, stopping to grip it, trying to find a position comfortable for his hand to sit on. Eventually, he decided on a grip. Not a few minutes later, still twirling his wand, gaining his grip, Professor Sprout came up to him, wheeling his trunk and holding a cage with a blanket over it. Slipping his wand away he moved up to meet her halfway.

"Did you get one?" She asked.

"Yep" Slipping it out he showed her his new companion.

She was obviously impressed with the beautiful wood examining it, noting the odd bend, displaying a large smile throughout. "And a wand holster I see." Her tone letting him know that it was the correct choice to get one.

"Swedish Short-Snout for mum." He declared, proud of the first thing he had connecting him to either parent. The professor beamed at his show of loyalty, tearing up slightly at the idea of this poor boy growing up without his mother.

"I did promise you food, how about we go back to the Leakey before I have to bring you home?"

"Ya." He answered, meekly at the reminder that this would end shortly, his short adventure into this new world would be ending for a month hiatus.

The two walked, Harry more openly asking questions about the world he entered, the professor answering everything in kind. Harry was truly happy, as this was the closest he had ever been to having a friend. Arriving at the brick wall that started this adventure he asked a new question. "Can I open the wall, please?" To which the professor merely laughed at his eagerness, gesturing him to begin. Tapping the marked bricks caused the wall to move out, opening the dark pub again. The pair took a seat, as a woman who introduced herself as Diane, and ordered, both deciding on burgers. As she left the professor spoke up again.

"I actually got you something as a birthday gift." She gave a light blush. Harry eyed her confused as she picked up the cage, taking off the cloth covering to reveal a toad. It was a dark brown, nearly black, instead of having warts on its neck it had small protrusions and a large single horn from its nose. "Most people do not like toads, so I was going to get you an owl, but well, I saw this horned one and thought of you." she rambled out. Harry just looked at her wide-eyed and shocked. He was surprised at her generosity. Added to that, this was a gift that she spent a lot of time on, given the conflict within her story.

"Thank you," He said with an ear-splitting grin, "this is the first present I have ever had; does it have a name."

She looked at him, in confusion about the gift part of the sentence, but answered the same, "No, you can name him." At that Harry fished out his History of Magic text opening it to the middle and leafing through the pages settling on the story of a warlock fighting against a race of creatures called Dementors, sealing them away. "He will be Alastair." Harry declared. A soft form of magic connected the two as he took ownership of the toad. Looking into its brown eyes was intelligence and some manner of pride. The familiar and its human continued their staring contest until the food arrived, which Harry devoured as fast as he could, the succulent food tasting better than anything he had ever had. The juices exploded all over his mouth. When he finished his stomach hurt, and he didn't even care.

Being done before his future teacher he waited patiently for her to finish. Until something caught her eye. "Quirinus." She waved at someone behind Harry. Harry heard the thudding of steps behind him.

"Pomona," He greeted back as excited as she was. "It's so nice to see you after a whole year."

"Yes, and how was your sabbatical?"

"Splendid, I was in Turkey, then to Greece, and finally Albania." He said the last name with a bit of fear.

"Oh my, why so much travel?"

"Well, in prep for this year's classes, I thought I'd try my hand at vampires. Now let me tell you they live up to the stories." He paused for what Harry concluded could only assume was to have a dramatic effect. "I rooted out a clan in Turkey you see, various uses of Trabem Solis saw me through. That is where I got this." The man was now in Harry's peripheral, swinging a chair around sitting in it with his front on its back, using the rest as his head prop. Pointing to his head saw a purple turban atop his young average face. His hazel eyes sitting atop his sunned skin. "Sadly, the leader ran to the west, so I, of course, followed, after grabbing my reward of course. Sadly, that stop put me off his trail." He again stopped, loving the look of anticipation upon the professor's face. "That was until I heard mention of a diviner in Greece." Harry perked up at that, hearing about his pastime, finding it had relevance in this world.

"Quin, you know we don't exactly hold stock of that here." As his professor admonished the man Harry's hope left. What he enjoyed was not accepted?

"Pomona, we do teach divination," he reminded her using the same tone against her, "and the field is well developed in Greece, in fact, I would say it has the best teachers in the world," Harry noted that Greece was his first international destination. "Well, that is when I met old Cyrus, who told me that 'my trip would bring me to the unexplored land to the north' which I took to be the virgin beech forest. There, after parlaying with the local centaur population, I found him, with more monsters. That is when I used a spell I had found in Greece at the request of the old man. I krísi tou íliou" He spoke with a flourish.

Without allowing him to continue Harry cut him off "The judgment of the Sun." He exclaimed confidently, sounding just how he had pictured it over the years. Wonder in his eyes over the application. Wonder at the man for the amazing sounding feat over a single summer.

Then the stranger turned to Harry, noticing him for the first time. "That is correct young man," He narrowed his eyes at the boy, "now who might you be?" The accusation of how he knew was not vocalized. Harry looked into his eyes and received nothing in return other than a deeper, more focused look. "You see, this turban has been charmed to increase resistance to mind effects, it works really good on vampires, and Legilimens." He added hotly to the end, his tone holding with it an accusation.

Harry looked at him confused about why he got nothing, and of what he was being accused of, "Well, I have been studying Greek, and I am Harry, Harry Potter." He bowed his head.

"The Harry Potter?" He turned to Sprout who nodded in the affirmative, looking shaken.

"Harry, maybe it is best we go now, yes?" Harry looked back at her nodding. Noticing the room begin to start murmuring at his declaration, not noticing how Quirinus's story had more then the tables' occupants enthralled.

Turning to Quirinus and standing he muttered: "Nice to meet you, sir."

The young man responded, "It will be Professor to you Potter, Professor Quirrell. I will be seeing you, as well as you Pomona." With that, he left.

After Professor Sprout grabbed the tab the pair left and reentered the Knights Bus. The pair sat in silence, Harry from exhaustion, the professor from thought. Eventually, after the uneventful trip, the pair was at Privet Drive. Thanking her for her help, her present, and her company he hopped off the bus to the sound of her thanking him in return. Harry's feet slowly brought him to the house. Oddly, despite it being before nine o'clock, the house was dark. Walking around the perimeter of the house to the always unlocked back door Harry let himself in, never seeing the cricket bat which struck his face.

The Sun.

Edited 3/21/2020