Chapter Five: The Wheel of Fortune II
AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. We have arrived at chapter 5. There are no Horror elements in this chapter, yay. I still require a beta. As for reviews I don't care if they are saying that my work is bad, just please give me feedback. People are reading and staying around, but I don't know why.
The Wheel of Fortune.
In a stupor Harry stumbled out of the smoky room, spilling back into the shadowy streets of Knockturn Alley, for the first time fearing what he had with divination. He forced that thought aside he froze. Before he was chased to this store by a monstrous humanoid, a warted beast. Giving the street a vigilant search, he spotted no signs of the strange being, but there was an increase in foot traffic now, a modest crowd beginning to move through the thin road. Harry endeavored to merge with the masses and follow Madam Völva's instructions, finding himself before a simple unmarked brown door indistinguishable from the doors bookending it. As he detached from the current, he strode up to it hoping to find a hint of the contents, opening it, careful to not create a sound, he slipped into the unknown place of business.
It was odd entering the room as it brought into a world reminiscent of that shop so long ago. The store stood inviting with a tangible characteristic of power coursing through it, a subtle tactility, the air in the room stopping a shiver he didn't realize he had. The only noteworthy differences between this property and the one of his youth were the assortment of goods and the absence of tables. Alternatively, to stands with samples of products, this place instead housed row after row of tomes of various sizes. Harry wandered the vast collection. He ran his slender fingers across the bindings, meeting the varied sizes of the books, spanning from smaller than his finger to thicker than his hand sideways. The titles appeared individualized, Harry found no duplicates, the writings seemed too specialized for a typewriter to produce, at least the inspected scripts which gave responses to touch, every once in a while he would contact a book which held no energy, inside he would discover the traditional font of an average text, not unlike a novel from the library. Above each portion of the shelves was signing to help visitors locate the works they desired, with different genres befitting sections, with a further division by age. They posted no prices. As he scanned the numerous shelves he sought for the section on ruins, but all he found was Charms or Battle Magics or Transfiguration or Dark Arts. It wasn't until he made his way to a cramped alcove with a sun-window, which failed to light the area as it gazed upon the shady alley beyond, that he discovered a shelf with Ancient Ruins. This section was two lengths long and thus only had a single date listed, 1475.
Scanning through the books, passing his hand along as he saw many publications with Elder Futhark or Futhark in the title, which after a brief investigation was not his prized third language. He started at the oldest section and felt no call and saw no sign that the collection before him would yield a translation. That was until he found a thick book in the newer selection, despite its relatively young age it was extremely worn with a faded leather spine. It gave him a slight push when he passed it, nothing severe, but noticeable all the same. Slowly pulling the manuscript from its housing he groped the front cover, a ruff piece of raised scribbles underneath. He turned over to the cover and noted that it depicted four languages. And mottling of dark brown splashed on the face of this tome, which suggested similar stains within his cupboard. The English name read A Translation Guide to Reading Like the Rosetta Stone, which also read in two Egyptian scripts and Greek, a match for his writing minus the language which he had seen no sign of. As Harry flipped into its contents and browsed the sections an amazing experience presented itself, the book, while he read, spoke to him, mind to mind, showing him how to speak, teaching him how the voice flowed forth and sounded. Only five minutes with this work gained more than enough knowledge to overtake the Egyptian he knew. In the margin, from a previous owner, scribbles and small notes of "The combination is fish, snake, tree," or "The gas overtook the room and we retreated," resided. A journal of sorts was scratched near the back of the text, containing more writings different from those of the title proper. What person would write in a book like a journal? Harry mused. A dead one he replied to himself, found upon closing the work and again seeing the stains on the cover, without doubt, blood splatter.
He walked to the counter centered in the building where an old man was sitting. He wore a top hat and flowing red robes. In his mouth was a pipe he was smoking, held within a forest of his bushy white beard. He rested on two legs with a book in hand and shoes on the counter, his boots were made from some a reptilian animal given its large scales. Harry gently placed the tome down on the table in front of him, title up, "How much for this?"
The man perched forward grabbing the book, eyeing the name with his spectacled eyes, turning the text over in his hands giving the contents a small inspection. "Four Galleons."
Four Galleons was a lot of money, enough to cause Harry to scoff at the number, 4,000 pounds was too much for a single work. Harry would never be capable of calling the man out, for once he wished Vernon was present. He was strong and stingy with cash; he would be qualified to talk the clerk to a reasonable amount. Then why don't you just be Vernon, it wouldn't be hard. "I think not, no one shops here," He gestured to the empty room behind him, "What kind of return customer would I be if I had to give up four Galleons for such an insignificant book." Harry bluffed, pulling forth his best Vernon impression, finding it easy to say the words in a harsh and commanding way.
"This here is an enchanted book, as I am sure you know, and being a handwritten translation piece, selling this for less than 3.2 would be highway robbery against me. And apparently, boy, it isn't insignificant to you if you wish to buy it."
You could just kill him, take the tome, and leave. No one would find out, well minus the wench, but we could take care of her as easily as him. The voice propagated again, causing Harry to experience fear again. Was it the harsh action that brought it out? The voice had been under control, stopped, and now, being with magic caused its return. The pull was powerful, but his will was stronger. Pushing the hostile voice down, he looked the owner in the eyes, despite Harry's recent experience he demanded to know, so he allowed the connection to form as he puffed out his chest and started again.
"Is 3.2 as low as you can go." And with that Harry saw that the clerk needed the sale to be at least two and a half since that would gain him the the profit margin on the text to buy.
"Of course, it is." The man boldly lied against Harry that wouldn't work. Harry enjoyed using his power, why did he ever stop.
"I can give you Two Galleons, that's really pushing it. The book is not well kept and has blood splatter upon it."
The store owner laughed as he countered again, but Harry found the number he needed to hit. He had already won this encounter by knowing more than his opponent did. Vernon did install some values in his peeking from the cupboard.
The Wheel of Fortune.
Spending around two and a half thousand pounds was difficult for someone who never held money of his own, but this book was well and worth it. An Egyptian warlock named Aouaa wrote it. As interesting as that was, the text of the other writer, Sirius Black, was an exciting journal of a Cursebreaker in Upper Egypt attempting to locate a particular manuscript from a specific king rumored to reside in the Valley of the Kings, berried. His entries read like a story, in which Harry loved every moment. Harry spent the following weeks visiting stores and studying with Alastair near him, reviewing his text in between his study on language and reading Sirius's exploits. The Monday before his departure was his first instance of learning from his old friend. It was a brief section near the beginning, written only in Greek, discussing how using various catalysts would bring enchanted items different effects, with a large emphasis on blood. Though it called blood by many names, sometimes wizard blood, other times witch. The lifeblood of innocents and liars, of goblins and wyverns.
Eventually, the 27th had arrived which carried Harry to the doors of Luxurious Lenses. The shop was quaint and normal compared to the rest of Diagon Alley. As Harry entered the front door he witnessed Master Harris bent over a pair of spectacles, poking and prodding at it, mumbling in Latin throughout. Harry watched with interest as the man worked over the equipment until a smile graced his face, looking up and seeing Harry caused the man to grin wide, which Harry returned in his own reserved way.
"Welcome Harry, how have the weeks treated you." The man asked in a noninvasive way.
"They have been good, I've explored the Alleys a bunch, I think I saw a lot of kids bound for Hogwarts." He intentionally left out his jaunts into Knockturn Alley, not knowing what the kind man would think dark alley, now that Harry knew its reputation, one that didn't dissuade him from going.
"Ah yes Hogwarts, I attended there myself, I was a proud Slytherin. Maybe you can join me." Harry's smile grew at someone wants to be associated with him, a confusing but comforting thought. "But anyway, you came here for glasses, and glasses I have." Reaching below the counter he grabbed a sleeve, putting it out on the table he pulled them out. The glasses looked just like the ones he was wearing but had energy coursing through them. Not like his cards, but more akin to a magical book from the old shop. It was indifferent to the reader but still held power. Reaching down and removing his current set, he placed the fresh ones on. He still saw the same, so nothing about them changed his vision. "If you tap right there, the glasses will 'stick' to the back your ears and nose, locking them in place. I also arranged some protective enchantments on the pair."
"Wow, this is so cool," Harry exclaimed. After activating the stick feature, it amazed him how he couldn't shake the glasses. It didn't even hurt to pull them though they stayed attached through his attempt. "Thank you so much for this really, I don't know if I can thank you enough. Are you sure I can't compensate you for this?"
Master Harris laughed at him. "I get enough customers as it is, a benefit of being the best, and you are a special boy Harry, this is the least I can do, now out, I have more work to do and a boy like yourself shouldn't be cooped up inside," It was a good-natured jest, but Harry felt the rejection all the same. As he strolled back to his room to rest, he realized tomorrow was the full moon.
The Wheel of Fortune.
Harry sat awake under the light of the moon, his deck maneuvering to his hands call. Breathe and shuffle, breathe and shuffle. Cut, Cut, Shuffle. He worked into a trance with no discernible pattern, just breathing while cutting and shuffling allowing the cards to guide him. Then he flipped the three top cards.
Ace of Wands. The High Priestess. The Four of Cups.
Well, at least it wasn't all major arcana this time. Harry first analyzed the Ace of Wands. A single hand grasping onto a wand over a landscape, symbolizing a pivotal act that will lead down the path. Wands signified choices and moments of life, the suit governed action. Harry assumed this had been his decision to reply to the letter, to become his own person, to break from the mold of the Dursleys and to be free.
The High Priestess was different, a member of the major arcana, depicted by the number II. She was a regal and holy woman sitteth between pillars of black and white. Her face bore no smile and stared straight at him. She symbolized secrets that need to be understood, though she also stands in his way. Perhaps she represented the magical world, or maybe Professor Sprout, or Master Harris, what details did he need to be wary of, possibly concerning 'the-boy-who-lived'. She was a cold card to draw for his present as his spread may indicate that if he follows the way of the High Priestess it would bring about his fate.
His future was The Four of Cups, not the best card to draw. Cups represented emotion and relationships, with the four being isolation or dissatisfaction with his future relations. It could also be a longing for change, or emotional uncomfort. For entering an unknown world in hopes of a fresh start, it was not the most comforting card. Much like The Hermit he had seen The Four of Cups often in his cards. In the end, it doesn't matter, Hogwarts is only four days away.
The Wheel of Fortune.
As the sun was creeping into his white room, Harry was already up and about. Today was the day. Today Harry would set off for Hogwarts and begin his adventure in the world of magic. He scavenged the empty room and began taking inventory, inspecting under the bed and within other crevices as he looked for any belongings were sure to be forgotten. After double and then triple checking to make certain that his full ensemble was with him, he turned to Alastair. The toad's intelligent eyes looked back at him, the blank stare carrying more than it showed.
"Well, it looks like we'll be heading out," his companion stared back, the unassuming intelligence in his eyes bored into the newly found wizard. Grabbing onto his truck, he made his way from the room of the last few months. The last things packed in his chest being various books: fantasy epics, magical word theory, bestiaries, and yesterday's version of Carpe Diem Collective the second most popular wizarding outlet, one that focused more on magical happenstance than local gossip, of all the papers he tried he liked it the best.
Waving to the various doctors and nurses who had been most of his contact the last few weeks had solemn goodbyes spoken all around. The longest farewell was Doctor Thompson, his personal doctor, who had spent a great deal of time with the boy. The kind man shed tears, as he and Harry did an embrace, it was a strange sensation for the boy, he had never been hugged before. He did not have any of the feelings he had felt from Dudley during the exchanges with his parents. Harry wondered why.
As he walked the street, the beauty of the Alleys again blew him away, despite exploring the labyrinth of shops and houses he was still no closer to understanding it. Like how Intersection just so happened to cross every other alley at a right angle despite being perfectly straight, or how the entire district appeared too large to fit while having expansion charms within it.
Finding the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, he rhythmically tapped the bricks, exposing the pub to the boy. Waving to Tom, the barkeep who made more food in the month for him than the Dursleys ever did, he pulled himself through the pub. Harry wondered when Tom slept, as he seemed to always be there, tending the bar.
Exiting the pub and walking onto the streets of London, Harry took a breath of the city air, thick with smoke from the various factories and automobiles. The stark contrast between his new and old world was staggering, wondering how they managed to be separated all this time. He knew that the answer, the Statute of Security, but surely that could not account for everything. Pushing aside those thoughts, he focused on the task in front of him getting to his destination. Sticking out his wonderful partner, he called the Knights Bus. A hazy looking gentleman was his conductor for the day. The gentleman collecting his small fare for transport, he departed to Kings Cross Station.
After fifteen minutes of travel his stop arrived, the early morning not having many stops. Walking through the rail yard with various busybodies around him was hard, his slight frame and the large heavy load being caught in the flood of people around him, finding the mark depicting the location for 9 ¾ was even harder than traversing the sea. After a half an hour of searching he found it, on one pillar marking both platform 9 and platform 10 shown the sign of Hogwarts, the four animals on a shield. Remembering Professor Sprout's words, he stepped up to the wall and purposefully marched into it. Instead of feeling any resistance, he kept moving and entered the platform as if the barrier didn't exist.
The platform was much older than the station he had just left, its bricks were more faded, its tiles while cleaner was also a different material. On the tracks sat an enormous steam engine with a red and black color scheme. There were a few bodies on the platform but nowhere near what he envisioned the population of the school to be, especially given the length of the train. Entering the transportation train, he found a seat close to the back, shutting the door behind him. Harry pulled out the story he had started to read, afraid to study from his grimoire (which is what he had selected to calling his longest-held book), in public.
The novel, Voyages with Vampires, depicted Gilderoy Lockhart and his friend Vũ Kim Phú as the pair save a resort cruiser a vampire clan only known as Kuroi te, or The Black Hand, had seized. It was an amazing read, full of knowledge on vampires and some creatures which followed them. The last chapter had depicted Lockhart doing battle with a terrible foe, which all turned out to be a half-demon, half-vampire named Arita Azumi. Vũ ended the fight by finding the spell Erysipelas Concrepo and using it on the demon, making it succumb to the beyond. The spell had the minor effect of causing a large blasting sound, alerting more people to the duo's location.
Harry was drawn into the book, reading the exploits of the man amazed him, each page produced a new spell or piece of knowledge Harry never heard of, or showed a new and interesting creature, or had witty dialogue that produced a smile. The next time he looked up he noticed that he was not alone.
The Wheel of Fortune.
His compartment had added a pair of identical-looking women. Each would be considered average height for Harry's age and had immaculate black hair that went straight down. Their eyes were the most captivating part of them though, for they had a rich purple gleam to them. Looking into their eyes, Harry saw a stunning amethyst gem in their place. After an intense scan of their features, the two displayed some dissimilarities. The left one had a modest mole under her right eye, and the right one had a speckling of freckles. Both, however, were without a doubt gorgeous.
The freckled girl gave a slight cough as if waiting for something. After fleeting moments, the left one spoke. "Hello, I am Hestia, and this is my sister Flora, we are from the house, Carrow." Her voice was irritated and hard as she gave her head a slight bow.
"I'm Harry, and it is my first year here at Hogwarts. It's nice to meet you." He gave her a nod back.
"We are second years," This time Flora cut in, her sweet voice softer than her sisters, "we are in Slytherin." She sounded happy at this revelation. "What house are you looking forward too?" Her voice held a hint of an edge as if he answered wrong there would be consequences.
Harry assumed that two of the houses were Hufflepuff and Slytherin. He wondered how many existed. He assumed Professor Sprout was the head of Hufflepuff, and he liked her. On the other hand, Master Harris told him he would like Harry in Slytherin just like him. "Well, I am hoping for Slytherin like you, but I wouldn't mind going into Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout is really nice, you see." He said the last part with a rush of blood to his face.
As he continued his watch at the girls before him, they showed him a slight grin, whether for the comment or his blush stayed unknown. After a moment, Hestia gained a semblance of confusion and tilted her head. "How did you meet Professor Sprout?"
"Oh, she is the one who took me shopping."
"Why did you need help shopping, you aren't a muggleborn are you?" She said with distaste in her mouth. The goodwill he earned evaporating in an instant.
"Hestia, calm down."
"It's just a question Flora, plus, you know how our mother would feel if we associated with one."
"Well, I am an orphan." Harry decided he had enough listening to their argument, more so over him. He appreciated Flora's coming to his aid, but the act confused him about what problem existed, "I had lived in the muggle world until the good professor found me and have been living in Diagon Alley ever since. But my parents could do magic, they paid for my dues before they died." He said, defending against the notion he was born of muggles, he had seen the disdain people looked at him with when they associated him with that name, and he hoped he would make friends with the dark-haired duo in front of him.
"Oh, you poor thing." Hestia moved in to give him a small hug, Harry blushed again at being hugged by such a pretty girl. This embrace was altered from the one this morning, it gave comfort, instead of one in looming sorrow like this morning. Harry's heart fluttered in this touch; this hug was closer to what Dudley felt but still offbeat. The seconds went by and he looked to Flora, confused about why he was still in the embrace of Hestia, in her eyes he received flashes, but with great focus stopped them, after the traumatizing encounter featuring the crystal ball he was weary of looking, the thoughts in the shop, of power and control, making it worse.
As Flora was about to speak the loud cry of the train's whistle cut her off, causing Hestia to jump back to her seat, mirroring the coloration that Harry spouted, and after that, the locomotive slowly moved forward, onto the destination that left the entire train in anticipation.
To Hogwarts.
As the train continued chugging along the triplet had meaningless conversations, mostly comprising an introduction to the foreign world denied to Harry. their first encounter cut this light conversation the trio was making short. A smaller boy opened the compartment door with significant force. He was a platinum blonde with long flowing hair, knotted in the back. Besides the striking platinum hair, he also possessed stormy grey eyes. He was the epitome of what Harry imagined of when he visualized an elf, with a pointed nose and high sharp cheekbones. Dwarfing him and flanking him positioned two other boys, though they looked to be older than everyone else in the compartments and larger than all four combined. The one on the left stood taller whilst the one on the right was wider.
"Ah the Carrows, and their welcome to school snack." The boy in the middle proclaimed, taking a seat next to Flora, as Hestia was now sitting on the same side as Harry. "Father was disappointed that you two were not at Midsummer. Though it makes sense after hearing what happened to your cousin at the hand of our new Defense professor." The twins glared at the boy, Harry assumed he should as well, but stopped himself. The elf sounded cocky and proud, his eyes seemed to loom down on the whole compartment, despite only being taller than Harry.
"Is that it, Malfoy?" Hestia questioned him, the leader, though her tone voiced more submissive than usual. The tone displayed her hope the boy would leave them. He wondered how they all knew each other and despised one another. A glance at Flora saw that Hestia was not alone in her feelings.
"Actually, I think that you can help me. You see, I am looking for Potter, I hear he is going to Hogwarts this year, The Board couldn't stop talking about it."
"We have not seen a single Potter, so you can leave."
"You could help me look you know, despite your," He paused and made a face as if he just licked dung, "unpleasant family, I would appreciate the help."
In an attempt to save the pair from further abuse Harry uncharacteristically spoke up making himself a martyr for the two girls, maybe because he was talking to someone his age for once, but he wanted to protect these two. "I am a Potter." It came out stronger than he felt.
Draco for the second time acknowledged his presence. He looked over the small, frail boy with contempt. "You expect me to believe that you, a small disheveled looking thing is Harry Potter?"
"Well I am Harry Potter."
"Then show me the scar."
"Which scar." He had many.
"Which scar," He scoffed, "well Carrows it seems that I was wrong," He scowled at the two, "you could go lower. You can keep your little lying mudblood toy. Maybe you won't choke on his thick blood, though I doubt it. Come Crabbe, Goyle." The small boy twirled his cloak and stalked out of the compartment, the man on his right shutting the door behind them.
"That was amazing Harry, you showed him," Hestia said with awe in her eyes, "What scar, classic."
Flora spoke differently, "That was dangerous Harry, Draco Malfoy has a dangerous father, you don't want to get on his bad side." She warned him.
Harry merely looked at the pair in confusion, "But why was he looking for me?"
Again, Flora replied, "That is enough joking."
"But I'm not"
"Whatever."
With that, Hestia moved back to her sister and Harry went back to reading his book, mumbling an apology.
The train continued. Harry remembered the Four of Cups, and yet couldn't speak.
The next interruption introduced a duo of students, a girl, and a boy. To be fair, many pupils had shown their faces, people all the way to the size of adults had investigated their compartment only to be disappointed mumblings of Potter echoing into their compartment. This pair was unique. They both had brown hair, but that is where the similarities ended. The boy had hazel eyes, whilst the girl examined the compartment in a brownish hue. His hair was bowl-cut and strait, hers appeared a curly mess. He was pudgy against her slim form. She also had large front teeth on her curved face. "Have any of you seen a toad?" the girl inquired, her voice made Harry remember the girl from his robe fitting, Gemma Ansley, with the condescending tone she managed the question in.
As always, the confident Hestia answered, "Yes." Her voice projected full of amusement.
"Really." The boy spoke up, his face lighting up.
"Mhmm, right there." She pointed to the spot currently occupied by a caged Alastair.
"But, that's not Trevor."
"Well spotted, he is Alastair, and he is mine." Harry cut in, confused at the slow boy.
"That's rude." The bushy-haired one said to Hestia. A hard glare leveled at the girl.
"Maybe you should have specified then, hmm." Hestia teased.
"Let's go, Neville." With that the bushy brunette left, dragging the poor boy with her, his face still confused about Hestia's statement.
"She's absolutely mental, and a muggleborn to boot," Flora remarked.
"Definitely mental." Harry agreed but wondered again why being muggleborn was so bad.
The conductor announced they were on the final two hours. As Harry attempted to talk to the Carrows again, a boy with red hair interrupted them. It was not a handsome red either, but an angry orange. He barged in with no warning; he didn't stay long however just speaking one run-on sentence. "Have any of you seen Harry, oh, just kidding, you are snakes." Leaving with the same cruel expression Draco had. Sadly, his comment had taken too much out of Harry's sails, the dreaded topic of his name being brought up again left the twins sharing unimpressed faces towards Harry. Thus, Harry sat, reading as the two talked about what they looked ahead to at Hogwarts, eager to start.
Harry knew his future.
The Four of Cups.