This is terribly time-skippy (between chapters 1 and 2, not within this -chapter 2- itself), but I've kept this in editing hell for long enough.
I intend to revisit Ch. 1 at some point because of very valid points made by the members of SpaceBattles forums, though.
Harry calls Dumbledore a poof in his thoughts, which is a British slang term for a gay man, and a bit insulting. No offence meant by the author to real-life gays.
'So, that's what I've been waiting for,' Harry thought. He had graduated early from what Mike (his American teammate in the football team) called High School and taken his A-levels, expecting he would have to stop to get magical education, but the letter had surpassed all of his expectations. They sound barking mad, those Romans- I mean magicals, though. Well, those kinds of people were the most fun, in Harry's opinion – sanity was overrated.
Of course, there were some problems too – mainly the fact that the owl had left and he had no way to communicate with the most likely, by her name, Scottish Deputy Headmistress. He could hardly send it through the normal channels, and he didn't know if any owl could qualify or only a 'special' species. Normal channels? Wait. Could it be that simple? Did wizards and witches have people in the Post Office who made sure to reroute magical mail? 'It's worth a shot,' Harry thought. It wasn't like he couldn't be discreet, after all. He ended up addressing the letter to Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School of W and W and sent it through the nearest Post Office. He also made sure to make the letter extra vague, just in case someone tried to read it – the magicals liked their secrecy; otherwise, the existence of magic would be common knowledge.
Harry had let the educational authorities know that he would only continue on to a University once he was eighteen, telling them an excuse regarding him wishing to study with his age-mates this time. Which wasn't even a complete lie; a few people tried to bully him at school, but he always escaped. Later, a lot of bad luck seemed to befall them; one of them called him a freak, tried to put his head in a toilet, which earned the guy a punch in the bollocks and, worst of all, that guy sabotaged his learning! That person nearly died when he fell from a relatively great height and landed on his head. He survived, but would likely never leave his wheelchair. All that had landed Harry a reputation as a bringer of bad luck or jinx or whatever and soured him on studying with people older than him.
Unfortunately, government officials kept bothering him about continuing his education; one of them even covertly threatened to have his name and location released to the papers, though she probably thought the threat flew over his head... it was a pity she had a terrible accident afterwards – her car turned out to have had its brakes sabotaged (thanks for the information on how cars work, Uncle Vernon! Who says bonding with one's uncle is not productive?) ; she happened to be literally driving downhill when she discovered the fact, and she wasn't a good (or at least cool-headed) enough driver to find a way to reduce the impact, so she and her partner were both killed, slamming onto a huge boulder. After that, there was an investigation, but there was no real evidence that pointed to him – needless to say, though, that there were no more government officials afterwards.
Harry didn't know how to feel about his first human kill(s) – he didn't actually enjoy killing, except for Ripper, which was an uncontrollable monster that should have been put to death years before he killed it. By the time he finished his 'normal' education, though, he had realised from interrogating (for as long as he could stand her, which was not much) and eavesdropping on his aunt that his life may well depend on his secrecy, same with Dudley's and Vernon's lives, so he did what he must. He didn't much care if his aunt were to die, but still, a jumped up government worker wouldn't threaten what was his, bloody fucking damn it! The voice had made a return then, extremely gleeful, but Harry somehow managed to make it shut up by imagining a drill burrowing its way into a human skull. Crude Legilimency, the voice had let slip, but Harry had little context for it.
It started bothering Harry in his sleep, or so he thought from what he remembered of his dreams. The only other thing he could remember from his dreams was something like a lullaby, red hair and a flower-like smell; once that started appearing, the nightmares became less frequent.
After the bell ringing, Harry opened the door to see an extremely short man with a grey, nearly white mid-length beard framing the man's face and somewhat long hair of the same colour doing the same, though in the middle of the head, he was bald, which showed when he tipped his hat to Harry. He had laugh lines around his mouth and generally seemed like a cheerful, easy-going old man. His robes covered everything from the neck down and everything he had on, including the hat, was green.
"Hello Mr. Potter. My name is Filius Flitwick, the Professor of Charms at Hogwarts; I've been sent to help you with getting your school supplies, as you requested," the man said, introducing himself.
"It's nice to meet you Professor Flitwick. I'm Harry Potter, though you already knew that," Harry said, not thrown off much by being addressed by name.
"Yes, the benefits of fame, right Mr. Potter?" The man said with a wink.
"Fame? What do you mean by that, Professor?" Harry asked, dread settling in.
It had been a long time since he had felt the thrill of such strong emotions until recently, but this was the second time since the letter came. That was one of the reasons why he liked playing football (yes, it's called football, not soccer! Shut up Mike!) so much, despite not being especially talented in it; the adrenaline rush... it was something that he couldn't feel often in his life.
Flitwick's hat left his head again, this time because the man -rather theatrically, Harry thought- fell onto his arse. "My word, Mr. Potter. I knew you were raised away from the Wizarding World, but I hardly expected- I mean, you know how your parents died, right?" Flitwick said.
"They were attacked by a madman, right? That much I got from my aunt, though she was reluctant to speak much about that," Harry said, though he left out the fact that he had had to eavesdrop to find out and that she was reluctant to speak to him at all.
Flitwick reluctantly nodded. He said, "technically correct, though he was far more than a simple madman. He was one who terrorised our entire society; You-Know-Who was a very powerful and skilled wizard, and commanded the loyalty of a small but formidable army."
The man went on to explain the War between the Dark wizard's forces and the Ministry for Magic, spanning from the early seventies to 1981 – though it was the short version, as he admitted, himself. Flitwick reluctantly told Harry that the Dark wizard called himself the Dark Lord Voldemort; he was obviously terrified of the madman.
Harry decided to make sure he would look him up, as well as what was written about Harry himself. He hoped that the magicals wouldn't expect him to be a saint, but he also suspected it was a vain hope – Harry knew people in general, and he doubted magical people would be any different.
"Here, Mr. Potter! My name is Doris Cro-"
"Harry Potter, in the flesh! Oh Merlin-"
"It's so very nice to meet-"
Harry most likely had a very ugly expression on his face. He was astonished, but mostly, he was disgusted by the way those simpering morons were acting. He had thought himself wise, predicting how wizards and witches would see him, but he severely underestimated the level of hero worship. Instead of being a minor celebrity, they treated him as if he were Jesus Christ. Literally – one witch who looked to be in her thirties tried to get a touch as if it would heal her of all maladies; at least, he hoped it was for that. Even the rest were trying to shake his hands as if it would mean their salvation. The words of everyone present were getting garbled and Harry was getting more and more dizzy; he was trying to recall a wandless spell that would make them back off, but he couldn't even manage that.
Boom!
Harry practically jumped out of his skin. He looked over at Flitwick, who had his wand out and suddenly looked very imposing, low height or not. The professor instructed them to go one by one and the rest to be silent. Nobody seemed to even consider doing otherwise; Harry considered the man's apparent age -probably late fifties or so, despite his nearly white hair- and concluded that he had taught most of those present, considering they mostly looked to be below thirty-five. He had thought him a very hands-off and easygoing teacher, but apparently, Flitwick could be strict when he wanted.
He shook a few hands -since they weren't crowding him anymore, Harry could see that they weren't huge in numbers- noting the young professor Quirinus Quirrell, who stuttered and gave vibes that told Harry he was going to be a useless teacher. Too pathetic for words, was his first impression of the soon-to-be Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. As they left the Leaky Cauldron (and wasn't that an interesting name? Others might have considered the names wizards gave things ridiculous, but to Harry, their mild nuttiness was refreshing), as soon as Harry stopped gawking at Diagon Alley's appearance (it was as if it was straight out of a fairy tale!), Flitwick asked the boy about his impression of Professor Quirrell.
"Well, he seems to know his subject; it remains to be seen whether he can teach it," Harry said, choosing his words very carefully, but without pausing more than a split second.
Flitwick smiled, but it was more of a smirk. He said, "a very diplomatic answer, Mr. Potter. It seems likely you are headed for Slytherin House."
He went on to explain how 'Quirinus' used to be the Muggle Studies Professor, but had gone on a trip to train himself in his new subject and returned a bit off. Harry thought he was trying to warn him to be wary of Quirrell, but he couldn't be sure. The young professor looked completely pathetic to him, but Flitwick must have known and taught the man since he was eleven, especially considering he let slip that Quirrell had been sorted into Ravenclaw twenty-three years earlier.
"Professor, could you tell me more about the Houses of Hogwarts? You told me about Ravenclaw, but I only know the names of the other Houses," Harry said, realising that he had been told next to nothing about Slytherin, as well as Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.
"Of course. How remiss of me," the man said, not sounding the least bit sorry.
Harry thought that he was either testing Harry to see if he would ask, or trying to push him toward his own House; possibly both. After Flitwick gave him more information, including the fact that his father and Lily had both been in Gryffindor and that many families got into the same House for generations, the boy concluded that the new students had a say on where they were sorted; he still couldn't get Flitwick to tell him the method, though.
"Did you know my parents well, Professor Flitwick?" Harry asked, hopeful that he could find out about them, for the first time.
Petunia barely knew what his father was like and refused to even speak his name, or had forgotten it, and his mother was a topic that, if brought up, made her clam up faster than anything else could manage. As for his uncle, he didn't remember Harry's dad's first name, but Uncle Vernon was under the impression that when they met, Mr. Potter had looked down upon him for being 'new money'. That had then devolved into Uncle Vernon recounting the story of how Mr. Grunning had taken Vernon under his wing when the latter had been nineteen, culminating in Vernon becoming a Director soon after, and Managing Director at the tender age of twenty-six.
Flitwick smiled. He said, "I thought you'd never ask, Mr. Potter. I did not know your father, James Potter, better than most students of mine except by association, but he was very mischievous; a prankster at heart. He was a good person, with the only black mark on his record being that he sometimes took jokes too far; Minerva -that is, Professor McGonagall- knew him a lot better."
"What about my mother, Professor?" Harry asked, glad to find out his father's name for the first time, but realising that the man had been closer to his mother.
Flitwick closed his eyes and smiled nostalgically. He said, "Lily Evans was the most brilliant student I have ever had in my Charms class – I myself was much less skilled at the same age. I wanted to recommend her for the Charms Mastery exam, but she was too busy with fighting a war. She was adept in using Charms both for combat and for healing, and her knowledge of Potions allowed her a further avenue for the latter. She was the second most adept medic of their group, behind the much older Frank, though every single one of them could heal, to a point- but never mind that."
"So, she was the most talented student of Charms you have ever encountered, sir? What was she like as a person?" Harry asked quickly, thirsty for more information.
"The most talented of my students, Harry- I mean Mr. Potter. The Headmaster, as well as another Professor, have nearly as great a talent for Charms as she did -despite it not being their chosen subject- and I knew someone who was even better than her, an underclassman from when I was a student myself. Unfortunately, I don't know what became of Tom… but I digress. Well," Flitwick said, "Lily was caring and highly intelligent. She also was far less fickle than most girls her age, which led to her not changing her opinion of your father until over a year after he had matured. She always stood by her friends, and it took a lot for her to abandon them, but also a lot to forgive them."
Harry stayed silent for a minute, digesting the information he'd been told. So Lily Potter had been stubborn to a fault, but very loyal. She had also torn apart a friendship or two after having had enough with someone. Petunia might have been that person. "Thank you, Professor, and please call me Harry, if you prefer," he said, smiling genuinely, "it's the first time I find out so much about one of my parents. Aunt Petunia barely knew my father at all and Mum is still a very touchy subject for her."
"She should have told you something, at least!" Flitwick exclaimed, realising he had shouted immediately afterwards and blushing badly enough for it to show through the facial hair, though he lowered his hat to hide his face almost immediately. He said, "my apologies, Harry. But, she told you nothing?"
"Every parent has their favourites, Professor. I get along far better with Uncle Vernon who, in turn, interacts less with Dudley -that's my cousin- than he does with me," Harry said, the half-lie leaving his tongue with extreme ease.
Flitwick seemed more at ease, but he made a token protest. "I understand that," he said, "but you should have been told something about them, at least."
"She probably expected a wizard or witch to do so. Don't blame her, Professor; the sins of the past weigh heavily upon her. Aunt Petunia blames all magicals for what happened to Mum, and merely looking at me brings up bad memories. I suspect she and Uncle Vernon decided that he would be the one do the majority of looking after me," Harry said.
"I see," Flitwick said, looking into Harry's eyes seriously, "so she blames you as well?"
"I don't know," Harry said, lying through his teeth with little more effort than it took to straighten his glasses; which was, fortunately, a habit he no longer paired up with the practice, "it's something I'd rather not know the answer to, Sir."
"Fair enough," the professor said, smiling again.
The conversation had lasted all the way through the two males circling Diagon Alley twice, and it wasn't small by any stretch. By coincidence, they arrived at their first destination not long after its end.
"Here it is – the magical bank, Gringotts," Flitwick said calmly, "it's run by goblins. Take care not to offend them too much, Harry, but don't offer them much in the way of pleasantries, either; they are not going to like any human for any reason, and friendliness will only annoy them further."
Harry nodded. He looked at the armed creatures standing guard; when they nodded at the two of them, he nodded back, but nothing more; he simply turned back to his future professor.
He thought for a moment that the reason the man was so short was goblin blood, but he dismissed it: he didn't look anything like them and they didn't give him any more or less attention than they did Harry... maybe he had a goblin ancestor very far up the line...?
Harry took in the poem the goblins had inscribed on the doors of Gringotts, and promptly decided not to test the bank's defences anytime soon. Inside the bank, they went to a teller and waited a short time. When the goblin asked what their business was with Gringotts, Flitwick produced a golden key from somewhere in his robes and told the creature that his student was Harry Potter and was to make a withdrawal from his vault.
The goblin checked the key, then said, "wait here. Someone will be here shortly," and left its station.
Harry looked at Flitwick and said, "Sir, may I have my key?"
The man paused for a moment. He said, "are you certain, Harry? Taking care of your own finances can be quite difficult, especially at your age," showing uncharacteristic seriousness.
Harry looked him in the eyes and nodded. He said, "it's not like I haven't handled money before. My family is fairly well-off, but not nearly rich enough for me to not know the value of money. Will I have to pick investments simply for receiving my key?"
Flitwick gave him the key. He said, "well, if you're sure – there is no need to decide on investments, though you may do that if you wish. You could also most likely withdraw a relatively small sum from your family's vault, its exact amount depending on what your grandfather had set, but investments are almost certainly out of the question for it at your age, despite you being the sole inheritor."
Harry considered that for a bit, then said, "does it happen often, for someone to have multiple vaults to his name?"
His professor said, "not so young. It is the very rare parent who opens a vault for his or her child; the children usually do it themselves when they have become adults, and only after they have been active in the workforce for a while. I believe that this vault was opened for you by Albus – that is, Professor Dumbledore, in order to store letters bearing your name, as well as gifts and bequests for you, the majority of which was in coin. Anyone intending to give you an offering could store money or items here; much of the gold inside your vault is, I believe, from cursed objects that were de-spelled, then sold – again, on Albus's decision. Fame, after all, is a two-sided coin, and many would seek to harm you. Anything relating to wands and their construction is kept either in your ancestors' holdings, or by Albus; the Ministry strongly discourages giving goblins potential access to wands. With you bearing your key now, you are the only one who may make financial decisions, as Muggles are not allowed to do anything more than convert from muggle money, and only on behalf of their magical child or ward. So, do you intend to make any investments, Harry?"
Harry shook his head in the negative. He said, "it's better if I find out more first; after all, this is all new to me. Maybe in a couple of years."
The goblin sent to guide them, Griphook, waited until they finished their conversation, tapping his foot and otherwise looking impatient, even though he had only caught the tail end of it.
"You weren't joking, Sir," Harry said, looking around in awe, "this is a lot of gold."
"Indeed," the man admitted, "for a student just starting, twenty-seven to twenty-eight galleons -the gold coins- should more than suffice; here is an expanded Pouch made of mokeskin, which can hold a lot and is difficult to steal from. It is preferable that you only store one kind of thing in it, or you may be unable to find what you seek," he continued, handing him a small bag and giving him instructions in how to 'bond' with the pouch.
Harry took a sewing needle out of his pocket, which he usually used as a target for his transformations, and pricked a finger with it without hesitation, then touched his finger to the pouch. The good professor was examining Harry carefully, but Harry couldn't tell if the man was suspicious or worried or whatnot. Shit, it wasn't normal for people to be so carefree and blase about blood, was it? Oh well, normal was overrated; Harry would rather be an outcast or 'freak' as his aunt put it when she had been furious once, than someone 'normal' like her. He was not going to change himself for anyone's sake but his own, and would only pretend if absolutely necessary. Harry decided to not think of the topic anymore for the time being.
"Professor," Harry said, "does Hogwarts have a library students can borrow from and do students in higher years need more money?"
"It does have a library, Harry. There is no need for getting extra books at this point," the man said, though Harry doubted that the Head of the House that advocated learning truly meant what he was saying. He then said, "most subsequent years require a lot less money than first year, unless your wand breaks or you decide to get something gaudy or specialised like a solid gold cauldron."
Harry picked up a hundred and twenty gold coins, nearly a dozen silver ones and four bronze. He said, "could you recommend me a few books that will show what the Wizarding World thinks of me, Professor? Some recent history as well; everything else can wait for later."
Flitwick nodded enthusiastically and repeatedly. He said, "of course, Harry! We may yet make a Ravenclaw out of you! Might I also recommend you the Periodic Table of Potions Ingredients? It shows the way basic ingredients react with one another and why, and is in high demand at the library, so it's always taken. You might not truly need it this year, as you will only brew following instructions, but it helps along on the way to a deeper understanding of Potions, and something tells me you might have a talent for the subject. Another potentially important book is the Introduction to the Wizarding World; it is the only book meant for the Muggle-raised that actually provides the more critical information."
Harry tried to give the professor a few gold coins -Galleons- for the mokeskin pouch, but the man emphatically refused. In the end, Flitwick convinced Harry by telling him it was a gift for his birthday next week. "By the way, Sir, what is the spell that made the pouch expand and gave it theft protection?" Harry said, getting curious again.
He also made a mental note not to try to steal from anyone until he had a much better idea of magical defences against thieves; even then, only if he considered it important.
"Extension Charms are something that is not taught until the sixth year at the earliest; I would not recommend trying anything like that until you have a really good grasp of Charms. There used to be a law that disallowed applying those for private uses, but it was repealed with near unanimity nearly a decade ago. That said, Mokeskin is bigger on the inside even without the spell, because of the properties of the creature it comes from, the Moke," the professor said.
Harry's cheek twitched; he didn't like how much of an open book Harry was to this man. Well, at least Flitwick didn't realise that Harry had stolen before, and might do so again if necessary.
"As for Mokeskin's anti-theft properties, that's because of the moke again, which is a magical creature related to lizards. It shrinks whenever in the presence of a stranger, so most thieves will never be able to even find a mokeskin pouch; the moke also resists magic far more than a creature its size has any right to," the professor added.
Harry mulled that over. He would look up that magical creature and others; he started realising just how interesting magical creatures were, for the first time.
The next stop was the trunk shop, and Harry was entranced by all the multi-compartment trunks with all their features. There was even one with five compartments, along with the standard Feather-light Charm, top of the line Undetectable Extension Charm on some of the compartments – it even had separate keys for each of them! He asked the proprietor for the price, seeing no price tag on or near it. The answer was twenty-one galleons, which was the equivalent of a hundred and forty-seven Pounds Sterling, and approximately two hundred and ten US Dollars.(*2) Harry knew he could afford it, but Flitwick vetoed it.
The man said, "Harry, I am content to let people make their own mistakes usually, but even with the Feather-light Charm, you will be unable to carry that; it's too bulky for you. Don't go wasting your money now – you did say you were aware of the value of the Pound, and you know that the Galleon is seven times as valuable, five only for the underage Muggleborn converting from muggle money, which you are not. Let that sink in for a minute."
Harry remained silent for a minute; he felt really annoyed at his professor.
The man continued speaking and said, "why don't you leave this for a few years later, when you may actually need it? Look: this is a two-compartment trunk with an exceedingly good Feather-light Charm and a great Undetectable Extension Charm on the second compartment, and the latter is actually contained in a corner of the first one, so it's not more bulky than the usual trunks."
Harry sighed, but he eventually folded, begrudgingly – the man knew his stuff, and Harry, though his teammates in football called him stubborn, knew how to pick his battles.
Harry had picked up nearly everything, including a bronze cauldron, which cost two galleons plus ten sickles -the pewter one was only a galleon on the dot and lighter, thus easier to carry, but pewter was being slowly phased out due to the lead in it apparently being bad for health- and more supplementary reading, after the professor gave Harry some recommendations, including some second-year textbooks for some subjects and some highly-recommended Defence Against the Dark Arts related books that had (or could have) been used as textbooks. Fortunately, he was strong enough to carry the cauldron, though his hands would probably have got achy if he hadn't put it in the trunk. He was thankful for the existence of trunks and the Feather-light Charm.
A solid gold cauldron cost well above a hundred Galleons, which was to be expected because in the Wizarding World, there was an even bigger difference in price between pure copper and gold, much less bronze and gold. According to Flitwick, there was a huge number of precious metal mines, deposits and veins that had been hidden from Muggles, not to mention metals created by Nicolas Flamel centuries earlier, so precious metals were more available and their price was lower in their society; despite people's usual assumptions, Flamel had made more silver than gold before that was also outlawed, artificially keeping gold more expensive despite silver being just as rare in the Earth as gold, no matter what the Muggles thought. Harry secretly thought that copper's price in particular was so low because electricity wasn't used by magicals, so they didn't need a conductor for making cables.
"Be wary, Harry, because buying gold in bulk, then selling it to the muggles was outlawed centuries ago," Flitwick said, looking Harry in the eye, "there are a few really good reasons for this, but what they boil down to is making Muggles suspect our existence, and losing the exclusivity to wizards of our 'extra' supply."
Afterwards, Flitwick took Harry to the wandmaker's, the man leaving him alone just outside the shop. The professor claimed that getting one's first wand was something deeply personal, thus best experienced on their own. He also admitted that this same Ollivander had already been old when Flitwick had been eleven, and Flitwick was seventy at the moment, making Garrick Ollivander ancient. Harry hadn't expected that Flitwick was so old, but apparently, most wizards and witches looked younger than they were and lived longer than Muggles. When Harry entered 'Ollivanders' ', nobody was inside; however, the presence of something was so heavy in the air that Harry got goosebumps.
"A good afternoon to you Mr. Potter."
Harry jumped at the same time he turned his head, causing his neck some soreness. 'Crap, I just about crapped myself,' he thought. Next time he was startled, he would try his best to lay the culprit out. "Hello Mr. Ollivander," the boy said out loud, assuming that the man was the proprietor of the shop.
"Harry Potter. You have green eyes," the positively ancient man, but unbent and around a hundred and ninety centimetres tall, told Harry, "yes, like your mother; it seems like only a day has passed since she got her own wand; ten and three quarter inch long, swishy, Willow wood. A unicorn tail hair from a rather temperamental male unicorn.* Nearly gored me in my inexperience of then. Yes, yes."
'Wizards are an eccentric lot, but this one takes the cake,' Harry thought. He couldn't help but like the slightly creepy man, though. He said, "well, sir, you have silver eyes; I fail to see why eye colour matters in this case, though."
"As for your father," Ollivander continued, ignoring Harry's words and walking around a bit. "His was not exactly one of mine, though I helped manufacture it. Mahogany, eleven inches on the dot, a core of Thunderbird tail feather. Pliable, excellent for Transfiguration. A joint project with another wandmaker, very rare and very powerful in every way. You resemble your father a lot, you know. He was just as cheeky."
The man stopped his pacing in front of Harry; very close to him, in fact. He clapped loudly and very suddenly. This time, Harry barely reacted, making Ollivander smile. The man said, "well, let us get to it, young one. We don't have all day," conveniently leaving out the fact that he was the one stalling, making Harry snort.
Harry said nothing while he was being measured by the appropriate devices. They measured everything; including the distance between his nostrils, the circumference of his ankles and a lot more. Only after the tapes went still as if they'd never moved did he speak. He said, "Was all that necessary, Mr. Ollivander?"
The man blinked a few times and got into a crouching position. He said, "I assume you are speaking about measuring? Quite necessary, Mr. Potter, and not at all to unnerve the customer," waving the measuring tapes away.
Harry, again, said nothing; he was somewhat amused by the wandmaker's antics, though.
The man sprang to an upright position as if he were over a century younger and went to get something from the shelves. He set a box in front of Harry. Ollivander said, "Mahogany and Unicorn tail hair, ten and a quarter inch. Go on, go on, Mr. Potter; just give it a wave," making a waving motion with his left hand. Then he said, "before I forget, which is your wand hand, Mr. Potter? Use that one."
"My original dominant hand is the left one, but I've trained myself to use both equally as well," Harry said.
"Ambidexterity at your age? Impressive. You'll go far," the man said, pausing for a bit. "Just use whichever," he continued when Harry did nothing but stare at him.
He waved the wand, only for nothing to happen. Ollivander snatched it from Harry's hands and brought him more wands, most of which he rejected as soon as the boy lay a hand on them.
"A tricky customer, eh? No worries, Mr. Potter; I have never failed to find a match for a young customer, one way or another. After all, there is more than one way to skin a cat, right?" Ollivander said, smiling a not-so-toothy grin, mostly because the majority of his teeth were missing.
Harry simply rolled his eyes. By the time he finished rolling them, the tall wandmaker was already setting down another box, this time with much more reverence.
"Perhaps this is the one," Ollivander said, suddenly more serious, "eleven inches, Holly and Phoenix feather, nice and supple. An unusual combination of wood and core, but no less potent for it."
Harry took the wand in his right hand, felt warmth he hadn't earlier and a small number of white sparks came out, disappearing immediately. From Ollivander's reaction, the man had expected more. It was not groundbreaking, but much more than anything so far.
Ollivander stared in an especially unnerving way, his silver eyes open wide. "A very tricky customer," the man said, "this is a decent match. Would you like to keep looking? There might yet be a better match. What am I asking? Of course you would!"
After a few more failures, in which Ollivander rejected the wands out of hand, he brought out one that he said he had high hopes for. "Yes, twelve inches -exactly one foot-, Ebony wood and Phoenix feather core; straight and rigid, but somewhat gnarled rather than smooth. It favours Transfiguration and offensive battle magic like most Ebony wands, but is suitable for all kinds of magic except, most likely, those related to positive emotions and fully defensive battle magic like the basic Shield Charm. What do you think?" The old man said, looking into Harry's eyes directly, focusing to the point of being creepy.
Harry waved the wand, getting a similar reaction to the Holly wand – as in, good but slightly underwhelming.
Ollivander said, "it seems we have just about run out of options, Mr. Potter. This is the last wand I have that has a chance to fit you. So, which do you want? The Holly wand or the Ebony wand? Note that one may only have one personal wand at a time, with only law enforcement being exempt."
Harry asked for more information about the wands.
Ollivander smiled and nodded, his silver eyes shining. He said, "well, the Holly wand is significantly more powerful; the Phoenix that donated its feather is significantly older. It is well suited to all magic except delicate ones such as illusions and Memory Charms -which would end up being far less effective with it-, and Holly significantly favours magic based on positive emotions. On the other hand, the one with Ebony wood is significantly weaker as a spell amplifier, but is well suited to both straightforward magic and subtle magic. For the more powerful spells to work well, the user needs to be highly powerful by himself, but it can also handle any level of power. The younger a Phoenix is when it donated them, the more its feathers favour subtle magic as cores – though the Ebony wand might mostly catch up in power with the other one by the time you are fifty, and will still be as good as ever at subtle magic. It will never catch up fully in power. So! Mr. Potter! Which do you prefer?" The old man finished with a jump and twirl in place, his demeanour becoming as jolly as earlier again.
Harry thought it over, but he had a very hard time deciding. After a bit of time, he started getting frustrated, which proved to be a great mistake, since something took advantage. Just pick one, you foolish boy!
The boy rubbed his scar and funneled the emotions through his torso, legs then feet into the ground, calming himself. 'Was that…?' He thought. For a moment, while the voice was speaking to him, he saw some sparks come out of the Holly wand. 'Is the presence of the voice the reason why this wand reacted more strongly?' He thought. He intended to get rid of whatever that was, so his decision was clear at this point. Still, he asked another question of Ollivander, who was waiting patiently. "Mr. Ollivander. Is there anything else you can tell me about the origins of the wands? What was each Phoenix like?"
Harry hadn't been told anything about Phoenixes, but he would assume Muggles had got most things right until proven otherwise. So, Immortal birds reborn from their ashes and associated with fire and healing.
Ollivander grinned again. He said, "you are wise to ask for more information, Mr. Potter. The Enoby wand has a feather from Sparky, the mascot of a Quidditch team from New Zealand. That Phoenix has donated one more feather, which has not been sold. The Holly wand has a feather from the Phoenix companion of Headmaster Dumbledore -an extremely powerful and skilled wizard, Albus-, Fawkes, with the only other feather he gave being- well, being in the wand that gave you this scar," pointing at Harry's brow. "Curious, no? Nothing else of note comes to mind, and my memory is sharp – near-flawless, even. So, tell me, young one; what is your decision?"
'The voice in my head might be connected to You-Know-Who?' Harry thought, 'that's... not a huge surprise, but not pleasant by any stretch. That thing may be tricky to get rid of.' Out loud, he said, "The Ebony wand," not saying anything more. He was convinced it was the better choice, especially since he had a knack for illusions.
"I see," the towering man said, "are you certain Mr. Potter? Absolutely certain? Beyond the shadow of a doubt?" After a few seconds of silence, the man nodded to himself, gave Harry a wand-caring kit and a wrist-mounted wand holster charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm, as well as Charms that allowed only the owner to get it out easily and kept it from being Summoned, for free 'for being the trickiest customer I have ever had, of course,' and bid him farewell after being paid the fee of seven Galleons.
"Just a moment, Sir," Harry said, pausing before the door. He then asked, "what kind of wand is yours, Sir? If you don't mind answering, of course," the question having just occurred to him, his curiosity holding strong.
Ollivander chuckled. He said, "not at all, Mr. Potter, not at all. Hornbeam wood, with a dragon heartstring core, twelve and three quarter inches, slightly bendy. One of my grandfather's, if you'll believe it. This may be the first time an eleven-year-old has asked me this question. Yes, you will go far, Mr. Potter. Whether that is for good or for ill remains to be seen…."
Harry shivered a bit, remembering the sobs of his Uncle and Aunt when he essentially tortured them. He steeled himself and bid Ollivander goodbye, once again resolving to not go as far as he had that day, but still keep that spark of ruthlessness alive. After all, people had been trying to assassinate him since he was one year old, if he had read between the lines right.
Filius had been waiting for Harry for a while; the snowy owl he had in a cage was starting to get impatient, but patience was a virtue Filius was not lacking in. After over half an hour of standing there, the student he had been waiting for got out of the wand shop. The professor had long thought that the Ollivanders had some kind of Charm or even Curse that kept customers from showing up at the same time as each other, as no student had ever had to wait inside or outside the shop while another was being fitted, to his knowledge. Unfortunately, old Garrick was tight-lipped.
Harry got out of the shop, greeted Filius and said, "you haven't been waiting too long, have you, Professor?"
The boy's sheepish expression showed he was well aware how long he took. Filius was reminded of Lily Evans every time he looked at him; the curiosity and thirst for learning he could see in his eyes, their colour, the politeness without submission. Lily, though, had been a bit naïve at his age. Her son was a lot more cynical and pragmatic than her – much like a young Severus. Filius hoped Harry wouldn't be as fascinated by the Dark Arts as said Potions Professor. Or, rather, some of the people who regularly practised said arts, because Merlin knew that the Ministry's classification of Dark Arts included a lot of things that were nowhere near illegal and not very dangerous.
Harry really wanted to jump headfirst into casting spells with his new wand – he really, really did, but he had only a month and a week before starting school; he wasn't going to do badly in academia. Gone were the days where he struggled with spelling and French... not that he was especially fluent in French nowadays, but he got by. Harry barely had enough time to learn most of his books by heart, he thought; he would also practise his casting without a wand -mainly getting into the focused trance- nearly every day, but not for long.
After a speech by his uncle about how Harry was taking his first steps as a man and enduring much fussing by the same, Harry stood in front of Dudley, both staring at each other in an awkward fashion. The first to break the silence was Dudley. He said, "be well at your new school, you hear?" Patting Harry's shoulder with a lot of force.
Harry forced a smile, pretending that the shoulder-slap hadn't hurt, and said, "same for you, Dudley. And do try to raise your grades – I know you're far from stupid, so don't be so lazy about studying, okay?"
The no longer overweight (but still a bit chubby) boy said, in a small voice, "but, I won't be able to reach your level. What point is there?"
Harry shook his head. He said, "what my grades are is irrelevant – don't forget we will be in different schools and nobody knows you're my cousin, so take advantage of that," trying to get his cousin motivated.
Dudley nodded, a bit reluctantly perhaps, but he seemed willing to give studying a try; Uncle Vernon interjected that as long as he didn't turn into a 'nancy boy', studying was a good idea. Vernon had started a rant on the importance of completing higher education 'because not everyone is as fortunate as I am to become the protege of the owner' when Petunia cleared her throat and reminded them of the time.
So, the three males completed their greetings, Petunia grunted in response to her nephew's goodbye, then Harry was alone in King's Cross with less than half an hour before the train for school departed. Hedwig's cage was in his trunk, but the owl had been instructed to go to Hogwarts by herself, discreetly; that was because owls hated being carried in a trunk according to Flitwick, and Harry wouldn't risk attention by carrying her out in the open. To Flitwick's protests, Harry actually paid the short man for the owl as soon as the boy had named her – the Mokeskin Pouch was already an extravagant gift. Harry could tell that the man had good intentions, but his pride wouldn't let him accept more than one such gift.
After slipping into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Harry looked around, nearly as fascinated as when he had first entered Diagon Alley. He boarded the train, barely having enough strength and height while standing on his toes to put his trunk into the luggage shelf above his seat after a few false starts – he had been just about to give up and use magic when he managed it. As soon as he did, he heard clapping and whistling. When the boy turned, he saw two identical 'gingers', as his uncle called those who had that shade of red in their hair. Harry blinked, also noting absently that one of them had slightly more freckles than the other on the right side of his face and the other was slightly more muscular.
"A good show of physical strength, young one," the muscular twin said.
"Yes, I dare say we wouldn't have been able to do that alone in our first year," the freckled twin continued.
"I'm Fred," the muscular twin said, introducing himself.
"And I'm George," the other one said, doing the same.
"Collectively, we're known as the Weasley twins," Fred said. "Or is that Georgeandfred?" He continued.
"No," George said, "it's Fredandgeorge," correcting his brother.
"Well, whatever the case might be, we're both the Weasley twins, and the Weasley twins are us," Fred finished with a bow.
"So, who are you, ickle firsty?" The both of them asked at the same time.
Harry smiled at their antics. He said, "my name is Harry Potter, upperclassmen o' mine."
After the twins showed their astonishment in a properly exaggerated way, they bid him farewell, citing meeting their friend Lee as the reason.
"Yes, Lee Jordan. A stand up bloke indeed," Fred said.
"Word has it he's brought a big spider along; a tarantula, if you'll believe it," George shared in a stage whisper.
"Well, it's not an Acromantula, but it'll do," Fred said, waving his hand in a 'so-so' gesture.
"So we'll see ya another time, young Harry," George finished before leaving Harry alone in the compartment.
Harry was still grinning when they left – those two were highly charismatic and entertaining. He hadn't been annoyed at all when they had gawked at him; it was all in good humour. The young wizard shook his head at their antics and took out the book on magical creatures he had bought (and read cover to cover more than once), then studied the entry on the Acromantula for the fifth time or so. The reminder only served to excite him, though he wouldn't be stupid enough to seek out one without a lot more schooling and training under his belt. He had been told some of the story of the British wizard who wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Flitwick, and he liked it. He wanted to be like Newt Scamander, though Harry wasn't interested in taking care of animals, per se.
The first-year subject Harry was looking forward to the most was probably Potions – he had already dabbled in Transfiguration and Charms years earlier, but Potions was something new. He would be impatient for Defence Against the Dark Arts, too… if he hadn't met Quirinus Quirrell.
A while later, there was a knock on the compartment's door; a blond boy his age who oozed arrogance entered, flanked by two gorillas in human form, and said, "they say Harry Potter is supposed to go to Hogwarts this year. Are you him?"
"That's right," Harry admitted, "I'm Harry Potter. And you are…?"
"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Malfoy; Draco Malfoy," the seemingly-arrogant boy introduced himself, "a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Potter."
"It is a pleasure for me as well, Malfoy," Harry said. When the other boy offered his hand for shaking, Harry asked, "does a handshake have a particular meaning for British wizards? You see, I was raised away from civilisation, in a manner of speaking."
Draco Malfoy scrutinized him, but didn't push for more information. He said, "a handshake does not have a special meaning except acknowledgement outside of some official contracts, but it is considered an insult to simply ignore somebody offering his hand."
Harry took the hint and shook Malfoy's hand, saying, "as long as you don't expect me to be subordinate to you, I'm perfectly willing to be civil, Malfoy."
Draco was about to tell Potter something about helping him find those of the right sort, but he rethought his strategy after what the other boy said. 'Potter is a lot more Slytherin-like than I've given him credit for, despite growing up with Muggles according to Father,' Draco thought, making a note not to try anything risky where Harry Potter was concerned.
"What do you think of the Houses, Potter, and which are you aiming for? I believe I'm headed to Slytherin," the blond boy said out loud, taking care to choose his words well.
Potter thought it over for a few seconds, then said, "I'll just let the chips fall where they may," seemingly nonchalantly.
Draco couldn't even tell if the other boy was lying or faking his nonchalance. 'Potter is definitely not to be underestimated,' he thought, 'I should be on my best behaviour here, and not even call a spade what it is – even Father is annoyed whenever I call mudbloods by their proper name for some reason. "Show some subtlety, Draco." "Be aware of the impact of your words and use them strategically, Draco." When he says the word, it's fine?'
"What do we have here?" A voice resounded in Harry's head. "Rudimentary Occlumency, probably self-taught? As for your personality-"
Harry stiffened. He mentally shouted, 'get out of my head!' Barely managing to keep from doing so out loud.
"Calm down, child. I was made only for the most cursory of examinations. My purpose is to sort children into the Houses, not learn their pasts. Your personality and whatever you actively tell me should be enough for that; I won't snoop further," the Sorting Hat said in his mind.
Harry took a few deep breaths to calm down, sinking into the trance characteristic of novice Occlumency users, doing so far more efficiently than he used to and also using what he had seen in His Dark Materials and meditation manuals to enter it quickly and alter it into something that would help him think more quickly; he also could separate his emotions from trains of thought and memories now – compartmentalise his thoughts, as it were. It was fortunate that he was still riding on the high of seeing and feeling the castle for the first time; otherwise, he might have made a scene. He was certain that the new information about the branch of magic called the Mind Arts he now possessed was given by the Hat, which led to him deciding to give it the benefit of the doubt, especially considering the knowledge it had given him was likely very valuable. Up until a minute before, he hadn't even known what Occlumency was.
The Hat remained silent for a few moments, with Harry keeping a lid on his emotions enough not to fidget much. "Difficult, very difficult," the Hat said, "an intelligence and ruthlessness that could conquer the world, if given the time and nurturing needed…."
Harry made a disgusted, guttural voice. He said mentally, 'conquer the world! Why on Earth would I try that? No, my interest lies in other things.'
"Yes, I see that now, Mr. Potter. You have a lust for adventure, carefully hidden but recently brought to the surface somehow. Which House do you think is best for you?" The Hat probed.
'Not Slytherin,' Harry replied, 'if I judge by Draco Malfoy, they will scramble for every advantage and will be on the lookout for methods to turn me to their sides or manipulate me. I'd have to sleep with one eye open; not my cup of tea.'
"Very well. Tell me; if you were to choose between the life of a scholar and the life of an adventurer, which would you pick?" The Sorting Hat asked.
'I'd simply pick both,' the boy replied, thinking of Newton Scamander's adventures and exploits as a book author both. Of course, the man had been a Hufflepuff, a House which was probably incompatible with Harry's character, but that was fine – Harry didn't intend to be exactly the same.
The Hat chuckled and it was a strange, deep sound, similar to a tuba being played. It said, "I like your answer, Mr. Potter. And, after all, the Founder with the best grasp of magical theory after Rowena was neither Salazar nor Helga. You have guts, I believe is the term. May you do well in GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry walked up to the table decorated in red and gold, in the midst of cheers, with the Weasley twins shouting 'we got Potter! We got Potter!' At the top of their lungs. His hands were shaking, he noted; they hadn't stopped ever since he had entered the castle – the presence of something similar to the 'something' at Ollivanders', except more spread out, overwhelmed all his senses. He wondered if every person with magic had an extra sense, or if it was something that was rarer, or even unique to Harry. As he got used to the feeling, his hands stopped shaking gradually.
After the Sorting was over and done with, the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore -as other students called him; he was a very... colourful old man with long white hair (down to his hips), a beard longer than Flitwick's, but he surpassed Ollivander in height by about half a foot, so he was easily over two metres tall- got up and made a few announcements. Harry decided not to risk going to the Forbidden Forest yet, but the third floor corridor part drew his attention, especially considering George told him, when asked, that Dumbledore usually gave them a reason for why something was prohibited. Harry didn't think it was on purpose, but he was certain that troublemakers would be drawn to it; he wouldn't lie to himself, he was also eager to go there and try his luck, but he wouldn't go in half-cocked like the stereotypical Gryffindor – it was an unknown challenge, so the only thing he could do for the time being would be to improve his knowledge of magic.
"Finally, a few words," Dumbledore said, "cataract, prong, ophthalmic, dunderhead," a small smirk appearing on his bearded face for a second, unless Harry simply imagined it.
Harry thought over what Dumbledore had said for a few moments. 'A few words'?... Harry snickered and decided to try faking literal-mindedness himself sometime, but he looked away from the eye-searing colours almost immediately. Dumbledore's extremely colourful robes and high-heeled boots made Harry think the man might be a poof, though in the magical society, such a thing as extra colourful clothes might not be associated with queerness.
At some point after those 'words', Dumbledore looked at Harry for a short moment – the man's expression looked sad and worried. Harry didn't know exactly what warranted that look, but he could make a guess. How would Dumbledore know about those government officials, though? The hat did nothing, and it wasn't as if- wait. People at the Post Office were able to reroute his letter to Hogwarts. What if some people in the muggle authorities were magical, or at least knew about magic, and contacted the magical side whenever there was a case with suspected magic use involved? His apparent fame may have worked against him which, considering he didn't even know about said fame until afterwards, was really terrible luck. Who knew other than Dumbledore, though? If a school Headmaster knew, was it common knowledge among the adults?
No, Harry was overthinking it to the point of becoming paranoid – he would take things as they came. Many owls came around after breakfast had been eaten, most carrying a letter or package; his Snowy Owl companion, Hedwig, greeted him with a light peck on the back of his hand, took some of his bacon, then departed again.
The prefect, the twins' older brother Percy, led them towards the dormitories. The first-year Gryffindors had to climb a lot of stairs, with the nuisance called Peeves accosting them until it got bored. The hilarious fart sounds Peeves had let out had put Harry in a jolly mood though, and seeing Longbottom targeted didn't bother him one bit – that boy was born to be a target, Harry felt. Harry asked Percy what the difference between Peeves and the ghosts was, putting his fondness for toilet humour aside.
Percy said, "well, you see – he's a Poltergeist. Those creatures never were human, and never died; they're simply immortal, or maybe amortal, as in never being living. Some rumours say that he was present when Hogwarts was founded; even Hogwarts: A History seems to agree – I'm not sure if I believe that, but he's been here for at least a few generations."
Harry took note of that – there might be more to Peeves than seen at first or second glance. He also resolved to find and read Hogwarts: A History in the school library. The first years were ushered to bed; Harry had a hard time putting his worries out of his mind and falling asleep -his good mood after Peeves's antics didn't last for long- but he did some Occlumency exercises the Hat had given him knowledge of, so he fell asleep at some point. He dreamed of a green light and terrible, high-pitched laughter.
*2: While Ms. Rowling might be bad at math, the conversion rate between Galleons and Pounds isn't all that bad, considering the Pound Sterling had a ~50% higher value than the US Dollar, and the Dollar had nearly twice the value it has today.
*Temperamental male unicorn: yes, it's the same one that Cedric got his wand from in canon. What, did you think that there's only one pair of brother wands in existence? Note that Ollivander got the tail hair with the unicorn's consent in my interpretation; he simply was clumsy and caused it too much pain in the process. The 'only girls are allowed to get close' is a myth, or only applies to female unicorns.