Harry was quite startled, when one morning a letter set atop a silver platter, where his breakfast usually resided. Not that it was something unusual to have a newspaper resting next to his teacup, but he had been yelled at enough about reading it before the meal concluded. No, this letter was very much different in its presentation and no food seemed to be present at the moment. Walburga was lounging in her portrait like nothing was amiss, but Harry new her enough by now, that she was quite pleased with something at the moment.
The letter was simply addressed to one Harry James Potter, although somebody had taken it upon themselves to correct the last name into Black-Potter. So with a sigh Harry sat down, broke the wax and began to read. He could have closed it back up after looking over the first line and still recount it by heart, so vivid was the memory he had of Tom Riddle receiving his own Hogwarts letter. He had never really doubted that he would receive one, but it was still something else to finally hold it in his hands.
Also, this meant that his imprisonment at this ruddy shack was finally, finally drawing to a close. He could have cried joyous tears, if it didn't breach at least a dozen conventions for a pureblood lord. Also he wasn't a pansy, so there was that. So instead he courteously swiveled his head over to his nan: "When are we going shopping then, grandma?"
"Presumptuous, are we? I recall proclaiming, that you wouldn't leave the house unless you wouldn't embarrass House Black in public or your education left me no other choice"
Harry visibly deflated at that: "So Kreacher will get to do all the shopping? I assume begging you to change your mind won't help, since your assessment last evening was that the last seventeen Lords would die of shame if they could see my manners. If they weren't already dead, that is"
"I stand by what I said, boy. But were you miscalculate is the difference between the standard for Lord Black and the scion of such a noble House. Since no one will be aware that you are indeed the former, Merlin help us all, I have magnanimously decided to let you do your own shopping"
Harry blinked at the smug portrait of Walburga Black, half expecting to wake up from a pleasant dream: "You know, nan, if I could, I would hug you right now"
"And if I could I would spank you for that"
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Decked out in robes, that Walburga had called 'timeless' – he still looked like a prat – and plastered with more protective amulets and trinkets than he could count, Harry was finally deposited into Diagon Alley by Kreacher. Inside he grinned like a loon, but to the Wizarding public he just showed his best impression of disinterest. For a fraction of a second, that is, before all the noise of the Alley hit him like a sledgehammer.
It was loud. Packed to the brim with current and future Hogwarts pupils as well as their respective parents, the contrast to the deathly silent mansion that was his home, couldn't be more drastic. Harry hadn't been the best with crowds before the years of isolation, but now he was starting to panic just from the sight. Trying hard to clamp down on what little Occlumency he possessed and favoring the less packed areas, Harry stumbled his way towards his first destination.
Since his pockets were quite heavy with gallons and he didn't feel like dealing with goblins anyway, that first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. After all, buying both his school uniform and clothes that he could actually pick out for himself? Now that sounded just wonderful. When he stepped into the shop, there was already another student getting fitted, a girl his age that stood there like she owned the place and was doing the world a favor just existing in it.
For a moment Harry contemplated just walking out again, before he was noticed, but he was no coward, so he took a couple steps in and waited to be serviced. While he thought it polite not to stare at the girl, she apparently hadn't gotten the same memo. So while Harry patiently waited for his own attendant, the girl was appraising him, as if he was an handbag she thought about buying.
After being stared at for an uncomfortable amount of time, Harry mentally sighed and turned to the obvious pureblood: "Since it seems we will be here for a while, I think it is only polite to introduce myself. Hadrianus Carbo, at your service"
The girl scanned him for another moment, before apparently deciding, that he was worth talking to: "Pansy Parkinson, pleasure"
Seemingly his high pedigree wasn't all that obvious, which was both mildly insulting and a good thing. Insulting, because as Lord Black he could demand satisfaction for being treated like a lesser, but seeing as not a small number of people wanted to kill him, it was better this way. Harry had tried to convince Walburga to let him pretend to be a muggle-born student to raise less suspicion, but he was shut down hard by the magical portrait. Instead they had compromised on a false name, that technically wasn't even all that false and proper etiquette on the whole shopping trip.
Harry was well aware, that while he seemed unsupervised, Kreacher was most certainly watching and reporting everything he did. He must have drifted of in his thoughts, because he realized just then, that the Parkinson girl was still observing him with calculating eyes: "I can see that you are a proper pureblood, Carbo. Although your fashion sense leaves much to be desired. How is it then, that I have never heard of your family?"
Participating in the noble art of ignoring people doing their job around you, in this case the seamstress taking his measurements, Harry only turned his head to the girl: "While my family is indeed pure of blood, I myself have only come to be part of magical Britain quite recently. I hope my English is acceptable"
"Passable I'd say", Ouch, "Where are your family from then? Italy?"
"No, from France originally, though we have spread quite far over the years", for a moment Harry contemplated, if that clue had been to obvious, but if so, the girl showed no outward reaction.
"French, huh", the girls face turned into a sneer that unfortunately made her face resemble a pug somewhat. Not that Harry would mention something like that within 200 miles of said girl, grandma raised no fool.
Harry instead opted to act like he hadn't noticed her more than obvious disdain: "Yeah, I was told that my ancestors may even precede the French Revolution"
This time she didn't even suppress her snort: "Impressive"
"Indeed. Though this places quite a lot of expectations on oneself, but I suspect you know all about that"
"Yes, quite so. So … what exactly made you leave the continent?"
"The death of my parents. My grandmother has a mansion in London, so here I am"
"How did they die?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at the candid question, this was not only breaking pureblood etiquette, it was just plain rude.
He debated just pretending to not have heard it, but Pansy just kept staring at him: "Ehm, no offense, Lady Parkinson, but that is a rather personal question. While I would be delighted to deepen our acquaintance further down the line, I will to apologize for staying tight lipped for now. I am sure though, that there will be ample opportunity for conversations once we are both attending Hogwarts"
"Sure, if you also get into Slytherin, like I will", Pureblood and a bitch? Harry had to agree: better be SLYTHERIN.
Luckily the seamstress was finished with her work and told him to come back in a couple of hours to pick up his robes.
"I guess we will see, what the hat has in store for us, Lady Parkinson. Either way it has been a pleasure to meet you"
Pansy just lazily waved her hand at his retreating form: "Yeah, sure"
After that … encounter, Harry had to pat himself on the back a bit: he hadn't broken character and even stayed polite during everything, even if he knew there would be a list of presumed etiquette breaches a mile long waiting for him at home. Even so, that was a problem for future Harry, present Harry was going to get his own wand now.
Luckily there wasn't a huge line in front of Ollivander's when he got there, so he sauntered right in, a bit of spring to his steps. The dusty stacks of boxes oddly reminded him of home, even if he had to question if all the dust and disorganization really painted Britain's premiere wand maker in the best light. Granted with his reputation the old owl could probably get away with it, but still slightly unprofessional. As was hiding from little children to scare them, but since Harry had Tom's memories, he wasn't really surprised.
"Well, who do we have here? Another young Wizard buying his first wand?"
"Yes, Hadrianus Carbo. A pleasure Mr. Ollivander, I presume?"
"Quite right, my dear boy. Let's see if we can't find you a wand suited to your disposition. Now what is your dominant hand?"
"Right, sir"
The old, intense looking, man brought out all manner of measuring tools and trinkets to gauge Merlin knows what. Maybe, Harry mused, all this was just a bit of a show when in reality the wand maker was just as clueless of the right wand as his customers.
After some time the shop owner disappeared between the rows of wands, only to return with a dusty box he opened with a flourish: "Cherry wood, 10 inches, thunderbird tail feather"
Harry looked a bit unconvinced at the pretty bog standard looking wand, but swung in nonetheless. When the ink pot on the counter began rapidly spinning through the air while spewing its contents everywhere, Harry carefully laid the wand back in its casing.
"Not quite, I'm afraid. Well .. let me see, how about this one? Black Walnut, 13 inches, unicorn hair"
Again Harry swung the wand, only to set a stack of papers on fire, this time.
"Oh nonono", Ollivander muttered, casually putting out the flames, "Not that one either. But maybe … here, Mr. Carbo, Holly, 11 inches, phoenix feather core"
This time Harry felt a litter spark when he touched the wand, but not a very pleasant one, more like getting shocked enough to immediately drop it to the floor.
A disproving click of the tongue was Ollivanders first reaction, before he picked up the wand and put it back with his brothers.
"I must admit, Mr. Carbo, you are quite the difficult customer, but fear not, maybe I have the perfect wand for you right … here: Ebony, twelve inches, dragon heartstring"
This time as he picked the wand up, Harry felt something that reminded him of the trusty ash wand in his pocket, only amplified tenfold. It felt like a part of his body had been returned to him.
His smile was mirrored by the old wand maker: "It appears we have a match, my dear boy. That will ring you up seven Gallons"
After buying a wand polishing kit as well, Harry quickly knocked out all the potions supplies he was supposed to bring, as well as some nifty tools his nan had recommended. He would have brought a trunk, too, if Kreacher hadn't insisted, that he take Regulus' old one, that was still in good condition and charmed to hell and back. That however left only a couple of stops for Harry to work trough and he would have taken his sweet time, if he didn't struggle so much in the crowds.
So without dallying to much, Harry finally set foot into Flourish & Blotts, giddy with excitement. Weaving trough the packed bookstore, Harry made his way to the counter in order to purchase his school books. Quick on the uptake, the young male clerk pulled up a first year bundle, the moment he noticed Harry's approach. Impressed with the good service Harry deposited the books in his enchanted leather pouch, before turning to the rest of the store with a small grin on his face.
He had been warned by Walburga not to overdo it on the books, lest he end up somewhere like Ravenclaw.
Nonetheless, this was the first opportunity for Harry to choose what he would read as well as having access to books written in the last three decades, so he descended with a slightly manic drive upon the bookshelves. Meticulously he scoured every row for anything that took his fancy, only to realize, that not as many new books stood out to him, as he would have expected. Here, as in most things apparently, Wizarding Britain moved at a near glacial pace. So, a little disappointed, Harry took his meager findings, one book on runes and two on creative spell application, to the counter to pay.
Bummed how that had gone, Harry set his sights on Eeylops Owl Emporium, because what self respecting Wizard didn't have himself an owl? The shop was rather dark and muted inside, as expected really. Harry had to restrain himself from dressing down some kids his age and some even older, that were clearly harassing the owls which, being nocturnal, weren't all that impressed. Watching the birds on display, Harry pondered for a moment, if a raven would be a more fitting choice of messenger bird. But than again, that would be a little to one the nose.
His thoughts came to a grinding halt, when the perfect owl came into view: a gorgeous snow oul was perched mere feet away from him, looking down at a boy pestering it, with a look that promised swift retribution if not left in peace. Feisty and female too, if the sign next to her was anything to go by. When the overzealous boy predictably got nipped in the hand and stomped of fuming, Harry stepped up close to marvel at this majestic beast. Seemingly preening under his appreciative gaze, the female owl even let him pet her, after a more careful approach. After that, buying her was only a formality for Harry, so with the newly named Hedwig in tow, he left the shop.
For a moment Harry checked his acceptance letter for anything he might have forgotten in his excitement, but as far as he could tell, he had bought everything required. As such, Harry was about to bow into one of the small side alleys and call Kreacher, when a sudden hissing drew his attention. An older girl had just left a nearby shop with a newly bought snake, that didn't seem too happy with the situation: "§Grab me like that again, ape, and I will bite your ugly nose off. Oh just you wait, when I am finally out of this cage, I will watch you die, writhing in agony as my poison slowly ...§"
Even as the snake's 'words' got quieter getting carried further down the road, Harry still stood at the side of the alley petrified. He had always assumed that he could understand snakes in Voldy's memories, because the Noseless One was a Parselmouth. Having been holed up in an English suburb and than in a inner city mansion, Harry had never quite encountered any snakes personally. Now though, it seemed he was quite the snake whisperer himself, not anything to be proud of, if the larger Wizarding public was anything to go by. Nonetheless, this had far reaching consequences for Harry's plans for the future, as well as a certain chamber in Scotland.
Still a little shaken up, Harry whispered for his psychotic servant and just like that, he popped out of the alley altogether.
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It had taken Walburga the sum total of three seconds to figure out something had happened on his shopping trip. Though to be fair, Harry was not sure, if it was his terrible poker face, or the familiarity with his tells, his nan had acquired over the years, that was to blame: "Spill it, boy, what has you all shaken up like a maiden the eve before her debut?"
"First of all, everything went fine shopping wise, I even made some inroads towards pureblood circles, as you are undoubtedly aware"
"Oh yes, the little Parkinson girl. Though to be honest, her manners are a bit lacking, can't have that for both Lord and Lady Black, now can we?"
"Oh. Ehm … I mean, she is just a young girl ..."
"So you like her then? Should I make a formal request for the two of you to begin courting?"
Harry stared in sheer terror at the portrait of his grandmother, though she didn't quite buy his reaction: "Nice try, Harry. Your attempt at distracting me was commendable, amateurish as it was. Now again, boy, what happened?"
Slumping into his leather chair in defeat, Harry begin mumbling: "There was a snake in a cage, and I could understand it..."
That was as far as he got, before the overbearing portrait interrupted him: "Kreacher procure me a snake!"
"A snake mistress?"
"Has your age taken your hearing from you, elf?! Or should I replace you with a more obedient servant?"
"No, mistress. A snake, mistress. At once, mistress"
As the elf snapped out of reality, Walburga fixed Harry with a stare that made him confident, he now knew, how a mouse must feel, before being devoured by a predator.
Mere moments later, Kreacher carefully placed an utterly confused grass snake on the coffee table, right between the biscuits.
"§Uh, hello?§"
"§Hi§"
"No dallying, boy, tell it to roll over! See if it obeys!"
"§Uh, sorry for the trouble, snake. I know this sounds weird, but could you role over for me, please?§"
The snake looked at him somewhere between dumbfounded and offended: "§You are a Speaker, so I guess. But no offense, I am not a dog. This is a one time only thing§"
Then, with no small amount of annoyance the grass snake followed his orders. As soon as the reptile began rotating on the table, a predatory grin stretched across Walburga's features for a moment, before she schooled them.
"Kreacher, dispose of the reptile!"
"§Wha...?§", were the snakes last hisses, as it was again snatched by the house-elf.
"A Parselmouth, too? You, boy, seem more and more like the just retribution bestowed upon House Black after the years of insults by those beneath us"
"Glad to be of use, I guess"
"As you should be. Oh, and Harry, don't think we won't go over your encounter with heiress Parkinson with a fine comb these next few days, in order to improve your abysmal etiquette"
A groan was Harry's lone retort.