"The Green Dragon? No no, this here be the Leaky Cauldron." -Tom the Barkeep to a curious muggle-born patron. Late Fall, 1958.

Chapter 3:

Harry stepped up to the dingy pub with a satisfied smile on his face. A hole in the wall place that most would overlook without a second thought. But when the eyes of the passerby's literally slid over the inconspicuous building there was clearly something else at work. Since Harry placed himself right in the entryway not a single passing civilian seemed capable of noticing his presence. Pushing a man as he walked past only resulted in a light shake of the head and brief mutterings of not getting enough sleep. The 'muggles' – for what else could Harry think of them as when they couldn't even perceive the simple wonder he'd discovered standing outside a pub – rationalized a push from seemingly no where as nothing more than a lapse in their own motor skills. The shove from nowhere was obviously nothing because it couldn't be anything else.

Harry wondered what sort of measures were in place to stop the wizards and witches of the world from taking advantage of the muggles. Legal means or otherwise, to use magic against those without it would be easier than taking sweets from a child. The money that could be made in the muggle world with the help of magic set his heart racing. Only a few minutes after seeing magic at work and already he was planning his first bank robbery.

The Leaky Cauldron wasn't as decrepit inside as the outside entrance would suggest. The low light and wooden décor did little to inspire a sense of luxury in the establishment, but a critical eye would reveal very little dust on the scattered furnishings. The tables and chairs were worn from likely decades of use, but they were still firm and stable.

A dozen patrons were littered throughout the tables and bar, some already well into their cups, others sipping on coffee or eating breakfast while they perused the paper. Harry was pleasantly surprised to see that aside from long coats and thick robes worn as outerwear, the style of dress matched that with which he was familiar – but that was where the familiarity ended.

One of the men at the bar took a shot of a drink that by all appearances was just whiskey, but the steam that abruptly shot out of his ears dissuaded that assumption. A woman in the corner was playing cards against what was either an invisible person or simply a pair of gloves; even from a distance Harry could see the face cards were moving and talking, and the woman arguing against them. The waitress that waved her wand and caused all the spilled liquid to return to the mug from whence it came as she resumed busing the table. The man in the corner slowly spinning his finger in concentric circles, whilst his stirring spoon followed the same motion half a meter away.

Harry tried not to gasp and stare at every little sight, but he was certain he failed in such regards. Everywhere he looked there was magic. The wonder would eventually wear off, the extraordinary would turn to commonplace; but for now, he was Alice, and around every corner there was a new sight that begged disbelief.

The bar was manned by a completely bald gentleman seemingly in his late 60s. A warm smile etched its way onto his features as Harry approached the bar. The rag the man had been using to wipe down a glass vanished, with said glass floating up to one of the shelves behind him. "Well 'ello there, I can't say I've seen you around 'ere before. I'm Tom, owner and barkeep of the Leaky Cauldron. What's your name, son?

The man's friendly demeanor was a welcome experience. It was no surprise to Harry that those new to magic were directed to enter Diagon Alley via this pub if this man was a regular behind the counter. Anyone suspicious of the world they were stepping into would find themselves immediately at ease thanks to the cheerful greeting and unassuming questions of Tom the barkeep.

"Harry Evans, first time here."

"Welcome then, welcome! You're a muggle-born then, I take it?" Tom asked his questions with such a sincere interest Harry was almost taken back. This man clearly wore his heart on his sleeve.

"Muggle raised, actually, orphaned thanks to the war." Harry knew that while his circumstances were more complicated than others, he was far from alone in being a child orphaned thanks to war.
"Ah, I'm sorry there, lad," Tom replied. "I can't say I know who your folks are based on your name, but I'll raise a glass to their memory all the same. Take a seat, have a drink on the house."

Though slightly bemused Harry did as asked and took the proffered seat in front of the aged barkeep. The man was kind, and even if it wasn't alcoholic Harry wasn't about to turn down a free drink – especially not one offered in light of his parent's passing. A frosted glass bottle was placed in front of Harry, cold air rising from the opening. The liquid inside was an amber color with white foam gathered at the top. It was clearly a beer. Harry wasn't one to question free alcohol, nor the surprising lack of drinking laws.

"That there is what's known as Butter Beer 'round these parts. Quite sweet but also quite good. That version there is non-alcoholic but even then it has been known to lower inhibitions, but only a small bit." Tom's explanation of the drink was interrupted only by his reaching down to seemingly nowhere to pull out his own frosted bottle. "Can be served hot or cold, but given the warm weather outside I figured you didn't need something to help warm your bones."

A drink that lowered inhibitions but lacked the loss of motor control or hangovers? Butter Beer was undoubtedly a very popular drink among youths – especially those that found getting their hands on booze to be too difficult a task. But if a simple non-alcoholic drink still had mind altering affects, what was the potency of wizarding liquor? Harry's mind was a whirl with possibilities, and he couldn't wait to explore them all.

Tom raised his bottle alongside Harry. "To your parents then. Cheers."

Harry muttered his own cheers before taking a drink while Tom downed his entire bottle without pause. The drink was exceedingly sweet, akin to butterscotch but less sickly. Harry was amazed by the utter lack of artificial flavoring. The thick syrupy texture he'd long since come to associate with sweet drinks was absent. "This is pretty good," Harry said to the expectant barkeep.

"Damn right it's good. Everything I serve is good."

"You make the butter beer in house then?" Harry queried.

Tom barked a laugh. "Not at all, we buy from the same distributor just like everyone else. Ours is just the best!"
Harry accepted Tom's 'logic' with a chuckle. The elderly man was clearly just joking, the odd gleam in his eye suggested that he took quite a bit of pride in the Leaky Cauldron and would happily defend that point even beyond the realm of sense. Harry's own opinions of the establishment was rather high given his own first impressions, so he acquiesced to the man's humorous claims.

"So how long have you been the owner, Tom? Or did you build the pub?" Harry wasn't normally one for small talk, but given that he was still nursing his free drink, he would happily take the opportunity to gather more information on the world of magic.

"Oh, I've been the owner for a good 90 years now or so. Barkeep and server for at least 30 before that. The Leaky Cauldron has been around since 1512 though, so it's a fair bit older than me, yes sir."

Harry was floored. He'd thought the man to be in his 70s at the latest. Double that was practically unthinkable. "You've been working here for over 120 years? How long do wizards and witches live?"

"That's right, you wouldn't know. Most magical folk live to be around 170 to 200 years. I myself will be 142 this November."

Harry could scarcely believe that his own life span was double of that which he thought. Tom's appearance suggested that wizards and witches aged half as quickly, but Harry's matched the other muggles his age, so it likely slowed once they reached adulthood. A host of questions popped into his brain on the structure of their society and how it differed from the muggles when everyone lived so long.

"I'm one of the older ones these days though. Two wars in the last 50 years 'ave certainly taken their toll," Tom said, his voice heavy. "Too many dead for their damned causes. Why can't people just be happy living their lives?" He was pulled out of his musings by the sound of Harry's now empty bottle setting down on the bar.

"Thanks for the drink, Tom, I enjoyed it."

"Anytime lad, anytime. I'll make you pay for the next one but you're still a welcome patron at The Leaky Cauldron." Tom affirmed his statement with a nod then began cleaning the area Harry had just vacated.

"Oh, the entrance to the Alley is through the door back there," Tom pointed towards a hallway situated adjacent to the bar. "It's the only door so I don't imagine you'll get lost. He chuckled at his own quip before turning away, cleaning rag once more in hand.

Harry was about to leave when he noticed a handsome wooden staircase in the corner that led to a second floor. Looking about he saw a few tables and chairs overlooking a balcony, but the hallways were of greater interest. "Hey, Tom, you wouldn't happen to have any rooms available, would you?"

"I do believe I do, lad. You from out of town and need one for the evening?" Tom's question was understandable, but Harry had no intention of returning to the world of muggles before going to Hogwarts.

"What's your rate? I need a room until September 1st."

"Planning to stick around until you head to Hogwarts then?" Tom asked.

"I'm weighing my options," Harry replied. He didn't know exactly how much money he had access to, but it didn't hurt to get some information.

Tom reached below the register he had at the corner of the bar and lifted out a hefty ledger. He started muttering to himself about rooms and dates as he flipped through the pages. "Well I don't have any reservations that would stop me from renting you a room. Today is July 3rd, so you'd be needing a room for the next two months... I normally charge three sickles a night for a room and some breakfast in the morning, but if you're staying for almost two months I think we could negotiate a cheaper price."

Harry really should've gone by the bank before trying to discuss finances. McGonagall had offhandedly mentioned the currency used in the magical world, but knowing he had a vault at the bank she'd continued on without delving further. Rather than admit his ignorance to the aged barkeep Harry did what he was good at, deflect and retreat.

"Sounds fair Tom, we'll discuss the exact details this evening, yeah?" Gods above he hoped that McGonagall wasn't exaggerating his inheritance.

"I'm working a split shift today so that will do just fine, lad. See you then."

Harry waved farewell to the old man and made his way to the exit of the tavern. Stepping into Diagon Alley was an experience unlike any he had ever had before. The cauldrons of different shapes and sizes haphazardly stacked in a manner that seemed deliberately insulting to physics. A woman brushed past him muttering to herself on the ridiculous price of an ounce of dragon liver. Harry mentally filed away that dragons were apparently real. Lovely.

Children were crowded around a store called "Quality Quidditch Supplies", gushing about the brooms advertised in the windows. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "it's a Nimbus Two-Thousand, the fastest broom in the world!" One shop sold telescopes and other metal instruments with uses the likes of which Harry couldn't even begin to guess.

An Apothecary was advertising a sale on the spleen of vampire bats, but a small sign was next to the display warning "not quite dead until doused in sun-infused oil". On the street corner a man was conducting three other instruments that were playing by use of magic alone, passerby's tossing him the odd bronze or silver coin. There were shops selling books and tomes, quills and parchment, a magical pet emporium, potions and elixirs, there were restaurants and inns. Various clothing stores for all different occasions, toy stores for children. A small stand with portraits and paintings that not only moved but talked and interacted with those walking past.

At the end of the road Harry saw a large circular plaza from which multiple other streets branched off from. In the center was a towering clock-tower that Harry was certain had to be the size of the London Clock Tower. There were stores and shops by the dozens on the main street alone, each different and unique in their own way, having some element or oddity to further reinforce that he'd well and truly stepped into a different world. Welcome to Narnia, Harry.

The clock tower rung its hourly bell. Eleven o'clock.

"Narnia, young Harry? No no, we do not look to talking lions for leadership around these parts."

Harry spun around, eyes narrowed at the man who'd seemingly read his thoughts. Seated at a small table with a chair on either side, the man had pale skin, long black hair, bangs tied back away from his face, and a pair of very dark glasses. He was completely clean shaven, and appeared to be no older than twenty five, but Harry had already learned his lesson about guessing ages. The man was dressed in black pants and a loose light gray shirt that left half his chest exposed. Below the neck every inch of exposed skin was covered in various runic tattoos. Harry walked closer to the strange man, and in response he removed the dark glasses, revealing his milky white eyes.

"You read my mind," Harry accused.

"I might have," the strange man replied, "but if I did what does it matter?" The man grinned at Harry but it was far from a friendly smile. His entire presence was unnerving, and that was discounting his ability to discern thoughts. "Take a seat Harry Evans, I wish to speak with someone, and I think you shall do nicely." The man gestured to the chair opposite his own, expectant that Harry would comply.

Harry squashed the unease the man instilled within him and claimed the offered seat. The man could be dangerous, but the danger was nothing next to the curiosity Harry had. Besides, talking with the mysterious stranger was far more interesting than walking away.

"You are correct, Harry. Speaking with me is a far more interesting activity than anything else you would be doing right now. Your finances can wait, take a seat, converse with me." The man materialized a thick gold coin from within his sleeve and spun it on the table. "We shall talk until this coin stops spinning, or until we get bored. Then we will go our separate ways and live the rest of our lives in peace. Fun, no?"

Harry had no clue what the man wanted with him, but he was suspecting that while they had different definitions of fun, this wasn't a conversation he wanted to miss out on. "Do you need me to talk? You seem to be able to read my mind no problem."

"Why would I bother when your spoken words are so much more interesting?" The blind man queried, grin still fixed on his features.

"Why are spoken words more interesting?" Harry replied.

The man tsked at Harry. "Now now, it is most impolite to answer a question with a question."

Harry tried to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He failed. "Fine, I don't know why my spoken words are more entertaining to you. Will you tell me why?"

The man chuckled at Harry's response, clearly taking some amusement in Harry following his lead. His finger tapped on the table three times in quick succession, the spinning coin that had been fixated in one location began slowly moving around the table. "Of course I will tell you why, though I do have to correct you first. I said spoken words were more interesting, not entertaining."

"Is there a difference?" Harry asked.

"They are different words, are they not?" The man clearly enjoyed wordplay.

"Fair enough, will you answer my question now?"

"I suppose so," the tattooed man said, "your spoken words are more interesting because they are those that you choose to give voice too. Your internal thoughts may be a more honest reflection of what you really think, but your choices are a better reflection of who you are." The man folded his fingers and rested them on the table. "Does that answer your question, Harry Evans?"

Harry mirrored the man's pose, careful not to bump the coin lest it cease spinning. He doubted his efforts were necessary given that the man was likely using magic to keep it spinning, but he was cautious nonetheless. "It does. My turn again."

"Oh, are we taking turns in asking one another questions?" The lilt in the man's voice suggested amusement more than anything.

"I see no reason not to. I get answers and you get interesting conversation. Win win." Harry was a complete ignoramus when it came to magic, but there was something about the man seated in front of him that was different from anything else he'd seen thus far. Harry looked into the man's unseeing gaze and felt utterly naked. This man, whoever, perhaps even whatever he was, presented an opportunity Harry was not going to miss out on.

The blind man hummed in response and tapped the table three times more. The coin started spinning faster, weaving around their hands and skirting the edges of the table. "I like it. I shall go first."

"It's my turn, actually," Harry said.

"But we just began this game, did we not?" The man asked, his grin growing almost imperceptibly wider.

"You just acknowledged the game, but it had already begun," Harry countered.

"Ah, an opponent! This truly is a game!" The man chuckled at his own realization. "I answered your question on spoken words, no? So the next question would fall to me."

"You had asked me if your reply answered my question, which is a question in of itself." Harry wasn't an expert in wordplay by any means; but as unnerving as the mysterious man was, he was right, Harry was enjoying himself.

Full and unbridled laughter left the man's lips. "Very true young Harry, very true. You are correct, it is indeed your turn. Ask away!"

"How did you read my mind?" Harry had played it off, but it bothered him to no end that this man had so casually seen his thoughts. He desperately needed to know if it was commonplace, and if possible, how to prevent it.

"I am a natural Legilimens, an especially talented one at that." The pride in the man's voice was audible. "Legilimency being one of the principal elements of mind magic of course. Though I do have to correct your misguided assumption, the mind is not a book to be easily read. Legilimency is incredibly complex given the difficulty of navigating a foreign mind."

The man's tone seemed to take on a weight when speaking of the potent magic. Harry had no reason to doubt his claims despite the seeming ease in which he'd picked apart Harry's thoughts. The man had already professed himself as being a 'natural' at the ability, alongside having talent.

"My turn," the man declared. "How would you describe the state of your morality? Do you think of yourself as a good person? An evil one? Evaluate yourself for my amusement, Evans." His grin had turned vicious with his probing question.

"Neutral," Harry quickly replied, entirely unfazed, "and that was more than one question."
The man waved off Harry's accusation. "The same question just rephrased. Your turn."

"Is 'mind magic' a common or well known branch of magic?" The mysterious man was definitely of interest to Harry, but the powerful magic he had at his disposable was far more valuable.

"No, it is not. Books on the subject are extraordinarily rare. Every practitioner is either a natural like myself or they were taught by a teacher. Which I am certain you can imagine is rare since –"

"The more people that know of mind magic the less useful it is, right?" The man's grin widening once more was the only answer Harry needed. So, it is possible to stop someone from reading your mind.

"My turn," the man said. "What do you think of your first trip to Diagon Alley?"

The seemingly innocuous question almost stumped Harry more than the probing inquiry. "Fascinating. I see why muggle-born kids are directed here, it really is a great way to introduce someone to the world of magic, tossing them into the deep end as it were."

"Hardly the deep end of the pool, young Harry," the man countered.

"Really?"

"Oh yes, really, and despite my having answered your question I will continue with my explanation. Keep up, Harry, this game does have a winner."

Harry rolled his eyes at the man but mentally acknowledged that he was right. He didn't know how long the man planned to sit here and answer questions, so he had to make the most of each one.

"Diagon Alley is the cultural hub of magical London, this is true, but the location itself is barely steeped in magic. Most of the magic you see is simply the everyday variety. True magic goes far beyond the wonderful little spells you have borne witness to thus far."

"Fair enough," Harry replied. "Your turn."

"So it is my turn," The man leaned back in his seat, propping it back on two legs without using the table as a balance. "Which color would you say you are most fond of? Red, Green, Yellow, or Blue?"

"You're mad," Harry said, utterly bemused by the man's question.

"'That which you mistake for madness is but an over-acuteness of the senses.' Pick a color."

"Green, I guess."

"A good color, your eyes really are a special hue, no?"

Perturbed once more at the seemingly blind man's ability to discern the physical Harry ignored the rhetorical question.
"What's an example of a place steeped in 'true magic' as you put it?"

The man chortled. "That is an easy one, Hogwarts."

Harry leveled a blank stare at the man, silently urging him to continue.

"Oh fine I shall be sporting. Yes, Hogwarts. Built upon more crisscrossed Ley Lines than almost anywhere else on earth. Machu Picchu and the site of some of the Great Pyramids rival it of course, as well as a few other notable locations. But yes, Hogwarts is special."

The man casually declared that two of the most historical sites on the planet were places of extraordinary magic. Only then did Harry start to wonder just how much of the world's history was warped and shaped by a world most would never know about.

"Alright brother of the Boy-who-lived, my turn again. You were sent to live with muggles while the younger twin was hidden away in the magical world. He is aware of his heritage, he has known love from family. How does that make you feel?" The man's grin bordered on villainous.

For the first time since the conversation started Harry was genuinely annoyed. "Ask something else," he demanded.

"No, I do not think I will," the man simply laughed at Harry's request. "Answer the question. Complicated the emotions behind the answer might be, but the answer itself is quite simple and we both know it."

Harry glared at the man and the smug smile he boasted. "It pisses me off." Harry had almost asked the man if he was happy now but he was loathe to throw away another question.

"Tsk tsk, holding in anger like that does not a healthy mind make, young Harry."

"Don't care, it's my turn now."
"Indeed it is, ask away."

"What is one book about magic itself that you'd recommend above all others?" Something in his gut told Harry that the man in front of him was the scholarly type, and he would use that despite his still lingering discomfort and growing agitation.

"An excellent question! Let me think..." The man drifted off into silence for over a minute, his chin held in his hands as he still balanced his chair upon two legs. "Ah! Of course. While finding a copy is far from easy, I would recommend 'The Disassembly of Reason' by Elan Morin Tedronai. I dare say that book shaped my view of magic more than any other."

"Forgo a question to tell me about the book?" Harry asked.

The man pulled an intricately carved churchwarden pipe out of his sleeve and stuck it in his mouth, a small flame sprung to life on the tip of his finger which he used to light the tobacco within. Harry waited patiently as the man took a few puffs and slowly exhaled. The smoke swirled above the table, slowly forming into an intricate shape that clearly spelled the man's opinions on Harry's suggestion.

"You could've just said no," Harry grumbled, "but fine, it's your turn."

"Do you enjoy cooking, Harry?"

"Somewhat, depends if I have the necessary tools and ingredients."

"But you would refrain from calling it a passion of yours?" The man queried further.

"That's another question."
"Come now Harry, it is your turn to be sporting, this is a game after all."

Harry didn't understand how but the man somehow looked disappointed in him even through the grin. "Alright, I suppose that's fair," Harry acquiesced. "No, cooking isn't a particularly enjoyable pastime for me. I know how to cook, I'm good at it, I can make any of Beth's recipes almost as well as she can, but I would never do so for fun."

Harry still had no idea what the man was playing at. Even discounting his ability to read minds, the man's questions switched from inane to insightful at every turn.

"Are they inane, Harry? Are they really?"

Harry chose to again ignore the man's rhetorical comment. "What's your best piece of advice on attending Hogwarts?"

"Oh I like this one, but I am going to go ahead and take my next turn now since it will determine how I answer your question. Is that okay with you, my honorable competitor?"

Intrigue took center stage once more. "Go ahead."

The man let the legs of his chair fall back to the earth and he was suddenly leaning over the table, pipe still clenched in his hand. "What makes you believe I attended Hogwarts?"

"Gut instinct," Harry replied. "And the slight hint of fondness in your voice when you mentioned it earlier."

"Very good. Well, that satisfies my query so I will now answer yours," the man resumed his comfortable position leaning back in the chair, his ever present grin seemingly more genuine than before. "Explore, Harry Evans. Explore."

The man waved his hand to acknowledge Harry's request to elaborate before it exited his mouth. "Do you know what makes Hogwarts unique when compared to the other magical locations I mentioned earlier?"

"I can think of a number of guesses, but I don't want to waste my question so just tell me."

The man chuckled but accepted Harry's response. "The intent behind its creation. Machu Picchu was a royal estate, defense and beauty its primary elements. Situated above the Sacred Valley it was a symbol of power and authority, a message to both the Inca and any other tribes of their victory and strength. The intent is obvious."

As the man spoke a wispy facsimile of Machu Picchu took shape in front of Harry, next to it the Great Pyramid of Giza rose anew.

"The Great Pyramid was a tomb for great kings and queens of old, a colossal structure truly deserving its rank among the seven wonders of the world, but again, we know the intent. To protect their honored dead and riches, to serve as a tomb for any who dare disturb the rest of those who lay there. The magic within this tomb is still a mystery to us in many ways; there are teams of curse-breakers that will spend decades at a time trying to undo a single new trap. But the intent behind the magic is known to us."

"Hogwarts is a school though," Harry decided to cut in when the man paused to collect his breath. "Is that not also clear intent?"
"Yes and no, Hogwarts is a school, that much is true. That is why my old alma mater has classrooms and dorms. But that fact fails to capture the spirit of its creators, its founders."

The smoky creations faded away in an instant, but there, inscribed on the table Harry could suddenly see, were four emblems.

"Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. Individually brilliant, together unrivaled," the man's tone was almost reverent when speaking of the four legendary mages. "The Founders of Hogwarts wished to make an institution of both learning and safety for young witches and wizards, but they understood that magic was more than a tool, it was the means to do the impossible. And so they set out to make the impossible a reality."

"That doesn't really explain anything," Harry countered.

"No, I suppose not," the man relented. "To one who had explored Hogwarts like myself, perhaps. But you are still ignorant of what lies within those halls."

"Could you explain it so I understand then?" Harry asked once more. The man had been surprisingly straightforward since Harry asked about Hogwarts. His grin was still in place, but that almost imperceptible pressure Harry felt from the man was muted as he spoke about the school.

"Alright then, how about this: you likened Diagon Alley to Narnia. Why?"
"Because it felt magical." Duh. Harry hoped the man was reading his mind when he thought that.

"Exactly! Magical! No one who had grown up only knowing magic could understand why you think of Diagon Alley that way, but you who had only known the world of Muggles describe that which you thought impossible as magical!"

"Okay, so Hogwarts is magical, I could've guessed that."

"Yes, but Hogwarts leaves even those raised in a magical world thinking that it is a magical place."

"How?"

"Because in Hogwarts you will find that which even magic says should be impossible."

Harry's befuddlement was brought to an abrupt end. Hogwarts wasn't just a place of learning, it was apparently the collective work of four geniuses who sought to push boundaries, innovators of magic that took the words of cynics as a challenge.

"Well put, young Harry," the man had read his mind again, ass hole. "And before you ask, no. I won't be giving you any examples of the kinds of things that can be found with Hogwarts' glorious halls. I spent seven years learning all the secrets that I could and I am absolutely positive I did not see everything that lovely school has to offer. You spend seven years looking and then we shall compare notes."

Harry was actually glad the man had shut down the question before he asked it. If Hogwarts was as magical as this man was leading him to believe then it would be a travesty to learn of its secrets secondhand.

"I suppose it's my turn again," Harry said, he would keep asking questions until this man stopped answering.

The man nodded his head at Harry to continue. "Please, ask away. I really am enjoying our little conversation, especially since we began speaking of Hogwarts."

"What was the most useful class you took at Hogwarts?"

"Thank you for staying on Hogwarts whilst also asking something practical, bravo. As for my answer, well I am going to cheat and say it is a tie between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Both are building blocks of magic that simultaneously feed into and contradict one another."

"That sounds more than a little complicated," Harry remarked.

"Depends on how you look at it." The man replied.

"A paradox is a paradox."

"Are you trying to limit magic using logic? Alas, Harry, I fear we cannot continue this line of conversation until you have read 'The Disassembly of Reason'. Perhaps I could explain the necessary concepts to you but that would take far more time than I am willing to invest right now."

"Magic doesn't follow logic at all? Then how is it something that can be studied?" Harry couldn't simply shelve his confusion in the face of such contradiction. He needed the tattooed man to clarify his statements now.

"I do not recall saying magic does not follow logic, I merely implied that you should not limit magic using logic. Come now we have been dancing with words this entire time, do not tell me you are lost now so late in the game?" The man's grin had turned into smirk, and Harry never thought he'd wish for the grin to return.

"Whatever, I accept that distinction despite how little sense it makes." Harry was only fairly certain he actually understood the wordplay but there was no point in arguing. Harry had learned of magic yesterday, only a fool would truly argue over something they were brand new too.

"Lovely, then we can proceed. I think we can both agree that the rules of our little game were shoved aside in favor of our greater understanding of our respective answers, correct?" The man waited for Harry's small nod before continuing. "Then I do believe it is once again my turn."

"Ask away," Harry said.

"A simple question for a complicated answer this time. Do you Dream?"

Harry was far to used to the curious nature of the man's questions by this point. "Yeah, I dream. So do most people. I rarely remember my dreams but I still do so."

"So you dream, but you do not Dream?"

"What?" Harry was positive the man was just messing with him now.
"'I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.' Accurate, is it not?"

Harry blinked. "Again, what?"

The man started laughing once more and though Harry had already suspected it was the case he now knew for certain – the man was certifiably insane.

"Do not fret over your confusion, young Harry. I do believe that over time all will be made clear to you," the man's words sounded comforting but were anything but.

Harry accepted he wasn't going to be getting any clarification. "My turn again. What happened to your eyes?" Harry asked.

"Bold of you to assume I was not born this way. Another hunch, perhaps?"

"Yeah, another hunch. Now answer."

"Humanity lives on a placid isle of ignorance, young Harry. The black sea of infinity surrounds us but our boats do not generally allow us to voyage far. I voyaged far."

"Enough metaphors, that's not how we've been playing this game." Fascinating the man's words were, his attempts to placate Harry's curiosity only spurred him on more.

"Let us just say that I was determined to gaze on brilliance at any cost, and that gaze was exactly the price I paid," the man said hauntingly. "Does that answer satisfy you? If not ask a different question for I will not reveal any more."

Harry was tempted to take advantage of the man's deal but something about his demeanor said that would be a mistake. The mysterious pressure had returned and Harry had no desire to see it rise any further. "That was good enough, barely. It's your turn."

"Excellent," the man said. "Well then young Harry, do kindly share with me your thoughts on death?"

"Terrifying."

"Elaborate for me."

"I really don't want to die," Harry replied.

"Elaborate further."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man's pushing. Further proof that the man was inside Harry's mind that he chose to ask questions that had long since plagued the young teen. "Death scares me, okay? It's the only thing I can say for certain that truly does. I don't believe in an afterlife, or I didn't as of a couple days ago, so the idea that dying was the end of my existence terrified me."

"They say that the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. Would you agree?" The smoke the man exhaled formed into tentacular shapes above him, and for a brief moment Harry swore he heard sounds he would never be able to describe.

"I certainly wouldn't disagree, but I think there's also a lot of intrigue to be found in the unknown," Harry countered.

"An adventurer's spirit but a coward's heart, hmm?"

Harry took offense at being referred to as craven. "I only have one life, so I want to live it to the fullest; that doesn't mean I want to die, nor does it make me a coward!"

"Not fond of my hyperbole then?" The man asked.

"Like you said, it's hyperbole." Harry was adamant on this front. He'd never recklessly endanger himself, but that doesn't mean he's scared of his own shadow.

"You fear death yet court danger. Such a lovely contradiction."

"I don't flee from death, that's the difference."

The man suddenly burst out into a state of uncontrollable laughter – he could barely stop laughing long enough to speak. "No no – we leave that – to someone else – do we not?"

The man's own comments sent him further into a fit. Whatever Harry had said that set the man off, he clearly found it to be the most hilarious thing in the world. Harry glanced around to see if anyone else found the man's unending laughter odd but he was eerily reminded of his experience standing outside the Leaky Cauldron. No one was paying any attention to the area in which Harry and the still laughing man sat. No one saw them, no one heard them, no one even tried to walk into their space. To the hundreds of witches and wizard walking around Diagon Alley, Harry and the man might as well have not existed.

The unease Harry had felt when first the man called out to him bubbled in his stomach once more. Ignorant though he was, Harry could mentally file away magic used to ward off muggles as simple. There was a clear delineation between those with magic and those without. But this? This was different. Harry could feel it in his bones that this level of magic was not normal. This man was not normal.

The laughter had stopped.

Fear welled within him. Whoever it was he was speaking to scared him. Harry had felt nervous speaking to the man when first he was addressed. Those nerves, the butterflies in his stomach telling him that something was wrong, he'd casually disregarded them. He'd forgotten that this world of magic was infinitely larger than he could have guessed. That pressure that Harry had always felt emanating off the man was almost suffocating.

When had the laughter stopped?

The man was just sitting there, chin held in one hand, milky white eyes fixated on Harry. His finger periodically tapping the table, the coin somehow spinning faster and faster with each pulse. His smile was gone. "Your turn, Harry Evans."

There was only one question Harry could ask. "Who are you?"

Though it was so small that Harry would forever question whether it was his imagination, he thought he saw the man's lips quirk into a smile once more. "My friends call me Tom."

Harry blinked and the man, Tom, was gone. The table and chairs were gone. A witch brushed past him and muttered her apologies. Her words fell upon deaf ears. Harry could only hear the sound of his own heartbeat reverberating through his chest. He had walked into a game where he didn't know the rules and assumed he could still play. The air in his lungs felt heavy as a bead of sweat slipped off his brow. Harry fell to his hands and knees, cobbled stone tearing at his palms. He could barely breathe! He could barely think!

The clock tower rung its hourly bell. Eleven o'clock.

The sound of the bell pierced through Harry's shock. Why was he hearing that bell again? His gaze was drawn to the ringing tower and the impossible time it showed. Eleven had already come and gone, hadn't it? The bell had already rung before his conversation with Tom? Then why was it ringing now?

Had he hallucinated Tom, was it all his imagination? No. Surely not. He'd never shown any signs he was crazy before; unless he was hallucinating the entire last 24 hours then he knew his conversation with Tom happened. Time dilation? Had someone used magic to alter his perception of time? An illusion then? If they used magic to invade his senses it would make sense.

But why?

Harry slumped up against the closest brick wall, his breathing still heavy but he no longer felt like he was suffocating. The polite inquiries of those asking if he was okay were waved off with breathy comments of "I'm fine" and "just tripped". He was probably being rude but there was no way he was even going to attempt conversation right now.

"What the fuck?" Harry asked, his voice quiet and meant only for his ears. One day. One day in the magical world and already he was terrified. Why was he excited too?

"You fear death yet court danger..."

Damn him, Tom was right. Harry hadn't been threatened in the slightest. There were no overt signs of danger but still, he knew. The moment Tom had stopped laughing Harry had been at the edge of a cliff. Tom's hand had been on his shoulder, ready to push him forward or pull him back at a moment's notice.

What does it say about me that I'd like to speak with him again, even if I am standing on a precipice?

A light whirling sound pulled Harry away from his own thoughts. A few feet away was a spinning gold coin. The crowds of people walking past meant that it should have been kicked or stepped on. The roughshod stone should have been an impossible surface for the coin to spin on, but it did so anyway. Harry crept forward and picked up the coin, the carved metal heavy in his hand.

"Umum Galleon?" Harry read the words off the coin.

"Lucky ta be findin' a galleon in the streets like tha', wish I ha' seen it before ya did." The old man who spoke to Harry was clearly poor if the state of his clothes was anything to judge buy.

"Guess it's just my lucky day," Harry said. The old man scoffed and limped away muttering about "spoiled kids" but Harry paid him no further mind.

This coin was the same one that had spun on the table. Harry had no idea if what he saw actually happened or was all in his head, but he knew that the coin in his hand and the one that Tom had spun were one and the same. "Mine now," he quietly said.

Harry reclaimed his seat against the brick and slowly rolled the galleon between his fingers. Mentally exhausted from the conversation that logic would dictate didn't happen. Both wizards I've met today have been named Tom, if anyone else introduces themselves by that name I'm walking away.