"The Ministry? Come down and raid ol' Knockturn? That there's a good one, mate. Ministry doesn't raid down 'ere, oh no. They tried that once upon a time, got sent scurryin' back up to dear Diagon with their tails tucked right between their legs. Only bleedin' aurors come down 'ere now – an' lemme tell you, they're far worse than any raid." -Mundungus Fletcher to a business associate over a drink, a bar in Knockturn Alley. October, 1988.
Chapter 5:
The early morning sun was still shining through the windows of the bedroom that Harry had called his for eight years. The book-shelf in the corner contained the books that he'd be leaving behind, which was all of them. Harry enjoyed each and every book he kept but he was living in a fantasy story now, he had no need to read about them.
All Harry had really packed was his clothes and a few keepsakes, all of which fit into a single large duffel bag. The photo album Sarah had gotten him was tucked tightly away. She and Maya had both been big into photography. They took pictures of experiences more than scenery or posed group photos. On his last birthday Sarah had gone and compiled an album for him. Filled to the brim with memories of the time they had all spent together and random little shots she'd taken of him. Throughout the majority of the last year she'd frequently given him more photos to tuck into corners or flaps. Harry cherished that album more than most things he owned.
Looking back at the room that still looked entirely lived in, Harry was reminded of how he'd never felt truly at home here. He would thank Beth until the day he died for all that she'd done for him. Both her and Sarah would always have a place in his heart. But he wasn't saying goodbye to his home, he was saying goodbye to the place he'd lived for a few years. It was the closest thing Harry had ever known to a home, but he'd never allowed himself to truly embrace living there. A small part of him fearing that if he did so, he'd lose it. So even after living underneath the same roof for the past eight years, Harry Evans still didn't have a home.
"You really are leaving," Sarah suddenly said from behind him. Her words weren't a question.
"Yeah, I am," Harry said, turning to meet her eyes.
Sarah clenched her fist at her side. "Were you going to say goodbye?" She asked, her voice sounding hurt to his ears.
Harry walked forward and pulled the girl into a tight hug. "C'mon now, we both know I'm not that bad."
Sarah's hands snaked around Harry as she returned the hug, now burying her head into his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you, you know?" She said, her voice muffled as she cried into his shirt.
Harry kissed the top of Sarah's head and continued to hold her close. "I'll miss you too." He knew it wasn't fair to the girl. Every person she let herself get close to inevitably left her alone. First her parents, then her grandparents, then Maya, and now him. Regardless of the circumstances, the fact of the matter was that he was leaving her behind, and they both knew he wasn't going to regret it.
After a minute of silence Sarah slowly pulled away from their embrace. Wiping her eyes of the tears that had built up she looked up at Harry with a smile on her face – a smile that was painfully fake. The pain in her eyes all too easy to read. "Well, Beth told me you're rich now so if I ever need money I'm hitting you up, okay?"
Harry saw what she was doing and happily played along, for her sake. "You already mooch off me, so I doubt I'll be able to tell a difference," he said, a far more genuine if still somber smile on his features.
"If you think I'm bad now just you wait, Harry," Sarah countered, forcing a small laugh as she did. Harry wished she would drop the facade, but he could never ask her to be honest right now, it would only hurt her more when he still walked away.
"I'll see you then," Harry said. He kissed Sarah on the head one last time before making his way past her and down the stairs for the last time.
Waiting for Harry in the main foyer was Beth and all the kids as he'd affectionately dubbed them. Few words were exchanged as he hugged each of the kids goodbye. He wasn't particularly close with any of them, but he had still known them all for two years at least, and he knew that they liked him. Jim, more than the others, was emotional as he bid Harry goodbye.
"You'll visit sometime, right?" Jim asked, his eyes brimming with tears as he looked up at Harry.
"Definitely," Harry said, smiling down at the boy, hoping his words wouldn't prove him a liar down the road.
Then there was Beth. Harry walked up to the woman and pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispered into her ear. They were the only words he said, they were the only words that needed to be said. Two little words carried eight years worth of care and emotion. Harry pulled away from Beth and he saw in her eyes that she understood. Harry kissed her on the cheek and stepped towards the door.
"Goodbye, Harry," Beth said, tears in her eyes as she watched another one of her kids leave her care.
"Bye all," Harry said. He walked out the front doors, stuck a smoke in his mouth, and never looked back.
Harry hailed down a taxi and gave an address that was near the Leaky Cauldron. Normally he might have taken the bus, but he had muggle cash to burn so why not take a load off and enjoy an easy method of travel. It wasn't even ten in the morning by the time Harry reached the magical tavern, and just like that he felt validated in paying for the more expensive method of travel.
Having already met with Tom earlier that morning and agreeing upon a more than fair price, Harry nodded at the man but otherwise walked straight up to his room for the next two months. Room number nine wasn't glamorous but it did still have the same sense of tasteful age the rest of the Leaky Cauldron possessed. A good sized four poster bed in the middle of the room, a small nightstand next to it. A dresser against the wall across from the bed, with a standing mirror placed adjacently. A desk and simple wooden chair in the corner completed the ensemble.
Harry tossed his bag on the bed and removed his coin pouch and the list of equipment and books Hogwarts had provided. "Might as well get the necessities out of the way first," Harry said. He had a list that he was going to complete today, but that was no excuse not to have a look around, wander off the beaten path a bit.
Harry made his way back to the Alley and was again surprised by just how crowded it was. Note to self – figure out just how many magical folk there are in Britain. Harry didn't mind the crowds though, having this many people in one area brought a certain level of excitement to the streets. Combine that with the obvious magic every which way he looked and Harry was having a blast.
"Right, trunk first so I can carry all this stuff," Harry said. Rather than asking for directions Harry just started walking, his eyes peeled for any signs or displays that would help guide his way. For the first time in his life Harry didn't have to worry about money, time wasn't a constraint in the slightest, and each and every one of the shops was a new experience. There wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to squander this opportunity. Harry Evans was determined to have a damn good day.
OoooOoooO
"Wait, you're serious, Mum? You're not letting me go to the Alley?"
"Dressed like that? Absolutely not."
"Dressed like what? Daddy bought me these clothes! What's wrong with my shorts, a Swish and Flick t-shirt, and a flannel?"
"What do you mean your father bought you those?"
"I asked Daddy if he could please buy me these clothes and he said yes!"
"Well I'm going to have to speak with him on what's proper for a young lady to wear."
"You know you're one of like, five witches in all of England that actually cares about this kind of stuff, right?"
"Witches should care more about modesty!"
"How about they worry about how they dress and I'll worry about how I dress? Everyone's happy then."
"Well I'm not, Lavender. You're my daughter and I don't want you going out dressed like that. So if you want to go out with your friends then go upstairs and put on a more conservative outfit."
"No way."
"Then you're not allowed to go, it's that simple."
"Ugh! But I already agreed to meet Annabel and Faye at that new boutique store!"
"You can write them a letter explaining why you weren't allowed to go."
"Oh yeah, sure – 'dear Annabel, I couldn't leave the house because my mom is crazy and afraid of showing more than her ankles. Sorryyyy!'"
"That's it, Lavender! Go to your room! I'm done arguing with you right now."
"Fine, my room or the hammock out back. Makes no difference to me since I'm stuck here either way!"
"Go, Lavender."
"I'm going, I'm going! Merlin, what's your problem?"
"Your mouth is. Now go!"
"I already said I was going!"
"Another word, Lavender, and I'm revoking your house elf privileges for a week!"
"Eep!"
"That's what I thought. Honestly, that girl..."
OoooOoooO
Harry let out a contented sigh as he plopped down on top of his trunk. He was currently seated against a bare spot of brick in Diagon Alley after having spent the better part of six hours shopping.
"Multi compartment trunk, check. Standard size pewter cauldron, check. One set of crystal phials, check. One set of brass scales, check. One telescope, check. One pair of dragon-hide gloves, check. Standard array of potions ingredients, check. Extra self inking quills, check. Notebooks and spare parchment, check. Schoolbag, check." Harry was pouring over the list provided to him by Hogwarts along with the extra things he'd picked up after shopping in the various stores. There were a lot of random stores and stands in Diagon Alley.
Harry realized after about fifteen minutes of walking that he couldn't identify a purpose behind the majority of what was being sold. Some things such as an enchanted razor or a magical deck of cards were obvious, Harry had seen them in their respective shops and immediately purchased them. Then there were other items such as the bottle of "left handed nazle powder" that Harry had spent ten minutes trying to decipher but with no luck.
Harry was tempted to purchase a "Cloak of Death" when wearing it gave him the appearance of a truly grotesque undead nightmare, complete with a skeletal face and desiccated skin. He knew that he'd have far too much fun on Halloween with such an item, but until he had a place of his own to store it, he refrained.
Then there were items such as the "Glutton's Fork." Harry could not resist asking the shop-keep what exactly it was, and the answer both intrigued and disgusted him. The ability to at will turn anything that will fit into your mouth into an edible version of itself was disturbing, to say the least. Harry did not even consider purchasing one even if the enchantment itself was quite interesting.
At one point throughout the day, Harry had enjoyed a lovely conversation with a painting of a witch that claimed she'd once danced with Godric Gryffindor at a party. A lie she maintained even when the seller had pointed out that she was a painting of a witch from the 1600s. Harry was not quite certain of when Godric Gryffindor had been alive, but he gathered from the merchant's tone that it was far enough away from the 1600s so as to make the dates incongruous with one another.
The painting next to her had been just as full of tall tales, though admittedly far more entertaining ones. Harry could technically neither confirm nor deny the veracity of Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III's claims, but he was immediately skeptical of them when the poised man asserted that he and a group of legends had battled a god while atop a living, colossal mountain that was laying siege to civilization's oldest city; and that they sealed said god before he could bring doom upon the world. An entertaining story, to be sure, one Harry wouldn't mind hearing in detail at a later date, but it wasn't the type of tale that Harry could believe to be true – no matter how much Lord Percival insisted that was the case.
Harry had learned an interesting fact from the seller of the fine paintings that he had engaged in conversation with. The magic of portraits that allowed real people to be captured and immortalized using paints and dyes, had only been around since the Renaissance. A fictional painting had long since been able to speak and move about the frame, embodying the character in which they were created, but real people, real likeness, the magic behind these works was a comparatively new technique.
"All I have left to grab is my uniform and my books," Harry said aloud, returning his focus to the list in his hand. "Now, if I was a uniform, where would I be sold?" Harry glanced around but couldn't see any sort of shops that had clothes available for purchase. With a destination in mind but no clue as to how to get there, Harry rose to his feet and started walking once more, his wheeled trunk being pulled behind him.
After roughly 30 minutes of searching Harry finally found his way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The interior of the shop could not have possibly reflected what Madam Malkin was selling more clearly. Mannequins that kept posing in different positions were literally all over the shop, each advertising vastly different styles of robes. Some of which were simply outer-wear layered over-top other articles of clothing, while others appeared to be a manner of dress in of itself. Near the door was a desk that had a number of ledgers and one of those devices akin to a register that Ollivander had also possessed. Seated at the desk was a middle aged woman dressed entirely in mauve.
"Hogwarts, deary?" The somewhat squat woman asked.
"Yeah, full set. You sell the entire uniform or just the robes?" Harry asked.
"Oh we have the entire uniform here," the purple woman replied. "Shirts, ties, shoes, pants, skirts, and of course, robes."
Harry was borderline uncomfortable with the way the woman said 'robes', but he shrugged it off. "Great, I'll take the standard lot for blokes then," he said.
"Go right through the back there," the woman gestured with her hand. "One of my assistants should be there, and they will handle your fitting."
"Alright, thanks."
Harry made his way to the back and saw a girl who couldn't be more than a few years older than himself sitting on a stool with a book in her hand. She was cute, brown hair tied back in a messy bun with a few bangs falling loose that framed her face nicely. Dressed in ripped high waisted jeans and a simple black top, Harry definitely thought there were worse people he could have fit him for clothes.
"You the assistant I was told to see?" Harry asked.
Said girl dropped her book in surprise at the sudden address. "Holy. Fuck," she glanced up and saw Harry grinning at her from the door way. "You scared the shit out of me!"
"Never would have guessed," Harry said, amused.
"Asshole," the girl said as she rose from her stool, clearly annoyed at having been caught off guard.
"Guilty," Harry accepted her accusation with pride.
"Just get on the footstool," the girl said.
Harry laughed but still did as he was instructed by the assistant.
"Hogwarts first year, right?" She asked as she grabbed a bunch of fabrics.
"Yeah," Harry replied, watching the girl as she went about measuring him. "Can I get a name?"
"Leia, and don't you dare say anything about Star Wars or I'll stab you."
"Message received," Harry laughed. He had definitely been about to mention Star Wars.
"What about you, what's your name?" Leia asked.
"Harry Evans, pleasure."
"Mhm, sure it is."
"Bit prickly today, are you? Or is it me you dislike?" Harry asked teasingly.
Leia snorted, she took a brief glance back at the hallway before replying to Harry in a lowered tone. "You try measuring people by hand all day when an enchanted tape measure sits upstairs and see if you don't get annoyed."
Harry tried to hold back his chuckle but failed spectacularly – and so Leia promptly stabbed him with a needle. "Ouch! Rude much?" Harry exclaimed.
"You deserved it," Leia retorted, a small smirk now on her face.
"Great, you enjoyed stabbing me," Harry said dryly. "I guess I know what to expect for the next half hour, sadist."
"Please, I'm a switch. I'll only stab you for half that time."
Harry laughed at the girl's quick retort as he fought to maintain his composure in the face of a very cute, older girl flirting with him. "Is that so? I'll have to remember that for later."
"I'm out of your league, Evans," Leia said smugly. "Come back when you've filled out in a few years, then we'll talk."
"Later it is," Harry responded easily. "I'm told I have good genes, so that shouldn't take too long." Inwardly, Harry was so proud of himself.
Leia rolled her eyes, a small smirk on her face, she refrained from responding any further. Despite their banter she'd been working diligently and was now thoroughly engrossed in her task. Outside of the intentional injuries she inflicted, Harry hadn't been stabbed as a product of her work even once.
"So what year are you at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, enjoying his conversation with the cute and forward girl.
"I'm about to be a fourth year," Leia said, the first bit of enthusiasm entering her voice. "Hogwarts is a blast. Lots of empty rooms, not a lot of supervision – if you catch my meaning."
Harry understood quite well. "You explore much? Someone I know said that was the best part about the school, a lot of secrets to be found," Harry said, barely holding back a shudder at the thought of Tom.
"Can't say I have," Leia responded. "I found my quiet spots that others never seem to find and that's enough for what I'm after."
"So unimaginative," Harry said, thoroughly unimpressed with the girl's lack of spirit and quite willing to tease her over it. "I enjoy a nice hook up spot too but come on, don't you want to find more adventurous places to hook up in?"
"Hey, fuck you. Between my classes and hook ups I don't have time for much else," Leia said indignantly. "Not that I wouldn't mind the occasional tryst in a better spot than an abandoned classroom," she muttered quietly.
Harry rolled his eyes at the girl fondly and chose not to press her any further. She clearly wasn't as curious as him about finding interesting things, but she also seemed genuine in her stance that classes took a lot of time. There was nothing else for Harry to say. Didn't stop him from checking out her ass as she bent over to pick up the needle she dropped. Kindred spirits they might not be, but Harry was still a hormonal teen.
"Classes difficult?" Harry cut through the silence that had fallen over the pair with another question.
"What am I, your student handbook?" Leia said, though there was little heat to her words.
Harry just shrugged. "Eh, you might as well be. You've already admitted classes and sex consume all of your time. Sex is out of the question for now, so talk to me about classes." Harry couldn't lie even to himself, he was quite proud that he didn't stumble over his words to the cute nineteen year old.
"Wow," Leia said succinctly. "Your persuasion skills suck dick, Evans." She really was quite the poet with words. Almost as if it was on queue Leia stabbed Harry in the leg. Again.
"Okay, okay," Harry said, he raised his arms in surrender, interrupting Leia's work in the process. "A question related to your job then?"
The girl snorted at his quick retreat. "Go for it," she said, forcefully readjusting his arms where she needed them to be.
"What's with the antiquated robe design on these uniforms?" Harry said, confused. "I saw the occasional person wearing robes that looked a bit like coats, but this uniform is just weird."
"Once upon a time everyone would dress in robes like these believe it or not," Leia said easily, proving Harry's assumption about her interests correct. "Apparently it was around two hundred years ago or so that muggle fashion began to catch on. Not that anyone said it was muggle fashion, the pure-bloods would never have gone for that. Stupid cunts."
"So ever since people have just been introducing muggle fashion as their own?" Harry asked, trying not to shuffle as Leia continued her work. He'd been briefly introduced to the bigotry present in magical society when McGonagall had explained his past.
"Nah, though that shit would have been funny to see," Leia responded with a chuckle. "Magical folk got a real eye opener to muggle society when all of London was bombed to hell and back. Ever since some elements and ideas from muggles have seeped their way into our culture. Stuff like clothes, music, foods, you get the picture."
"You learn about this stuff in History of Magic?" Harry questioned.
"Fuck me, I wish," Leia said bluntly. "That class might be worth a damn if Binns talked about things like that instead of droning on about another damn goblin rebellion."
Harry was suddenly less enthused about his upcoming history class given the girl's response. Whether it was due to the teacher or the course Harry wasn't sure, but it seemed that he'd have to do some self study if he wanted to learn about modern history. "So you know about this because -"
"Because it relates to clothes and clothes interest me, yeah," Leia said, cutting Harry off. She was slowly walking around Harry inspecting the cut of the robes, hemming it further whenever she saw fit. "Well, music interests me too, even though that's not apart of my job."
Harry suddenly smirked. "Let me guess, you were in a band, weren't you?"
"Yes, I was in a band. Yes, we broke up," she said sullenly, her needle finding its way into his thigh once more.
"Ouch ouch ouch! I'm sorry, but it was just too cliché," Harry was almost glad for the pain as it helped him not to laugh. He was certain that if he laughed he would've been stabbed. Again.
Leia shrugged as she resumed her work. "We were a cover band for The Cure, but in the magical world that's what over half the bands are."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"Exactly what I said, in the magical world a band forms, they cover songs from the muggle world and then claim it as their own," Leia said, her tone suggesting that she thought it obvious.
"Damn, I respect the hustle," Harry said, impressed.
"Right?" Leia agreed. "Magicals and muggles live in largely separate societies. We have our own economies and laws. So fuck copyrights, make good music. If they could steal our shit, they would. Plus, the music really is good. Most bands that make it big aren't lazy, they just have covers alongside their original stuff."
Harry honestly could not wait to listen to some of these bands. Maybe someone had gone and made The Beatles actually sound good. He knew it was almost a crime to dislike The Beatles, but he'd stood by his opinion since first he heard Hey Jude on record, and every other album had just further solidified his belief.
"Aside from the magic there's not as much of a culture shock as I was expecting," Harry said, fairly relieved.
"That's how it goes these days," Leia said with a shrug. "There are still some differences between the two worlds, but it could be worse.
"You're a half-blood, aren't you?" Harry asked, he would bet money that he was right given all that Leia had said, not even counting her name or the reference it had become for her.
"Mhm," Leia responded. "Dad the muggle-born wizard fell for Mum the cutest muggle in town. Ten months later, there I am."
"So, do you want to become a designer or run a shop?" Harry asked. He vastly preferred small talk to silence and he had nothing else to say on the subject of Leia's birth.
"Merlin, a designer any day of the week," Leia looked at Harry like he was an idiot. "What, do you think I want to spend the rest of my days hemming the clothes of brats getting ready for Hogwarts?"
Harry thought about what it must be like to spend the next 150 years performing the same task for thousands of children. "No, you're right. That sounds awful," Harry agreed.
"Ugh, I want to die just thinking about it," Leia said, shuddering at the thought alone. "Malkin's is a summer job, that's it."
Leia stepped back away from Harry, giving him a final look over before nodding, seemingly satisfied with her work. "You want your shirt and pants to be hemmed too, or just the robes?" She asked.
"If they're hemmed won't I outgrow them in a few months?" Harry said, uncertain as to how exactly tailored clothes would fit him given he was still growing. Robes were one thing to swallow given how damn bulky they were. A button-up shirt and pants were another matter entirely. Not that he'd actually ever had tailored clothes before, but common sense seemed to suggest his question was a valid one.
"Nah, the enchantments tied into the clothes will help them resize to fit you. Within reason anyway," Leia said. Harry was grateful she didn't make fun of his ignorance.
"You can tie enchantments into clothes too?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Our cotton comes from this specific farm in India that's situated in this region that has a lot of magical creatures and by extension magical saturation," Leia explained. She was very well informed on her chosen profession. "If you tried to enchant muggle clothes the magic would rip the fibers apart."
Leia tossed a shirt and pants towards Harry who just barely caught them after they hit him in the face. "Go put those on and then come back, I'll make sure they're fitted for you then you can get out of here," Leia said as she started to write out his order.
"Leia, are you trying to get rid of me?" Harry said, mock hurt in his voice.
"Yes. Hurry up."
Harry laughed at her blunt reply but still complied and went to put on the shirt and pants. It didn't take long for Leia to hem the clothes to his size, she was quite talented and their conversation had taken a far less probing turn. Throughout the whole process Harry kept trying to flirt with the girl but was cleverly rebuffed at every turn. Harry would have stopped had Leia not seemed to find his efforts amusing. What can he say, he liked it when pretty girls laughed.
"Alright, Evans, you're done," Leia said with a contented sigh. "I'll take this order-slip to the boss-lady, come back here tomorrow to pick up your order. You can pay then."
"Simple enough, thanks, Leia," Harry said, smiling at the girl. "See you at Hogwarts."
"Mhm, shove off now, please," Leia responded bluntly.
"Try not to make any children cry, today!" Harry called back to the girl as he left. He steadfastly ignored the two fingers she threw his way.
The info Harry had gotten from Leia was beyond helpful. Even the goddamn clothes were magical. Harry made a beeline towards the clothing store he had caught sight of earlier in the day. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was going to wear boring old muggle clothes when a magical variety was available. If they could be enchanted to compensate for minor changes in size there's no saying what other common enchantments they might have!
"Carnall's Curious Clothes from a Companion's Closet," Harry read the sign aloud. "Man, I cannot get over these names."
Harry stepped into the store and in spite of the name found a rather fashionable clothing store, one that wouldn't stand out from any store in the muggle world. Sure, there were a few minor differences in style and some bands that no one in the muggle world would have ever heard of, but it was easily the most non-magical place he'd stepped into yet.
Harry spent the better part of the next hour purchasing an entirely new wardrobe. New shirts, new jeans, socks, boots, underwear, and of course new flannels. Magical clothes just felt softer and better fitting. A small part of Harry's brain wondered if it was just placebo, but the rest of Harry was now firmly a believer in whatever enchantments were placed on the clothes.
Having recruited one of the store's workers to hold onto all the purchases, Harry finally approached the counter with checkbook in hand.
"Haven't seen someone buy this many things in one go since the Greengrass sisters came through on their last birthday," the clerk said, slightly dumbfounded.
"Let me guess, two rich teenage girls and a friend or two?" Harry said, amused at the comparison.
"Yeah, they must have purchased half the damn store between them all. You're rich but those girls were something else," the clerk said, amazed.
Harry pulled out his quill and started filling out the check. "What was the total?"
"14 galleons, 16 sickles."
Harry whistled in surprise, "Huh, less than I thought it would be."
The clerk just stared at Harry, wide eyed. "14 galleons and he doesn't even care. I hate rich people," he muttered to himself. Harry was quite certain he wasn't supposed to hear the clerk's comment but it came out clear as day nonetheless.
Someone else who had recently come into money might have been a bit more sympathetic to such comments but Harry wasn't a very sympathetic person. He snorted at the clerk as he stored his new clothes in his trunk. "I quite enjoy being rich," Harry said snidely. "You should try it sometime,"
That's twice in two days where I'm doing my best impression of a rich cunt... Am I just a rich cunt now?
Harry mentally shrugged and determined that he didn't really care either way – which was in of itself cause for more self reflection. Harry again didn't really care but he shut down that endless cycle of thought before it could continue any further.
Harry approached one of the other employees he'd seen in the store, he was done with Mr Envious back there. It only took a few minutes to learn that yes, they did do custom orders. Said orders were erroneously expensive, would probably take a month to fulfill, but the order could be completed to whatever specifications were desired. Harry was sold. His fall and winter coat would be the exact same, only magical.
Harry then made his way over to Flourish and Botts, by far and away the largest seller of books Harry had seen in Diagon Alley. Inside were books of all varieties, stacked from the floor to the ceiling. Some of the books were as large as paving stones and bound in leather; some were covered in silk and only the size of postage stamps; some were decorated in strange symbols that Harry forgot about the moment he looked away, others still appeared to have nothing in them at all.
Harry had always loved books, but he knew he would have to return to this shop to peruse as many of these books as he was able. The staff at Flourish and Botts had the sense to have an entire section devoted to "Hogwart's Students", which was conveniently separated by year. Eight books later and Harry had officially concluded his shopping for the upcoming school year.
Between my schoolbooks and my family journals I won't be doing anything but reading. The price I pay, I guess. Harry knew that being muggle-raised wasn't going to do him any favors. He was a good student, that wasn't even a question, but there were undoubtedly a million different things he was ignorant about that those raised in a magical society were intimately familiar with.
Harry tried not to go overboard with his purchases, but he just couldn't help himself with each new title that caught his eye. Modern Magical History by Orchid Inkwood. Good and Evil; Light and Dark: What does Magic say about Morality? By Amon Staghart. Reality and Other Falsehoods by Celia Lyre. 101 Charms to Make Your Life Easy by Alonzo Shore. Despite all the intriguing titles that Harry kept finding and planning to buy, one in particular wormed its way back into the forefront of his mind.
Harry approached the dark skinned woman that was tidying the store. "Hey, quick question if you don't mind."
"Not at all, what do you need?" The woman returned.
"I'm looking for a book that someone recommended to me, it's called 'The Disassembly of Reason' by Elan Morin Tedronai. I know it's fairly rare, but I was wondering if you'd heard of it?" Harry hated the way his heart sped up at the mere recollection of his conversation with Tom, but the man had referenced this book twice. Harry would be a fool to forget about it.
The woman stared at Harry with her eyes wide. "No, I've never heard of that book! And you haven't either! Make your purchases and go! Go!" The woman immediately stormed off towards a back room, casting a nervous glance back at Harry as she ran.
"What the fuck?" Harry said, unsettled by the woman's fearful reaction. What kind of book did you tell me about, Tom?
Harry had already made the choice that he wouldn't tell anyone about the mysterious man that introduced himself simply as Tom. His encounter beggared belief on its own, but there was something else that practically screamed at Harry to keep the entire experience to himself. He half suspected that Tom had placed some kind of spell on him to lead him to this conclusion, but until he was more versed in magic there was truly no way to tell.
After the woman's response to his question Harry resolved to not mention anything of what he learned from Tom to anyone else. As much as he wanted answers for the questions Tom had brought to light, he didn't know how others would react and that was dangerous. The woman had been terrified at the mere mention of the book, but perhaps it was the author that inspired such terror rather than the book itself?
It would certainly make sense why the book was rare if the author had committed some kind of atrocity in his day. The emotional mind would associate the book with the actions of its creator rather than viewing it objectively. Though it would also make sense to fear the book if the contents espoused dangerous ideas or rhetoric. What did that say about Tom then, he who had recommended the book above all others? What did that say about Harry, that he still wanted to find a copy and see for himself?
OoooOoooO
'Thursday the 6th of July, 1967
I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I can't describe how good it feels to finally have one of these to use! It was the most infuriating thing being able to read about these spells for so many years but unable to try casting them even once! I memorized the movements and incantations but that doesn't even begin to compare to actually casting magic! It's honestly difficult to describe – every spell feels like an extension of your own being. With MY magic I'm literally imposing MY will upon reality! It's surprisingly personal. I've had my wand for maybe five hours now but I already can't imagine my life without it!
Oh! I should describe my wand! Right, so it's ten and a quarter inches long (did I mention that the magical world uses the imperial system, it's weird), it's made from willow wood, and the core is whiskers from a wild Kneazle Ollivander apparently befriended when he visited South America years ago! I was a bit concerned at first about the core being Kneazle hair. In Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Kneazle hairs were specifically referenced as a weak core for wands. I asked Ollivander (he's the guy who makes and sells wands for pretty much everyone in Britain), and according to him that's nothing more than a myth! I was so relieved. I know he could be lying to try and assuage my fears or something, but he seemed quite genuine to me. The rumor was apparently started by this wand-maker in France that insisted powerful wands must come from powerful creatures. Ollivander seemed rather vehement in his assertion to the contrary. In all of Britain there's no greater authority on the subject of wands than Ollivander. Maybe even all of Europe if the "since 382 B.C." is to be believed.
Oh! Sev got his wand too! His was cedar wood and the powdered fang of a runespoor. I don't know what the combination of materials say about either of our wands. Wand-lore is apparently a rather secretive field. Ollivander wouldn't say anything on the topic beyond the basics. I hope I can find a book on the subject somewhere, I'd love to know more about the tools that are so important to us and by extension our society.
I showed Mum and Dad a spell or two that I thought I'd be able to perform, and I cast the spells perfectly! Mum and Dad looked so proud when I cast Lumos that I actually got a bit embarrassed. It's literally the first charm in the Standard Book of Spells. They're allowed to be impressed when I can wordlessly cast the spell while also changing the hue and intensity.
Petunia left the room as soon as we started talking about magic, again. I know she's just jealous that I'm a witch and she's not, but I don't particularly care at this point. She's sixteen now – if she wants to be petty for the rest of her life at the cost of our relationship then whatever; I'm done trying to apologize for who I am! I'm done trying to be forgiven for the way I was born! Ugh! I get so fucking angry when I think about Petunia! She's my sister! She's supposed to be my best friend in the world but instead she's just a jealous bitch! I hope you're happy, Tuney! We were so close but you ruined that! You weren't happy that I had something you didn't and so you lashed out! That's not my fault! I'm not the one to blame! YOU ARE!
You are, damn it...
Why do I even bother? She'll never read this anyway. I start Hogwarts in two months. Petunia and I really will be done with each other then.
OoooOoooO
Harry stood in the shadowed entryway of a shop that had long since closed for the evening; the relative lack of floating lanterns near his location did wonders at hiding him from view of those walking past him on the nearby street. He didn't know magical London as well as he would like, not yet anyway – but that was going to change starting tonight. All he had to do was wait.
Knockturn Alley was the spurned younger sibling of Diagon Alley. Directly attached the cultural center of magical Britain was the capital of crime. Smuggled goods, dark artifacts, illegal potions, dangerous creatures, illicit gambling rings, outlawed services, and far, far more. If the magical world said it was bad then there was a good chance it could be found somewhere nestled within the twisted and spiraled streets of Knockturn Alley.
From what little information Harry had been able to pick up by listening to the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, Knockturn Alley was the worst kept secret in the entire world. A known hub of criminal activity yet most of it was allowed to continue. The entire Alley was a permanent black stain on the British Ministry of Magic. Harry wasn't sure how brazen the denizens of the infamous Alley were in their disrespect for the law, but he intended to find out tonight. Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and the darkest jeans he owned, Harry waited for the sun to finish its daily descent. Knockturn Alley didn't truly wake up until the moon claimed its rightful place in the sky.
The final rays of the sun dipped below the horizon and almost as if on queue Harry saw a heavily shrouded person make their way onto one of the many side-streets that connected the two Alleys. The individual walked in without any wand waving or spell cast, which was all the confirmation Harry needed. He followed after the individual and began making his way down the the curved steps.
Walking into Knockturn Alley gave Harry a brief pause as he was reminded of the rougher sides of Soho more than the bastion of criminality as he'd been led to believe. There were a scattered variety of bars and brothels that were immediately obvious to the eye, some seedy shops and hawkers peddling their wares. The streets were dirty, the people suspicious, the wanted posters that lined the brick walls numerous in number. It was clearly a rougher area than Diagon Alley, but nothing immediately caught Harry's eye that would provide such a negative reputation. Harry realized his meandering walk was getting him nowhere and so he stepped off to the side of the street. He tried to recall what he felt when he 'sensed' the magic of his vault, of Ollivander's shop, of the wands themselves – he reached out, as it were, trying to feel any magic in the air or from the buildings. There was little doubt in his mind that these sprawling streets hid more than he could imagine.
At first he felt nothing but the breeze pulling at his hair, but at the very edge of his senses Harry felt something lightly brush against him. If he hadn't already been focusing on trying to sense magic he would have missed its presence entirely, but Harry knew it was there. He could tell that someone was directing magic towards him. Harry broke off into a fast walk directly towards the source of what was cast at him. He couldn't sense any intent but the origin was quite clear.
Knockturn Alley never quite leveled off, each street was higher or lower in elevation than the last. So down Harry went in search of that which had been cast at him. Harry walked for almost ten minutes before he realized that something was wrong. He'd passed dozens of aged and decrepit buildings with the exact same structure and layout. That twisted lamppost on the corner. The tavern called "The Poison Apple." Harry had walked passed these once, twice, three times over without ever changing direction at all. Harry instinctively drew his wand, even without knowing a single offensive spell it felt right to have the ebony wood in his hand.
Fog swirled in from every direction, surrounding Harry entirely. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face, he couldn't hear anything but his own breathing. Harry was entirely at the mercy of whomever had placed the illusion over him.
"What are you doing down here, boy?"
A rough hand and a far more rough voice pulled Harry from his stupor, from the illusion that had taken hold over his mind. The firm hand gripping his shoulder belonged to a middle aged man with close cropped blonde hair. Dressed in an all black suit only devoid of a tie, and a long dark brown duster made from a leather Harry had never seen. The man's eyes were a piercing blue with the rest of his features rugged and stern, clean shaven and utterly devoid of any emotion but suspicion. Harry would swear the man hadn't smiled in decades.
"Answer me, boy!"
Harry attempted to break the grip on his shoulder by jabbing the interior of the man's elbow, but long before his fist connected he felt magic swirl into his abdomen.
"Ruinalum."
Harry felt his entire body go limp at once, a small part of him registered the way the magic instantaneously permeated across every part of his being before his mind was consumed by the pain of his sudden impact with the stone pavement. No sooner had his face scraped against the rock when control returned to his limbs for only the briefest moment before the man waved his wand over Harry once more. Harry's limbs quickly snapped together of their own accord and so he was forced to lay face down on the ground, completely paralyzed, and at the mercy of a man who'd assaulted him out of the blue. Harry's eyes were all that were left free, and so he watched as the man waved his wand over Harry thrice more, muttering under his breath all the while. He nodded, seemingly in satisfaction as he snapped his fingers. Reality shattered as the dense fog Harry had been entrapped in fractured like glass, cascading down onto the ground without a single sound. Harry and the man were still in Knockturn Alley, right where Harry had walked earlier, the corner across from the twisted lamppost.
The man bent down and roughly hoisted Harry to his feet. "Prepare yourself, boy," he said, and that was all the warning the still paralyzed Harry received before he felt the most uncomfortable physical sensation he could imagine. Darkness overtook his vision as an immense pressure suddenly pushed Harry from every single direction at once. His lungs collapsed as every ounce of air was forcibly expunged, his eyes were forced into the back of his skull, an iron grip seized his chest and crushed until every bone was on the verge of splintering. His limbs were still trapped at his sides, continually being forced to tighten more and more against his frame.
As suddenly as the sensation began, it was gone. The pressure immediately receded, leaving Harry only with the memory of what had just transpired. Harry collapsed to the ground once more but was thankfully able to use his hands to catch himself as he emptied his stomach on the ground.
"What – the – fuck?" Harry exclaimed as he dry-heaved, barely keeping himself aloft as his own sick pooled underneath him.
"First time apparition sucks for everyone. More so for side-along apparition. A body-bind curse on top of that must've been hell," the dry tone of the man's voice sounded from behind Harry. There he stood, the same stern look on his features, the only change was the engraved silver case held in his hand. He slid it open and used two fingers to extract a single cigarette that he promptly stuck in his mouth.
"I'll ask again, what were you doing down in Knockturn Alley, boy?" Despite his words it was obvious the man was done asking.
"I was just – exploring the Alley," Harry paused to spit the bile out of his mouth, his words still interrupted by his laborious breathing. "Didn't mean any – harm – why'd you – attack me?"
"You were just exploring, eh?" The man said as he took a seat on the stone ledge Harry could now identify as a rooftop. The man lit his smoke with a the small flame that sprung to life on the tip of his finger. Tom had used the same trick for his pipe. "And what the fuck made you think that was a smart thing to do?"
Harry desperately wanted to lie, but the words turned to ash before they ever reached his tongue. In his current condition he knew there was no way he'd be able to lie convincingly. "It sounded – interesting – heard about Knockturn – at the Leaky Cauldron – I was intrigued." Harry continued to breathe deeply, from both the lingering nausea and the brief but no less potent memory of his lungs being entirely devoid of air. Harry never wanted to experience such a thing again.
"Remedium Ventris." The man said, his wand briefly awhirl as smoke trickled out of his mouth.
Harry's nausea abruptly vanished, allowing him to focus on more than his own internal misery. Harry shakily stood to his feet, his hands clutching the stone for assistance. Harry noticed that they were on the rooftop directly above where he had been waiting to enter Knockturn just a bit earlier in the evening.
The man appeared to have not a care in the world as he lounged against the terrace, occasionally taking a drag. "Let me guess – you're a rough and tumble muggle-born kid that learns he's a wizard and thinks 'I can take the rough and tumble of the magical world too, no problem.' That about right?"
Harry flinched, the man wasn't exactly correct on the rationale, but he'd gotten the general sense of Harry's thought process almost to a tee. "Something like that," Harry mumbled.
"Mhm, thought so. You aren't special, kid," the man said. "Hell, I was the same way once upon a time. I thought I knew how to survive after growing up during the Great Depression."
"Muggle-born too, then?" Harry asked, slightly disarmed by just how casual the man's demeanor was.
"Aye. The muggle world made me arrogant. There I was, sixteen years old, and I thought I was untouchable," the man took a long drag and stamped out the butt. "I was wrong."
Harry could see in the man's eyes that whatever had happened many years prior still haunted him.
"The name's Adrian Savage, kid," the man said.
Harry refrained from providing his own name in turn. "Still cagey, eh?" Savage said, smirking at Harry. "That's fine, I don't need your name."
"Then what do you need?" Harry demanded. The man was polite now, but he'd assaulted Harry just minutes prior. No true injuries but damn it all that combination of spells had felt awful!
"I'm an auror, kid. I hit you with that illusion shortly after you entered Knockturn Alley because I saw a kid that was about to get himself in more trouble than he could handle."
"An auror?" Harry had offhandedly heard the term used in association with law enforcement but little else. "What, like a police officer?"
The man snorted. "No, not like the police," Savage smiled wryly. "Think of aurors as agents that are highly educated, trained, and with far, far less red tape to hold us down than the police officers you're used to. Any brat with a wand can become an officer at Ministry Security. Those half decent at combat can become a hit-wizard. But aurors are the best of the best."
"So what's the best of the best doing grabbing a teenager off the streets?" Harry said, disgruntled.
"I was in the area, killing some time before I was set to meet an associate. And then I see a brat waltz right into Knockturn Alley without a care in the world," Savage scoffed. "That's a good way to end up as potions parts or get turned into a vampire's thrall."
Harry barely held back a shudder at the thought of being turned into ingredients. He guessed that Savage was exaggerating so as to scare him, but he couldn't rule out the possibility that the man was being truthful. Harry had seen numerous parts from other creatures advertised, it only made sense that there would be a use for human organs as well.
"So you're saying that everyone that goes down there risks death?" Harry said, his skepticism obvious.
"No, I'm saying ignorant little shits that haven't even been to Hogwarts should avoid potentially dangerous areas they know nothing about!" Savage responded, he was still calm but there was an undercurrent of steel in his voice.
Harry was forced to acknowledge that the man had a point. It could've just as easily been someone with more malicious intent that grabbed him. "Point made," Harry said begrudgingly. "Can I go now?" The stern man may be right but Harry wasn't about to stick around and chat.
Savage chuckled even while maintaining his stern demeanor, it was strangely disconcerting. "Yeah, you can go," he said. He waved his wand toward the edge of the building as he spoke more of the words Harry had come to realize were spells. "Funem Videal," A surprisingly firm rope ladder materialized before Harry's eyes.
Harry nodded at the auror but said nothing else as he began climbing down the side of the building. The words of Adrian Savage lodged inside his brain. Harry knew that he had been reckless, pointlessly so, and that bothered him. High on his introductory to magic, even his unsavory encounter with Tom hadn't been enough to sober him to the dangers of the new world he found himself in, not truly anyway. He honestly wasn't sure if his encounter with the auror had either.
"Hey, kid!" The voice of the auror called down to Harry as he finished climbing down. Harry turned to look at the man but still remained mute. "You have good instincts, I'll give you that. Curb that ego, hit the books, and I bet you'll do well." A small pop sounded off and Auror Adrian Savage was gone.
Harry stared at the ledge Savage had just vanished from, dumbfounded. "He wants me to curb my ego?" Harry scoffed. "Pot meet kettle."
Harry knew he was a bit egotistical, but it wasn't the place of others who were clearly full of themselves to point that out to him. Harry would accept censure from very few people, one of which was Jesus, but apparently that guy was just a wizard, so the already small list was shrinking.
Harry began his walk back towards the center of Diagon Alley where he could at least use the clock-tower to judge the time. He was terrible at trying to ascertain how much time had passed using only his perception. Harry shoved the fact that his evening was a colossal failure to the back of his mind. He'd return to Knockturn Alley when he knew more. Just let Savage try and stop him then.
Diagon Alley was quite a different beast at night when compared to the day. Numerous floating lanterns hovered over the streets, casting a warm glow over the Alley. Most of the shops were closed, but certain stalls and stands remained open to sell both their services and goods. The restaurants he saw open were busy with their night-time dinner rush and serving drinks to those who needed them. It was well past ten o'clock and still the street bustled with life.
Distracted by the atmosphere of the Alley, Harry didn't notice the girl in front of him until he'd already bumped into her. Harry quickly rotated his body out of the way to avoid knocking the girl over as he tumbled to the ground. The girl in question stumbled for a brief moment but was able to remain on her feet with little difficulty. Harry shrugged off the pain of falling to the stone for the second time that day, an experience he was eager to not repeat for a third time.
Harry looked up to apologize to the girl he'd almost bowled over when his breath caught in his throat. This girl was gorgeous. She had to be around his age, big brown eyes and full lips, a cute slightly turnt up nose. Her features were soft and complimented beautifully by her black hair, styled in a tousled bob cut. Dressed in a sleeveless gray dress that cut off mid-thigh, the brown straps matching her calf boots perfectly. A brown and white patterned scarf with one tail lingering between her modest bust while the other trailed down her back. A layered necklace that tied the outfit together along with big hoop earrings. Harry couldn't remember a time when he was so enraptured by a girl's looks.
"Watch where you're walking, you idiot!" The girl shrieked.
Of course the gorgeous girl was a bitch. Lovely. "My bad, my bad," Harry gave her his most charming grin as he stood up. "How about you let me make it up to you?"
"Get stuffed, you brute, I have somewhere to be!" The girl responded, quite rudely in Harry's opinion.
"Well, I won't keep you then," Harry said with a small sigh. Even if she was one of the most beautiful girls he'd met, he wasn't going to pester her for a date, especially since it was obvious the girl had more than a bit of an attitude. "If I could just get your name so I know who it is I should be apologizing to?" Harry did genuinely consider himself at fault for running into the girl given how much he'd zoned out, her own attention to where she was walking not withstanding.
The girl looked as if she was about to walk away, but stayed after appraising Harry for a brief second. He chose to believe it was because she thought he was cute. "Pansy Parkinson," she said briskly.
"Well then," Harry said as he placed one arm across his body with the other extended to the side, bowing ever so slightly in the girl's direction, "allow me to offer my apologies for bumping into one as gorgeous as you, Miss Parkinson." Harry almost added more flattery but stopped himself at the last second. He wasn't about to prostrate himself before this girl even if she was exceedingly attractive.
Pansy's eyes lingered on his own as he rose from his bow. "Apology accepted," she murmured quietly. She seemed to be studying him, a slightly perplexed look on her face. "What's your name?" She asked.
"Harry Evans."
Pansy offered a sharp nod to him and turned to leave. "See you around, Harry." She said simply.
Harry unashamedly watched her walk away until she rounded a bend, and he was happy to see she glanced back at him as she did so. Getting to talk to a gorgeous girl like that more than made up for getting roughed up by an auror, admittedly an auror that was trying to teach him a good lesson.
Harry made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron to grab some dinner before the clock struck midnight. Tom had explained that he didn't serve any cooked food past that time and Harry wasn't going to miss out on whichever cook was running the kitchen tonight, Harry had only tried Alfie's cooking so far, but Luca had sworn to him that they were all incredible.
Harry enjoyed his dinner as he sat alone at the bar, occasionally chatting with Tom about this or that, but it was mostly small-talk and a way to pass the time rather than engaging conversation. Harry wasn't the only patron at this hour, far from it in fact, but the atmosphere was a fair bit more subdued than the previous day. Evenings that featured quidditch games clearly helped drive a lot of extra business into the aged tavern.
Harry adjourned to his room and took a seat at the desk he'd already prepared earlier in the day. He picked up the quill and flipped open the empty journal to the first blank page.
The journal of Harry Evans
Thursday the 4th of July, 1991
Well, here we go, I guess. I've never written down my thoughts like this before, but it seems to be something my ancestors have done for millennia, and it was something that my mum did, so I guess I'd like to continue the tradition. I know there's not one way you're supposed to journal, it's just something personal, but man is it weird. It's like I'm writing a letter to myself, or taking notes on experiences I lived. Bizarre to say the least, but I've already written this much so I know I can do it, so I might as well continue. Who knows, maybe one of my descendants will read this in four hundred years. That could actually be pretty cool.
Where to start... okay, so two days ago I learned I that magic was real, that I'm a wizard, the names of my parents, the fact that I have a twin brother, that both of my parents were murdered, that my twin brother somehow stopped this murderer, I have living family in the form of godparents, one of which is a murderer, oh, and I'm seriously rich. Yeah, that was a day and a half...
