The Southern Fried Harry Potter
Chapter 5
Notes are at the bottom of the chapter. Enjoy!
All of Harry's senses were assaulted at once. Diagon Alley was…overwhelming. There were sights, smells, and sounds all clamoring for attention that Harry wished he had more heads so he could take it all in!
There were shops. Rows and rows of shops. And of course, shoppers. For Harry they were just as interesting as the shops they shopped at. There where places to buy books, ingredients, clothes, animals, and all manner of unidentifiable things.
"We'd better start with Gringo's" said Hack. "Cain't buy much without money, can ya?"
Gringo's Bank wasn't hard to spot. It was an impressive building amidst what might be described as other modest locations…and in some cases that was being very polite. Harry thought some of these places must be quite old.
As they approached Gringo's, they were greeted by a uniformed doorman. Harry had seen them portrayed in old movies, but that's something you think used to exist ages ago but not anymore. The doorman was very short, had very odd features, and as they approach, a very menacing grin.
"Yup" said Hack, "that's a goblin."
They entered, and the lobby was bustling with more activity than the street. It was not very loud, however. Even though one would have thought it would be, since the structure seemed to be built largely out of granite. They approached a teller behind an available window.
"Mr. Harry Potter is here to make a withdrawal" said Hack.
The goblin behind the counter looked up from its ledger, eyed the two of them deliberately, then asked "and does Mr. Potter have his key?" It was asked in a tone that clearly indicated it didn't think there was going to be a positive answer.
"Oh, uh, hang on a sec…" said Hack, as he started rumaging through his multitude of pockets. He fished out all manner of items you don't normally expect anybody to carry unless they're going camping. The look of disgust on the tellers features were unmistakable.
"Aha! Here 'tis!" said Hack, triumphantly, and handed it to the teller. As the teller inspected the key Hack began to put all his other articles back into various pockets.
"Well, all seems to be in ahdah" said the goblin.
"I also have this" at which Hack produced an envelope that looked similar to the ones Harry had received so many of. The goblin opened it, read it, leveled a very serious gaze at Hack and simply said "Very well. I shall have an assistant help you. Griphook!"
Another goblin, apparently named Griphook, showed up and led them to the vault area. They boarded a cart which seemed to start moving of it's own volition. Harry tried to watch Griphook steer it, but it didn't look as if Griphook was doing any such thing other than riding along just as Hack and Harry were.
Harry tried to keep track of directions: left, right, right, right again…but the cart had picked up enough speed and made so many quick turns that Harry quickly lost track. Hack looked positively naseous, so Harry thought he'd try to take his mind off of things.
"I can never remember which is a stalagtite and which is a stalagmite" he said to Hack.
Hack seemed to regard Harry as if he was a bit crazy, and said "Stalagmite's got an 'M' in it! Don't talk to me while we're moving!!" So Harry decided it was probably best to leave him alone.
They arrived at a series of numbered doors and the cart stopped. Griphook hopped out, followed by Harry and a somewhat pale Hack. "Key please" said Griphook, and Hack handed over the small key. Griphook approached the door, inserted the key into a particular keyhole among many, and opened the door.
The sight that greeted Harry was nothing he expected. There were piles upon piles of coins; gold, silver, and bronze. Harry was speechless. Hack managed a chuckle but still looked a bit pale. "See? Told ya! Yer parents wouldn't leave ya with nuthin'.." Hack then produced a pouch and took a few handfuls of coins and filled it.
"There. That oughta last ya the term." Hack turned to Griphook "Vault 713 please now, and could we go a bit slower this time?" he asked.
"One speed only" said Griphook without emotion.
"Right.." said Hack, and they all boarded the cart and set off again.
At least this trip was shorter. When the cart stopped and everybody got out, Griphook turned to them and said rather convincingly "Stand back!" Griphook then approached the door, moved some levers, turned some knobs, and probably said a few words presumed Harry, until the door opened. "If anyone but a Gringo's goblin tried that, they'd be trapped inside the vault" Griphook said smugly.
Harry looked at Griphook in surprise and asked "How often do you come down to check to see if anyone is in here?"
"Oh, about once every ten ye-ahs aw so" said Griphook. Smugness confirmed.
The door was pulled open, and based upon what Harry saw in his parents vault, rather his vault now he guessed, he expected something even grander to greet his eyes. But no…the vault looked barren save for a small, wrapped parcel on a stool. Hack reached inside and tucked into an interior pocket. He looked at Harry and said "Best you don't mention this to anyone, Harry." Hack faced Griphook and said "Let's go."
They exited the bank and started shopping, filling out the items on Harry's list. He had books and equipment he had no idea what they would be for, but was excited to have them all the same.
They approached Madam Malkin's robe shop, and Hack stopped. "Harry, do you mind if I go for a little pick-me-up while you're in here? Those Gringo's carts give me the willies." Harry thought Hack still looked a bit pale, and said "Sure."
Harry went inside and was greeted by a gentle, older woman dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she asked. Harry nodded. "Just fitting another young gentleman now. Go ahead and try this on and I'll be with you in a moment" she said.
There was a pale, blond haired, pointy-faced boy getting the finishing touches put on his robes. Harry stood in front of the mirror next to him. Another store employee started pinning the robe where it needed to be taken up.
"Hullo" said the boy. "Hogwarts too?"
"Yes" said Harry, enthusiastically.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother is up the street looking at wands" said the boy. He had a bored, slow drawl about him. "Then I'm gonna drag them off to look at racing brooms. I can't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll wheedle father into getting me one and then smuggle it in somehow."
Harry was strongly reminded of Dirk with this boy.
"Have you got your own broom?" asked the boy.
"No" said Harry.
"Play Quidditch?" continued the boy.
"No" said Harry again, wishing he knew just what in the heck the boy was talking about now.
"I do" the boy emphasized. "Father says it'll be a shame if I don't get to play for my house, and I have to agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No" said Harry, getting more and more frustrated by the minute.
"Well, no one really knows what house they'll be in until they get there, do they? But I just KNOW I'll be in Slytherin. All my family have been. Can you imagine being stuck in Hufflepuff? I think I'd leave…" the boy droned on. "Wouldn't you?"
"Mmm" replied Harry, wishing he could say something a tad more interesting.
"Hey, look at that man in the window…" said the boy with some surprise suddenly, nodding towards the front window.
Hack was standing there with the oddest grin, holding two ice creams to show why he couldn't come in.
"That's Hack" said Harry, glad to be able to finally contribute something. "He works at Hogwarts."
"Oh" said the boy, very uninterested. "I've heard of him. He's some sort of…servant, isn't he?" said the boy with a smugly superior tone.
"He's the gamekeeper" said Harry, and he was liking the boy less and less.
"Exactly. I've heard he's a sort of savage or something. He lives in a hut on school grounds, and every now and then he gets drunk and tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to something."
"I think he's brilliant" said Harry cooly.
"Do you?" asked the boy incredulously. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead" quipped Harry. He didn't exactly feel like sharing with this boy at the moment.
"Oh, sorry" said the boy, not sounding sorry in the least bit. "But they were…OUR kind, weren't they?"
"They were wizards if that's what you mean" replied Harry.
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" continued the boy. "I mean its just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they receive their letter. Imagine! I think they should keep it in the old, established families. Oh, what's your surname by the way?"
But before Harry could say anything, Madam Malkin announced "That's you done, dear." Harry, not sorry for the interruption at all, hopped down. "Well, I see you at Hogwarts I s'pose" drawled the boy.
Harry was rather quiet while he ate the ice cream that Hack had brought for him. It was good…chocolate with raspberry topped with chopped nuts.
"What's up?" asked Hack.
"Oh, nothing" replied Harry. They stopped to buy a few more incidental supplies, and Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed colors as you wrote.
When they left that shop, Harry piped up and asked "Hack, what's Quidditch?"
"Good grief Harry, I keep forgettin' how much you don't know" said Hack.
"Well don't make me feel worse about it…" said Harry gloomily. Harry told him about the boy in Madam Malkins' shop.
"And he said people from muggle families shouldn't be allowed in" exclaimed Harry.
"Yer not from a muggle family. If he'd known who you were, he's grown up known' yer name if his parents really are wizardin' folks. You saw'em in the Cracked Kettle. Anyway, what does he know? Some of the best I've ever seen came from a long line of muggles. Look at yer mom and what she had fer a sister!"
"So then what is Quidditch?" inquired Harry.
"Well that's our game! Wizards sport. It's like…well it's much like football in the muggle world. Everyone follows Quidditch. It's played up in the air on broomsticks, there's four balls, and…er…well it's sort of hard to explain the rules" said Hack.
"Well what's a Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" asked Harry.
"Those are school houses. There's four of 'em. Everyone says Hufflepuffs are a bunch of slugs, but…"
"I'll bet I'm in Hufflepuff" interrupted Harry gloomily.
"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin" said Hack, in a very serious and dark tone. "There hasn't been a single wizard who went bad that wasn't from Slytherin. You-know-who was one."
"Old M…sorry, I mean you-know-who was at Hogwarts?" Harry was shocked.
"Years and years ago, yes" confirmed Hack. He turned his attention back to Harry's list of supplies. "Just yer wand left. Oh yeah, and I still ain't got you a birthday present yet."
Harry blushed. "You don't have to you know" he stammered.
"I know I don't have to" Hack chuckled. "Tell ya what, I'll git yer animal. Not a toad, they went out of style years ago and you'd be laughed at. And I can't stand cats, they make me sneeze. I know! I'll git you an owl. They're right handy, deliverin' yer mail and everything!"
Twenty minutes later they were exiting Eyelops Owl Emporium. Harry now carried a large cage, which held a beautiful snow owl, fast asleep with her head tucked under her wing. Harry couldn't stop stammering his thanks to Hack, in fact he thought he sounded as bad as Professor Quirrel.
"Don't mention it" Hack said gruffly. "Don't guess you've had many presents from them Dursleys, have ya? Just Olivanders left now. The only place for wands, Olivanders, and you've gotta have the best wand."
A magic wand. This is what Harry had really been looking forward to. The shop was quite small and shabby, with peeling paint and dirty windows, and a sign that said "Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC" A single wand lay upon a faded purple cushion in the window. A bell tinkled as they entered.
It was a tiny shop, save for a single spindly chair which Hack sat on to wait. Harry felt as if they had entered a rather strict library. He swallowed a large number of new questions that had sprang to life in his mind, and looked at all the narrow boxes lining the shelves behind the counter. The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to prickle. The dusty silence seemed to ripple with some kind of magic, Harry thought.
"Good afternoon" came a voice softly, catching Harry by surprise. Harry jumped. Apparently so did Hack, as he heard a tremendous creaking sound and Hack quickly got off the spindly chair.
A very old man stood in front of them, his grey eyes shining like pale moons behind his spectacles.
"Hullo" said Harry, awkwardly.
"Ah yes, yes…" said the man quietly. "Yes, I thought I would be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question so much as a statement of fact. "You have your mothers eyes. Why it seems only yesterday she was in here buying her first wand. 10 ¼ inches long, swishy, made of Willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr. Olivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished the old man would just blink. Those eyes were creepy. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahagony wand. 11 inches, pliable, a little more power, more suitable for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it, but it's really the wand that favors the wizard, isn't it?"
The question was obviously rhetorical.
Mr Olivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see his reflection in those misty eyes.
"And that's where…" Mr Olivander touched the lightning bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. "I am sorry to say that I sold the wand that did it" he said softly. "13 ½ inches, yes, powerful wand. Very powerful. And in the wrong hands…whoa…well, if I had but known what that wand was going out into the world to do…" he shook his head, and then to Harry's relief, he spotted Hack.
"Remus! Remus Hackforth III! How nice to see you again! Er, ah, oak, 16 inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?" asked Mr. Olivander.
Hack looked uncomfortable. "It…it was sir, yes."
"Good wand that. But I suppose it was snapped in half when you were expelled, eh?" said Mr. Olivander, suddenly very stern.
"Er..yeah, they did. Yes" muttered Hack, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces though" said Hack, brightening a little.
"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Olivander sharply.
"Oh, no sir" replied Hack quickly. Harry noticed Hack gripped his pink umbrella very tightly when he spoke.
"Hmm…" said Mr. Olivander, giving Hack a very piercing gaze. "Well now, Mr. Potter, let me see…" Mr. Olivander produced a long tape measure with silver markings out of a pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Er, well, I'm right handed" said Harry.
"Hold out your arm. That's it" said Mr. Olivander. He measured Harry from shoulder to fingertip, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armipit, and around his head. "Every Olivander wand has a core of a powerful magic substance. We use Unicorn hair, Phoenix tailfeathers, and heartstrings of Dragons. No two Olivander wands are the same. Just as no two Unicorns, Dragons, or Phoenix's are the same. And of course, you'll never get such good results using another wizards' wand."
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure was measuring Harry all on it's own, that Mr. Olivander was flitting around the shelves going through boxes. "That'll do" said Mr. Olivander, and the tape measure fell to the floor.
"Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and Dragon Heartstring, 9 inches, nice and flexible. Take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand, and feeling foolish, started to wave it. Mr. Olivander snatched it back quickly. "Maple and Phoenix feather, 7 inches, try…"
It went this way for awhile, Harry barely trying a wand before it was snatched back by Mr. Olivander and he was given something different to try. Harry had no idea what Mr. Olivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was growing higher and higher, but the more wands Mr. Olivander pulled off the shelves, the happier he seemed to be.
"Tricky customer eh?" he chuckled to himself. "Not to worry, we'll find a wand for you in here somehwere. I wonder…yes, why not. Unusual combination: Holly and Phoenix feather, 11 inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head and brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of red and gold sparks flew from the wand like a roman candle!
Hack whooped and clapped! Mr. Olivander said "Bravo! Oh yes indeed! Very good! Well, how curious, how very curious." He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering 'curious' to himself.
"Sorry" said Harry. "What's curious?"
Mr. Olivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single one. It so happens the Phoenix whose tailfeather is in your wand, gave another. Just…one…other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed hard.
"Yes, 13 ½ inches. Yes. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. And I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, he-who-must-not-be-named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."
Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Olivander very much. He paid for his wand, and Mr. Olivander bowed them from his shop.
The late afteroon sun beat down upon them as they made their way back through Diagon Alley, back to the Cracked Kettle now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked back. He didn't even notice how much people were gawking at him while they road the DART rail back to the station, laden as they were with odd-shaped packages and the huge cage with a sleeping owl in it.
Harry really didn't realize where they were until Hack tapped him on the shoulder at the station. "Got time for a quick bite before the bus leaves." They got a couple of hamburgers and sat down. Harry looked around, and it seemed that everything looked so strange to him.
"You alright Harry? Yer very quiet" said Hack. Harry wasn't sure he could put it into words. He'd just had the best birthday of his life, and yet, he could not come up with the words to describe how he felt.
"Everyone thinks I'm special" Harry said finally. "All those people in the pub, in the shops, but I don't anything about magic at all. How can they expect 'great things' from me? I'm famous and I don't even know why.
Hack leant across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyes, he wore a kind smile. "Don't worry Harry, you'll learn soon enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll do just fine! Just be yourself. I know it's hard, you've been singled out and that's never easy, but you'll have a great time at Hogwarts. I did. Still do as a matter of fact.
Hack helped him onto the bus that would take him back to the Dursleys, then handed him an envelope. "Your ticket fer Hogwarts. September 1st, Kings Station. It's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, just send me yer owl. She'll know where to find me. See you soon, Harry."
Notes:
My apologies for the delay getting this chapter out. I do really work for a living, after all! Toss in a vacation and my sisters impending wedding and well, you get the idea.
The Goblins – well as I said previously I decided to give them all Bostonian accents. Except there wasn't as much dialogue with them as I had once thought there would be. But trying to write their weird accent even in this little bit of dialogue was a challenge. To help you through it, let me give you an example:
"Park the car or I'll have a heart attack" in a Bostonian accent would come out something like "Pahk the cah er I'll have a haaaht attack." Hopefull you get the idea! And I wanted to make them carpetbaggers from the north, and New Yorkers were just too easy.
Otherwise I don't think this chapter has much for me to comment on. Oh, other than the line "The question was obviously rhetorical" Anytime I hear "rhetorical" I can't help but think of a Simpson's episode where Homer's mom surfaces, she and Lisa are playing Granola-crunching Hippie folk songs ("How many paths must a man walk down?" by Bob Dylan.) Homer pipes up and says "Six!" Lisa tells him "Dad, it's a rhetorical question." To which Homer replies "Rhetorical eh?….Seven!"
That just kills me!
As always, I appreciate any constructive criticism good or bad. I just hope you enjoy! I'll try to get the next chapter out a bit quicker!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based upon the characters and settings copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and Scholastic Books. No permission has been granted nor asked for regard this amphigory.
Chapter 5
Notes are at the bottom of the chapter. Enjoy!
All of Harry's senses were assaulted at once. Diagon Alley was…overwhelming. There were sights, smells, and sounds all clamoring for attention that Harry wished he had more heads so he could take it all in!
There were shops. Rows and rows of shops. And of course, shoppers. For Harry they were just as interesting as the shops they shopped at. There where places to buy books, ingredients, clothes, animals, and all manner of unidentifiable things.
"We'd better start with Gringo's" said Hack. "Cain't buy much without money, can ya?"
Gringo's Bank wasn't hard to spot. It was an impressive building amidst what might be described as other modest locations…and in some cases that was being very polite. Harry thought some of these places must be quite old.
As they approached Gringo's, they were greeted by a uniformed doorman. Harry had seen them portrayed in old movies, but that's something you think used to exist ages ago but not anymore. The doorman was very short, had very odd features, and as they approach, a very menacing grin.
"Yup" said Hack, "that's a goblin."
They entered, and the lobby was bustling with more activity than the street. It was not very loud, however. Even though one would have thought it would be, since the structure seemed to be built largely out of granite. They approached a teller behind an available window.
"Mr. Harry Potter is here to make a withdrawal" said Hack.
The goblin behind the counter looked up from its ledger, eyed the two of them deliberately, then asked "and does Mr. Potter have his key?" It was asked in a tone that clearly indicated it didn't think there was going to be a positive answer.
"Oh, uh, hang on a sec…" said Hack, as he started rumaging through his multitude of pockets. He fished out all manner of items you don't normally expect anybody to carry unless they're going camping. The look of disgust on the tellers features were unmistakable.
"Aha! Here 'tis!" said Hack, triumphantly, and handed it to the teller. As the teller inspected the key Hack began to put all his other articles back into various pockets.
"Well, all seems to be in ahdah" said the goblin.
"I also have this" at which Hack produced an envelope that looked similar to the ones Harry had received so many of. The goblin opened it, read it, leveled a very serious gaze at Hack and simply said "Very well. I shall have an assistant help you. Griphook!"
Another goblin, apparently named Griphook, showed up and led them to the vault area. They boarded a cart which seemed to start moving of it's own volition. Harry tried to watch Griphook steer it, but it didn't look as if Griphook was doing any such thing other than riding along just as Hack and Harry were.
Harry tried to keep track of directions: left, right, right, right again…but the cart had picked up enough speed and made so many quick turns that Harry quickly lost track. Hack looked positively naseous, so Harry thought he'd try to take his mind off of things.
"I can never remember which is a stalagtite and which is a stalagmite" he said to Hack.
Hack seemed to regard Harry as if he was a bit crazy, and said "Stalagmite's got an 'M' in it! Don't talk to me while we're moving!!" So Harry decided it was probably best to leave him alone.
They arrived at a series of numbered doors and the cart stopped. Griphook hopped out, followed by Harry and a somewhat pale Hack. "Key please" said Griphook, and Hack handed over the small key. Griphook approached the door, inserted the key into a particular keyhole among many, and opened the door.
The sight that greeted Harry was nothing he expected. There were piles upon piles of coins; gold, silver, and bronze. Harry was speechless. Hack managed a chuckle but still looked a bit pale. "See? Told ya! Yer parents wouldn't leave ya with nuthin'.." Hack then produced a pouch and took a few handfuls of coins and filled it.
"There. That oughta last ya the term." Hack turned to Griphook "Vault 713 please now, and could we go a bit slower this time?" he asked.
"One speed only" said Griphook without emotion.
"Right.." said Hack, and they all boarded the cart and set off again.
At least this trip was shorter. When the cart stopped and everybody got out, Griphook turned to them and said rather convincingly "Stand back!" Griphook then approached the door, moved some levers, turned some knobs, and probably said a few words presumed Harry, until the door opened. "If anyone but a Gringo's goblin tried that, they'd be trapped inside the vault" Griphook said smugly.
Harry looked at Griphook in surprise and asked "How often do you come down to check to see if anyone is in here?"
"Oh, about once every ten ye-ahs aw so" said Griphook. Smugness confirmed.
The door was pulled open, and based upon what Harry saw in his parents vault, rather his vault now he guessed, he expected something even grander to greet his eyes. But no…the vault looked barren save for a small, wrapped parcel on a stool. Hack reached inside and tucked into an interior pocket. He looked at Harry and said "Best you don't mention this to anyone, Harry." Hack faced Griphook and said "Let's go."
They exited the bank and started shopping, filling out the items on Harry's list. He had books and equipment he had no idea what they would be for, but was excited to have them all the same.
They approached Madam Malkin's robe shop, and Hack stopped. "Harry, do you mind if I go for a little pick-me-up while you're in here? Those Gringo's carts give me the willies." Harry thought Hack still looked a bit pale, and said "Sure."
Harry went inside and was greeted by a gentle, older woman dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she asked. Harry nodded. "Just fitting another young gentleman now. Go ahead and try this on and I'll be with you in a moment" she said.
There was a pale, blond haired, pointy-faced boy getting the finishing touches put on his robes. Harry stood in front of the mirror next to him. Another store employee started pinning the robe where it needed to be taken up.
"Hullo" said the boy. "Hogwarts too?"
"Yes" said Harry, enthusiastically.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother is up the street looking at wands" said the boy. He had a bored, slow drawl about him. "Then I'm gonna drag them off to look at racing brooms. I can't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll wheedle father into getting me one and then smuggle it in somehow."
Harry was strongly reminded of Dirk with this boy.
"Have you got your own broom?" asked the boy.
"No" said Harry.
"Play Quidditch?" continued the boy.
"No" said Harry again, wishing he knew just what in the heck the boy was talking about now.
"I do" the boy emphasized. "Father says it'll be a shame if I don't get to play for my house, and I have to agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No" said Harry, getting more and more frustrated by the minute.
"Well, no one really knows what house they'll be in until they get there, do they? But I just KNOW I'll be in Slytherin. All my family have been. Can you imagine being stuck in Hufflepuff? I think I'd leave…" the boy droned on. "Wouldn't you?"
"Mmm" replied Harry, wishing he could say something a tad more interesting.
"Hey, look at that man in the window…" said the boy with some surprise suddenly, nodding towards the front window.
Hack was standing there with the oddest grin, holding two ice creams to show why he couldn't come in.
"That's Hack" said Harry, glad to be able to finally contribute something. "He works at Hogwarts."
"Oh" said the boy, very uninterested. "I've heard of him. He's some sort of…servant, isn't he?" said the boy with a smugly superior tone.
"He's the gamekeeper" said Harry, and he was liking the boy less and less.
"Exactly. I've heard he's a sort of savage or something. He lives in a hut on school grounds, and every now and then he gets drunk and tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to something."
"I think he's brilliant" said Harry cooly.
"Do you?" asked the boy incredulously. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead" quipped Harry. He didn't exactly feel like sharing with this boy at the moment.
"Oh, sorry" said the boy, not sounding sorry in the least bit. "But they were…OUR kind, weren't they?"
"They were wizards if that's what you mean" replied Harry.
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" continued the boy. "I mean its just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they receive their letter. Imagine! I think they should keep it in the old, established families. Oh, what's your surname by the way?"
But before Harry could say anything, Madam Malkin announced "That's you done, dear." Harry, not sorry for the interruption at all, hopped down. "Well, I see you at Hogwarts I s'pose" drawled the boy.
Harry was rather quiet while he ate the ice cream that Hack had brought for him. It was good…chocolate with raspberry topped with chopped nuts.
"What's up?" asked Hack.
"Oh, nothing" replied Harry. They stopped to buy a few more incidental supplies, and Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed colors as you wrote.
When they left that shop, Harry piped up and asked "Hack, what's Quidditch?"
"Good grief Harry, I keep forgettin' how much you don't know" said Hack.
"Well don't make me feel worse about it…" said Harry gloomily. Harry told him about the boy in Madam Malkins' shop.
"And he said people from muggle families shouldn't be allowed in" exclaimed Harry.
"Yer not from a muggle family. If he'd known who you were, he's grown up known' yer name if his parents really are wizardin' folks. You saw'em in the Cracked Kettle. Anyway, what does he know? Some of the best I've ever seen came from a long line of muggles. Look at yer mom and what she had fer a sister!"
"So then what is Quidditch?" inquired Harry.
"Well that's our game! Wizards sport. It's like…well it's much like football in the muggle world. Everyone follows Quidditch. It's played up in the air on broomsticks, there's four balls, and…er…well it's sort of hard to explain the rules" said Hack.
"Well what's a Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" asked Harry.
"Those are school houses. There's four of 'em. Everyone says Hufflepuffs are a bunch of slugs, but…"
"I'll bet I'm in Hufflepuff" interrupted Harry gloomily.
"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin" said Hack, in a very serious and dark tone. "There hasn't been a single wizard who went bad that wasn't from Slytherin. You-know-who was one."
"Old M…sorry, I mean you-know-who was at Hogwarts?" Harry was shocked.
"Years and years ago, yes" confirmed Hack. He turned his attention back to Harry's list of supplies. "Just yer wand left. Oh yeah, and I still ain't got you a birthday present yet."
Harry blushed. "You don't have to you know" he stammered.
"I know I don't have to" Hack chuckled. "Tell ya what, I'll git yer animal. Not a toad, they went out of style years ago and you'd be laughed at. And I can't stand cats, they make me sneeze. I know! I'll git you an owl. They're right handy, deliverin' yer mail and everything!"
Twenty minutes later they were exiting Eyelops Owl Emporium. Harry now carried a large cage, which held a beautiful snow owl, fast asleep with her head tucked under her wing. Harry couldn't stop stammering his thanks to Hack, in fact he thought he sounded as bad as Professor Quirrel.
"Don't mention it" Hack said gruffly. "Don't guess you've had many presents from them Dursleys, have ya? Just Olivanders left now. The only place for wands, Olivanders, and you've gotta have the best wand."
A magic wand. This is what Harry had really been looking forward to. The shop was quite small and shabby, with peeling paint and dirty windows, and a sign that said "Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC" A single wand lay upon a faded purple cushion in the window. A bell tinkled as they entered.
It was a tiny shop, save for a single spindly chair which Hack sat on to wait. Harry felt as if they had entered a rather strict library. He swallowed a large number of new questions that had sprang to life in his mind, and looked at all the narrow boxes lining the shelves behind the counter. The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to prickle. The dusty silence seemed to ripple with some kind of magic, Harry thought.
"Good afternoon" came a voice softly, catching Harry by surprise. Harry jumped. Apparently so did Hack, as he heard a tremendous creaking sound and Hack quickly got off the spindly chair.
A very old man stood in front of them, his grey eyes shining like pale moons behind his spectacles.
"Hullo" said Harry, awkwardly.
"Ah yes, yes…" said the man quietly. "Yes, I thought I would be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question so much as a statement of fact. "You have your mothers eyes. Why it seems only yesterday she was in here buying her first wand. 10 ¼ inches long, swishy, made of Willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr. Olivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished the old man would just blink. Those eyes were creepy. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahagony wand. 11 inches, pliable, a little more power, more suitable for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it, but it's really the wand that favors the wizard, isn't it?"
The question was obviously rhetorical.
Mr Olivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see his reflection in those misty eyes.
"And that's where…" Mr Olivander touched the lightning bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. "I am sorry to say that I sold the wand that did it" he said softly. "13 ½ inches, yes, powerful wand. Very powerful. And in the wrong hands…whoa…well, if I had but known what that wand was going out into the world to do…" he shook his head, and then to Harry's relief, he spotted Hack.
"Remus! Remus Hackforth III! How nice to see you again! Er, ah, oak, 16 inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?" asked Mr. Olivander.
Hack looked uncomfortable. "It…it was sir, yes."
"Good wand that. But I suppose it was snapped in half when you were expelled, eh?" said Mr. Olivander, suddenly very stern.
"Er..yeah, they did. Yes" muttered Hack, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces though" said Hack, brightening a little.
"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Olivander sharply.
"Oh, no sir" replied Hack quickly. Harry noticed Hack gripped his pink umbrella very tightly when he spoke.
"Hmm…" said Mr. Olivander, giving Hack a very piercing gaze. "Well now, Mr. Potter, let me see…" Mr. Olivander produced a long tape measure with silver markings out of a pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Er, well, I'm right handed" said Harry.
"Hold out your arm. That's it" said Mr. Olivander. He measured Harry from shoulder to fingertip, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armipit, and around his head. "Every Olivander wand has a core of a powerful magic substance. We use Unicorn hair, Phoenix tailfeathers, and heartstrings of Dragons. No two Olivander wands are the same. Just as no two Unicorns, Dragons, or Phoenix's are the same. And of course, you'll never get such good results using another wizards' wand."
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure was measuring Harry all on it's own, that Mr. Olivander was flitting around the shelves going through boxes. "That'll do" said Mr. Olivander, and the tape measure fell to the floor.
"Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and Dragon Heartstring, 9 inches, nice and flexible. Take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand, and feeling foolish, started to wave it. Mr. Olivander snatched it back quickly. "Maple and Phoenix feather, 7 inches, try…"
It went this way for awhile, Harry barely trying a wand before it was snatched back by Mr. Olivander and he was given something different to try. Harry had no idea what Mr. Olivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was growing higher and higher, but the more wands Mr. Olivander pulled off the shelves, the happier he seemed to be.
"Tricky customer eh?" he chuckled to himself. "Not to worry, we'll find a wand for you in here somehwere. I wonder…yes, why not. Unusual combination: Holly and Phoenix feather, 11 inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head and brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of red and gold sparks flew from the wand like a roman candle!
Hack whooped and clapped! Mr. Olivander said "Bravo! Oh yes indeed! Very good! Well, how curious, how very curious." He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering 'curious' to himself.
"Sorry" said Harry. "What's curious?"
Mr. Olivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single one. It so happens the Phoenix whose tailfeather is in your wand, gave another. Just…one…other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed hard.
"Yes, 13 ½ inches. Yes. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. And I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, he-who-must-not-be-named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."
Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Olivander very much. He paid for his wand, and Mr. Olivander bowed them from his shop.
The late afteroon sun beat down upon them as they made their way back through Diagon Alley, back to the Cracked Kettle now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked back. He didn't even notice how much people were gawking at him while they road the DART rail back to the station, laden as they were with odd-shaped packages and the huge cage with a sleeping owl in it.
Harry really didn't realize where they were until Hack tapped him on the shoulder at the station. "Got time for a quick bite before the bus leaves." They got a couple of hamburgers and sat down. Harry looked around, and it seemed that everything looked so strange to him.
"You alright Harry? Yer very quiet" said Hack. Harry wasn't sure he could put it into words. He'd just had the best birthday of his life, and yet, he could not come up with the words to describe how he felt.
"Everyone thinks I'm special" Harry said finally. "All those people in the pub, in the shops, but I don't anything about magic at all. How can they expect 'great things' from me? I'm famous and I don't even know why.
Hack leant across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyes, he wore a kind smile. "Don't worry Harry, you'll learn soon enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll do just fine! Just be yourself. I know it's hard, you've been singled out and that's never easy, but you'll have a great time at Hogwarts. I did. Still do as a matter of fact.
Hack helped him onto the bus that would take him back to the Dursleys, then handed him an envelope. "Your ticket fer Hogwarts. September 1st, Kings Station. It's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, just send me yer owl. She'll know where to find me. See you soon, Harry."
Notes:
My apologies for the delay getting this chapter out. I do really work for a living, after all! Toss in a vacation and my sisters impending wedding and well, you get the idea.
The Goblins – well as I said previously I decided to give them all Bostonian accents. Except there wasn't as much dialogue with them as I had once thought there would be. But trying to write their weird accent even in this little bit of dialogue was a challenge. To help you through it, let me give you an example:
"Park the car or I'll have a heart attack" in a Bostonian accent would come out something like "Pahk the cah er I'll have a haaaht attack." Hopefull you get the idea! And I wanted to make them carpetbaggers from the north, and New Yorkers were just too easy.
Otherwise I don't think this chapter has much for me to comment on. Oh, other than the line "The question was obviously rhetorical" Anytime I hear "rhetorical" I can't help but think of a Simpson's episode where Homer's mom surfaces, she and Lisa are playing Granola-crunching Hippie folk songs ("How many paths must a man walk down?" by Bob Dylan.) Homer pipes up and says "Six!" Lisa tells him "Dad, it's a rhetorical question." To which Homer replies "Rhetorical eh?….Seven!"
That just kills me!
As always, I appreciate any constructive criticism good or bad. I just hope you enjoy! I'll try to get the next chapter out a bit quicker!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based upon the characters and settings copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and Scholastic Books. No permission has been granted nor asked for regard this amphigory.
