Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: I might own Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: I might not own Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: Disregard all of those idiots up there; I definitely DO NOT own Harry Potter. He is owned by that one lady…over there. Note, too, that I have used several passages from HP & SS/PS—I definitely don't own those!
Author's note: I'm back!
"Here it is, Harry…Gringotts." She looked at him. "Here are your keys and your Hogwarts list. Remember to treat the Goblins with respect; they are valuable allies, who appreciate manners."
Harry took the key ring from her hand and murmured a polite, "Yes ma'am."
"Good. I'll meet you at Madam Malkins in two hours. Don't purchase a familiar; I'll buy you one for your birthday. Later, we'll go to the jeweler to pierce your ears." With that, she was off.
Harry walked into the bank and looked around. He sneered at the families trading muggle money for wizard money as he made his way towards a teller.
"Can I help you?" the Goblin asked abruptly.
"Yes. I wish to be taken to one of my vaults…the Black vault"
"Do you have the key?"
Harry handed over the key ring and watched as the goblin's expression turned from rude to respect bordering on fear.
"Sir," the goblin said in a friendly voice, "if you could wait just a moment….GRIPHOOK!"
"Yes?" demanded another goblin.
"Take Dominus Black to the Black family vault."
"Yes sir." He turned to Harry and bowed. "If you'll follow me, sir?"
Harry nodded toward the teller and followed Griphook into a large cavern.
"Into the cart now, milord."
Harry complied and they were soon speeding down into the bowels of the earth. Harry was the first to break the silence. "You must see a lot, being a vault-guide."
"Indeed sir. Just yesterday I escorted that big fellow, Hagbread or something. I had to take him to Dumbledore's personal vault—vault seven hundred and thirteen, unless I'm much mistaken—and all that was in there was a little grubby package."
He shook his head. "People don't even store gold in vaults anymore, just little valuables. Shame really."
The cart pulled to a stop, and his face brightened. "Here we are: vault one hundred and forty-two." They both stepped out of the cart.
"Have you got your key?"
Harry handed him the key ring, and Griphook opened the vault. A cool gray fog flowed out of the now open doors, chilling Harry to the bone. Griphook lifted the lantern over his head, and Harry let out a gasp. The vault was huge! He entered and made his way to one of the smaller piles, where he filled his bag to bursting and then made his way back out.
Before closing the vault, Griphook gave a quick glance and an approving nod. "Now this," he said appreciatively, "is a proper vault"
And then they were off.
Harry glanced down at his list. Might as well get my books first. He walked into the bookstore and quickly gathered the required books. He then made his way to where the more advanced books were located. He bought Midnight Magic: A Guide to Ancient Rituals of the Night, The History of the Potions Guild, Dragons: Dangerous or Misunderstood?, Potion Ingredients that Destroy, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Nature's Nobility: A Comprehensive Guide to Pureblood Families Worldwide. (A/N: I think I may have stolen that last from someone. If it's yours, please tell me and I'll change it.)
Then he went to the Apothecary and purchased his potions ingredients (those on the list and also some more interesting ones, e.g. powdered unicorn horn and a Dragon's liver).
Next, he stepped out onto the sunny street and made his way to a dusty old shop with an old sign over the door which said, in peeling gold letters, "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as he stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair that looked so uncomfortable that Harry was loath to sit on it. He looked around the shop, tiny shivers raking his body; the very air in this place seemed to be magic.
"Good afternoon."
Harry, who—after living with Kreacher all of his life—was accustomed to people sneaking up on him, merely raised an eyebrow at the old man standing before him. "Good day, sir. I'm here for a wand."
The old man chuckled and said, "It seems only yesterday that your mother was in here herself, buying her first wand, ten and a quarter inches long, made of willow. You have her eyes, you know. Or should I say, you have the eyes of the Evans family?"
Harry grinned at his abrupt question. His grandmother had always told him that off-topic questions were the easiest way to get answers, "You might also say sir that I have the eyes of a Naga…but you are too polite for that."
"True, true. Your father favored a completely different wand: twelve inches, made of oak—excellent for transfiguration." He gave a short laugh. "The first time he used it was here in my shop. Turned me into a pelican. It took him four hours to change me back. Now," he said, rubbing his hands together, "let's get you fitted with a wand." He started to pull boxes off the shelves. "Have you used a wand before?"
"Yes, my grandmother's."
"Ah, I see. Her wand was nine inches with the core of a phoenix—particularly good with curses." He looked at Harry. "But I expect you already knew that."
Harry did know that, but he wasn't going to admit it to the old man. "No sir, my grandmother just taught me how to levitate tea trays."
Ollivander chuckled. "You don't have to lie to me, Mr. Black; I know what the pre-Hogwarts education entails."
"Oh, I thought that most people disapproved of the old ways."
"Magic is magic, Mr. Black, light or dark…it matters little to me, nor does it matter to me when a child begins to learn magic."
He stopped piling the boxes on the counter and pulled out a wand from the top box. " Here, try this one. Beachwood and dragon heart string. Nine inches. Nice and flexible."
Harry took the wand and gave it a short wave. Nothing happened.
"No, no, try this one. Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy."
Harry tried, but this too was a failure.
"No matter. Here, ebony and Unicorn hair."
Harry tried wand after wand and each one a failure. Ollivander went to the back room to get what he said was "one last wand." When he came back, he handed it to Harry reverently. "Try this one."
Harry took the wand into his hand and felt a very welcome rush of power flow through his hand and engulf the rest of his body. He gave the wand a wave and was gratified when a shower of black and green sparks shot out the end.
"Wonderful. Oh marvelous! But also curious."
"What sir? What's curious?"
"This wand, my boy, this wand was made by an infusion of yew and holly with a single phoenix tail feather, fourteen inches, a very powerful wand. And its brother gave you that," he said tracing Harry's almost invisible scar. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches, yew, powerful, and a phoenix feather from the same donor as the one in your wand. Well, that comes to twelve galleons."
Harry paid and was soon on his way.
Next up: Madam Malkins and a certain blond-haired cousin.