A new chapter so soon? Yeah, I know. Very strange but I was feeling inspired. Some parts of this chapter are taken directly from chapter 4 and 5 of 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'. It's a long one, more than 9000 words. Hope you like it, tell me what you think!
Chapter 2
31st July 1991 – St. Mary's Orphanage, London
Today was little Dany's nameday – or birthday, as it was called in this world. It was fitting for her to be born in the middle of the summer – she wasn't made for the cold. She was fire made flesh, the blood of the dragon.
Jon Snow had been made for the cold, raised in Winterfell, he then spent years at the Wall. But Jon Snow was not a true Targaryen. He wasn't a true dragon. Aegon Targaryen – the name of conquerors and kings; he wasn't worthy of that name.
Once she had thought him the best man she had ever known. Once she had thought him brave and loyal and good. How wrong she was.
But she wouldn't think of him.
It was a comfort, knowing that her name still belonged to her, that she was still Daenerys Targaryen even in this new world. For the longest time her name was all she had.
She once told Jon Snow that she didn't believe in gods, myths and legends, that the only thing she had faith in was herself, Daenerys Targaryen. But somewhere along the way between Dragonstone and Winterfell, one loss after another, she had lost sight of that. And, because of that, she had lost everything.
But this was a new world, a world full of magical beings just like her. A world where she wasn't the Mad King's daughter. A world where she could have a fresh start, forge a new path for herself. This world was full of so many possibilities.
Daenerys smiled at her reflection in the mirror, feeling hopeful for the first time in forever. She brushed her silver hair absentmindedly – it now reached her shoulders. Petunia hadn't liked little Dany keeping her hair long, – she was probably jealous of Dany's beautiful moonlight strands, compared to her dull blonde locks (not that there was anything remotely remarkable in Petunia's appearance; everything about her was ordinary); little Dany was always forced to keep it in a pixie cut, but Daenerys had been fine with it. It hadn't felt right for Daenerys to keep her hair long, not after the terrible defeat she had suffered. Dothraki cut their hair to show their shame when they lost a battle and Daenerys was still the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, no matter that she would never see her bloodriders ever again.
But she had allowed it to grow a few inches at a time whenever she would master a new way to use her fire – her magic. Those were all small victories, but important all the same. None of those victories were worth a braid yet but it was alright. She figured more victories would come in time.
Daenerys took a deep breath, smoothed down her blue, sleeveless dress (blue still remained her favourite colour when it came to dresses), sent a last look around the room, making sure everything was tidy and clean, and then left to go downstairs. She would wait for this Rubeus Hagrid in the matron's office.
She could say that convincing the matron to make herself scarce during the meeting had been a hard task, but in truth, they both knew she had no choice in the matter. Everyone in this orphanage did what Daenerys wanted them to. Her fire would force their minds into compliance. Some were harder than others to compel, but they all succumbed to her power eventually.
The old Daenerys would have balked at the idea of forcing people in what was basically mental slavery, into turning human beings into puppets on a string, but the old Daenerys was dead, perhaps she had died even before Jon had killed her. The old Daenerys had been buried under loss and grief and heartbreak and betrayal. There was very little left of her now.
Jorah had once told her that she had a gentle heart. Daenerys had replied that she didn't but Jorah had been right. She had covered it up and denied it, but her heart had been gentle, kind, compassionate, merciful.
But mercy was for the weak. Being merciful to your enemies would only get you killed. If she had only stormed King's Landing when she had the chance – when she had first landed in Dragonstone –, none of what had happened later would have actually happened.
She should have dealt with the Northerners the same way she had dealt with the Masters. She should have shown no mercy. They should have known they needed to fear her. Because that had been the problem. They had hated her but they hadn't been scared of her. They had showed her disrespect and hostility openly because they weren't afraid of her reaction. Her tender feelings for Jon Snow had stayed her hand. Foolish, little girl in love that she had been.
They should have been terrified of her. She could have killed them just as easily as the Army of the Dead could have. And the only reason they had even survived the Army of the Dead was because of her, her armies and her dragons. And for what? She should have let them all die. It was what they deserved.
Daenerys had decided that prioritizing her own self-preservation mattered more than some pointless moral dilemma. She intended to do whatever was necessary to make her stay in the orphanage as comfortable as possible for herself.
These children would have tormented her and bullied her otherwise – and the adults would have turned a blind eye – (just like the ones in Surrey had done with little Dany), just because she was different than them, just because she had power that they didn't have, power she could use against them. People were always afraid, and they always hated, what they couldn't understand or what was different than them. And Daenerys was as different from them as a dragon was from a lion. They could as well have been different species for all they had in common.
The matron's office was small, dark and cramped, one wall covered from floor to ceiling by a mahogany library. The desk was in the centre of the room, an enormous black marble fireplace behind it, though it wasn't lit at the moment. There was a single, tiny window in the room, the glass covered by heavy, burgundy curtains. The matron liked the darkness, a choice Daenerys couldn't understand, especially today – a beautiful summer day.
Daenerys drew the curtains open, took a book from the bookcase, – Alexandre Dumas' 'Le Comte de Monte-Cristo' in the original French – sat in the chair in front of the matron's desk and prepared to wait.
She missed Meereen. She missed the sun, the white sand, the crystal-clear sea, the always-blue sky, the sweltering hot weather, the gorgeous, colourful silk dresses, her bright, open and spacious quarters in the Great Pyramid; she missed her baths, with boiling hot water and perfumed oils. But, most of all, she missed her people. She missed having a purpose. She would do anything to go back there, anything to go back in time and never sail to Westeros. Her home had been right there, in Meereen, and she hadn't realized it. How stupid she had been, how blind.
It was more than half an hour later when Rubeus Hagrid arrived. He opened the door so forcefully that it almost took it off its hinges.
What Daenerys noticed first about him was his height.
He was, without a doubt, the tallest man Daenerys had ever seen and she wondered if he was part giant or something. Did giants exist in this world? Surely yes. They had existed in Westeros – beyond the Wall – though they were basically extinct by the time Daenerys had reached Westeros, most of them resurrected and turned into soldiers for the army of the dead.
The half-giant's face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard – his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. They were kind eyes, though. Despite his somewhat scary appearance, this Rubeus Hagrid was kind.
Not that that meant anything, Daenerys reminded herself. Viserys had been kind once, before turning cruel enough to hit her and sell her off to Khal Drogo like a broodmare. Dumbledore had been kind too, but he had still left Daenerys with abusive guardians. And Jon had been kind as well, and yet he had abandoned, betrayed and killed her. Kindness meant nothing if it wasn't backed by bravery, resoluteness and loyalty. A kind but cowardly man could do just as much damage as a cruel one.
The half-giant was wearing an exceptionally large, black, moleskin overcoat with many pockets and he was carrying with him a big, pink umbrella.
"An' here you are, Daenerys!" The half-giant said. Daenerys noticed that his beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh look a lot like yet mom but yeh've got yet dad's hair an' yet granma's eyes. Rhaella. Kind woman she was. Bi' proud, perhaps, but kind."
Mother, Daenerys thought. Rhaella Targaryen would always be her mother, even if she had never met her. Though Daenerys was grateful towards Lily Evans. She had loved Daenerys enough that she had sacrificed her life so that Daenerys could live. That meant something to her. She wished she had known her.
"Well met, Mr. Hagrid," Daenerys said, shaking his enormous hand with her tiny one. Her Valyrian name had been mangled so badly in the half-giant's mouth that Daenerys was forced to add, "you can call me Dany," even though she hated that particular shortening of her name now.
She hadn't liked it much before, since Viserys was the only one who had called her that when she was little, but she had started to like it again after Jon had taken to call her that. Needless to say, being called 'Dany' only reminded her of Jon Snow now. And it hurt. She was afraid it would never stop hurting. But she was Daenerys Targaryen. She was strong. A stupid nickname would not bring her to her knees, not after all that she's been through.
"Oh, none o' that Mr. Hagrid business. 'Tis just Hagrid. Everyone calls me that. Anyway, a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."
From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Daenerys took it from his large hands and opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Dany written on it in purple icing.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Daenerys said, smiling at him. "I'll just bring it up to my room and then we can go, alright?"
"O' course. Best be off. Lots ter do today."
Ten minutes later they left the orphanage and took the subway, destination Charing Cross Road. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to Daenerys so she could buy their tickets.
People stared at Hagrid and Daenerys couldn't really blame them. He was just so tall. He took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.
"Still got yer letter, Dany?" he asked as he counted stitches. Daenerys took the parchment envelope out of her pocket.
"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."
Inside the envelope there were two sheets of paper. Daenerys had already read the letter, of course, but she did so again.
The first page said:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Ms. Targaryen,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
Daenerys, then, unfolded the second piece of paper inside the envelope, and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set of glass or crystal phials
1 telescope set
1 brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
"What are the broomsticks for?" Daenerys asked, confused about the last part.
"Why, flyin', o' course." Hagrid replied, with a chuckle.
"Flying?" Daenerys asked in wonder. "You can fly on broomsticks?" She missed flying on Drogon. Perhaps flying on a broomstick wouldn't be all that different. She couldn't wait to find out.
Though the orphanage was in London, Daenerys had never actually seen it. The children in the orphanage were only allowed to leave it to go to church on Sundays. Though Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.
"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.
Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Daenerys had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people.
"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."
It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Daenerys wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.
They can't see it, Daenerys realized. Perhaps some kind of charm that hides the place from muggles.
Hagrid steered her inside. For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"
"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Daenerys's shoulder, making her knees buckle.
"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Daenerys, "is this—can this be—?"
The Leaky Cauldron had gone completely still and silent.
"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Dany Targaryen...what an honor."
He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Daenerys and seized her hand, tears in his eyes.
"Welcome back, Miss Targaryen, welcome back."
Daenerys smiled, touched by the warm greeting she was receiving – though still not liking the fact that everyone in the Wizarding World seemed to know her as Dany and not Daenerys, but she was afraid that was something she had to get used to, and quickly.
"Thank you, kind sir," she said, not sure what else to add, if she should add anything else.
The patrons of the pub seemed to perceive that as a sort of permission because the next moment, Daenerys found herself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Doris Crockford, Miss Targaryen, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
"So proud, Miss Targaryen, I'm just so proud."
"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."
"Delighted, Miss Targaryen, just can't tell you. Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."
Daenerys shook each person's hand and thanked each and everyone of them for their kind words. After the cold reception she had received at Winterfell, and then everything that had followed, this felt like a balm to her soul. She knew they weren't thanking her for anything that she had done – not really, anyway – and that she didn't exactly deserve their awe and reverence, not for surviving while others had died, but she couldn't deny that it felt good.
A young man, as fair-skinned as Daenerys, made his way forward, very nervously. He was wearing a voluminous purple turban around his head that smelled strongly of garlic. One of his pale blue eyes was twitching.
"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Dany, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."
"M-Miss T-T-Targaryen," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Daenerys's hand. Daenerys noticed he was wearing thick, black leather gloves, which was odd, given the warm weather. "C-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, M-Miss T-T-Targaryen?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.
But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Daenerys to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.
"Must get on - lots ter buy. Come on, Dany."
Doris Crockford shook Daenerys's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.
Hagrid grinned at Daenerys. "Yeh're famous, Dany, see? Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh - mind you, he's usually tremblin'."
"Is he always that nervous?" Daenerys asked, wondering why Headmaster Dumbledore had assigned the Defense Against the Dark Arts post to such a fearful man.
"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag - never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject now, where's me umbrella?"
Vampires? Hags? Daenerys's head was spinning. She had seen a lot of strange things in her life, but from what she had heard about this world so far, she was about to see a hell of a lot more.
Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.
"Three up... two across," he muttered. "Right, stand back, Dany."
He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.
The brick he had touched quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared. It grew wider and wider; a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."
Daenerys widened her eyes, Hagrid grinning at her amazement. They stepped through the archway. Daenerys sent a glance over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink back into solid wall.
The sun glared on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop.
Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.
"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first. First stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Run by goblins."
"Goblins?" Daenerys asked, astonished. She knew what goblins were, but only because of the fairy tale books she had read in this world. Daenerys would read anything she could get her hands on. Being deprived of a proper, formal, education in her old world while, at the same time, eager to learn new things, Daenerys had decided not to squander this second opportunity she had been given.
She had always loved history and languages – reason why she had already learned French, Italian and Spanish and had just started to learn German. She wondered what different languages they spoke in the Wizarding World. Surely goblins had their own language. And who knew how many different magical creatures existed. Perhaps dragons existed here too.
While they walked through the busy wizarding street, Daenerys wished she had eight eyes like a spider. She turned her head in every direction, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.
A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of eleven or perhaps a little older, had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Daenerys heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand – fastest ever…"
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Daenerys had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...
And a few feet ahead of them, a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops.
Dumbledore had told her about Gringotts, but not the specifics – only that it was the bank wizards and witches kept their gold in and that it was located in Diagon Alley. She decided to probe Hagrid for information.
"Yeah, so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Dany. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe – 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly." He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you, gettin' things from Gringotts – knows he can trust me, see."
"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Daenerys asked.
"Spells, enchantments. They say there's dragons guardin' the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way. Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."
Daenerys stopped in her tracks. "They use dragons to guard vaults?" She asked in a voice louder than she intended, unable to hide her fury – though Hagrid didn't notice her tone. Dragons – as if they were mere guard dogs. Chained and in the dark. Not able to fly. Unable to even see the light of day. It reminded her of what she had done to Rhaegal and Viserion in Meereen. When she had chained them and locked them below the pyramid. One of the worst mistakes of her life. But, at least, when she did that, she was trying to protect the people in Meereen. But this? A flash of fury traversed her body. How dare they?
"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."
"You'd like one?" Daenerys asked him, outraged, unable to suppress her anger. Hagrid wanted one? Dragons were no pets. They couldn't be owned.
Daenerys took a deep breath and counted to ten in her head, and then backwards to one. She did the same in Valyrian, and then in Dothraki for good measure. Letting her anger overwhelm her would be distrasous. She couldn't burn the whole street and everyone in it, as much as she would have liked to. At least now she knew this world had dragons in it, as much as they were treated horribly and unjustly and not like the magnificent, intelligent creatures that they were. But she would change that, she swore to herself. Not right now, she knew so very little about this world, she could do very little about it. But one day…
She could be patient, in the meantime. She had to be.
"Wanted one ever since I was a kid," Hagrid was saying, oblivious to her thoughts. "Here we are. Gringotts."
Gringotts' bank reminded her of the pictures of the Greek temples she had seen in some of the history books she had read, with his ionic columns at both sides of its burnished bronze doors and the triangular shape of its roof. Standing beside its doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was—
"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Daenerys, with yellowish-pale skin. He had a dome-shaped head, a swarthy, clever face, pointed ears, a pointed noise and a pointed beard, and very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses.
There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Daenerys made for the counter.
"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss Daenerys Targaryen's safe."
"You have her key, Sir?"
"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Daenerys watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.
"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.
The goblin peered at it with his dark, slanted eyes.
"That seems to be in order."
"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."
The goblin read the letter carefully.
"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"
Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Daenerys followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.
"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Daenerys asked.
"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."
Griphook held the door open for them. Daenerys, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in – Hagrid with some difficulty – and were off.
At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Daenerys tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. Daenerys's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept them wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon – she hoped it wasn't; she hoped the tale of the goblins keeping dragons to guard the vaults was just a legend and not the truth –, but too late – they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
Daenerys turned back to look at her companion. Hagrid looked very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling. Daenerys, on the other hand, felt wonderful. The trip in the small cart had almost reminded her of flying. Though, of course, nothing could really compare to the feeling of flying on the back of a dragon – that incredible sense of freedom and power was impossible to describe to those who had never experienced it.
Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Daenerys gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of bronze. The amount of wealth inside was almost comparable to the vault in Meereen – the one that had belonged to the Masters that lived in the Great Pyramid before Daenerys had taken over; bloody gold, obtained through the suffering and torture of other human beings.
So much wealth, for only one person – and this was just the trust vault. She felt almost ashamed.
"All yours," smiled Hagrid, helping Daenerys pile some of it into a bag. "The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough." Daenerys wondered at the strange way they assigned value to their money but she memorized the information all the same.
"Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"
"One speed only," said Griphook.
"Could I have my vault key, please?" Daenerys asked Hagrid, smiling sweetly at him. "It's only fair, since it belongs to me."
Hagrid appeared reluctant at her request. "I don't know, Dany. Dumbledore didn't—"
"I promise I won't lose it." Daenerys interrupted. "I'm sure my parents would have wanted me to have it."
Hagrid sighed – the mention of her parents had been enough, it seemed – but handed her the tiny golden key all the same. Daenerys smiled at him – sincerely this time – and attached her key to the white gold necklace she wore around her neck, the one where she kept her mother's pearl ring.
She had been both surprised and furious to see her mother's – Rhaella's – ring around Petunia's scrawny finger. She figured Viserys had given it to her. As if someone like her was even remotely worthy of wearing it. She had ripped it off her still scorching hand when she had burned down Privet Drive number 4 with them inside.
The second trip in the cart went by even faster. They were going deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Daenerys leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled her back by the scruff of her neck. Daenerys glared at him, outraged that he would touch her without her permission. She was a queen—
Daenerys sighed to herself. No, she wasn't. Not here. She better started to remember that from now on. As far as everyone knew, she was just an eleven-year-old child, albeit a famous one.
Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.
"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.
"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.
"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Daenerys asked, curious despite herself.
"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.
If he thought to intimidate her, he was wrong. Perhaps it would have worked on an actual child, but Daenerys had actually imprisoned two people – one of them her traitorous handmaiden Doreah – inside an empty vault once – left them there to die slowly of starvation, in the dark, alone but for each other – so the poorly-veiled threat didn't faze her in the slightest.
Something really extraordinary had to be inside this vault though, given the top security measures employed. She leaned forward to see inside.
At first, she thought it was empty. Then she noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Daenerys longed to know what it was, but she knew Hagrid wouldn't tell her, so she refrained from asking – for now.
"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.
One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts.
"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Dany, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Daenerys entered Madam Malkin's shop alone.
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Daenerys started to speak. Daenerys noticed the woman had widened her eyes when she first saw Daenerys. Daenerys realized that Madam Malkin had recognized her. Her silver hair and violet eyes were rather unmistakable, after all. Daenerys appreciated her discretion. "Got the lot here – a young man your age being fitted up just now, in fact."
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Daenerys on a stool next to him. She slipped a long robe over Daenerys' head, and began to pin it to the right length.
"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"
The boy too had recognized her, his small body almost vibrating with suppressed excitement – his silver eyes couldn't hide his real feelings, even though his face was impassive.
"Yes," said Daenerys, not offering anything else.
"My name is Draco Malfoy," he said, then. "And you are?"
"Daenerys Targaryen," Daenerys answered. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
The boy – Draco – ignored her tone and shrugged, not answering verbally. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands." Draco Malfoy had a bored, drawling voice. This was a boy who came from a rich and powerful family, she could tell, spoiled and used to get whatever he wanted because of said family.
Daenerys wasn't very sympathetic, usually, to such people – she had been forced to play nice with nobles in the past but out of necessity and not out of real concern for them. But if there was one thing Tyrion Lannister had been right about, was that she couldn't rule without the support of the rich – at least some of them – or, at the very least, with their open antagonism, if gaining their support was impossible. And, as tempting as it had been sometimes, she couldn't just kill everyone who opposed her or there would be very few people left in the world. Compromising, as distasteful as it was, was sometimes necessary – though, of course, there were things Daenerys could never comprise about. And, if that didn't work, scaring them into submission was the next best thing.
The incident in King's Landing had been unfortunate, certainly, but Daenerys had been backed into a corner and she had lashed out. Her rage and grief and pain had blinded her. She had acted without thinking and then, once it was done, she couldn't go back in time and undo it; she couldn't lose time – useless time – regretting her actions. If I look back, I'm lost.
But, clearly, that had been enough to decree her death. As if they hadn't been waiting for just that – a misstep on her part, an excuse for them to turn their back on her, to consider her as mad as her father had been and washed their hands of her; as if they hadn't been watching her with distrust in their eyes since she had executed Randyll and Dickon Tarly, as if the punishment for treason hadn't been death in Westeros. They couldn't wait to get rid of the Mad King's daughter and put Rhaegar's son on the throne. She had known they were planning on killing her, how could she not after Varys had tried to poison her?
The killing blow had come from someone she had not expected, though. She didn't think he had it in him, not after being murdered in the same way by his own men; and yet, she should have. Who better than him could move so close to her without first being checked for weapons? Who else could take her in his arms and kill her with a kiss? As if she hadn't been waiting for a kiss and an embrace from him, a sign that he still loved her, since the moment he had first pulled away from her, when he had first discovered the truth about himself. He took advantage of her love for him to murder her. In the end, Jon Snow – the man she had considered the most honest and honourable she had ever met – had turned out to be the most treacherous of all.
Once she had thought that a queen who trusted no one was just as foolish as a queen who trusted everyone, but she had been wrong. Trusting people got you killed. Loving people got you killed. Or, at least, it did to her. And, even if they were really loyal to you, they would just die because of you, because they believed in you and trusted you. She would never trust anyone ever again. She would never love anyone ever again. It was just safer this way, for herself and for everyone else.
But, Daenerys reminded herself, she wasn't in Westeros anymore. And this blonde boy in front of her wasn't Jon Snow, or Tyrion Lannister, or any of them. He was just a child. He was no real threat to her. She could, at least, try to be friendly. Where was the harm in that?
"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms," the boy was still bubbling. "I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"
"No," Daenerys answered.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No," Daenerys said again, bored with the entire conversation now. She surmised that 'Quidditch' was some kind of sport played with broomsticks, given how one question had followed the other.
"I do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No," Daenerys replied again. She forced herself not to roll her eyes at him. She could understand his enthusiasm in talking about Hogwarts. How could he not be excited, after all? In a few weeks' time he would go to a magical school to learn actual magic. Everyone would be excited by such a thing.
But did he have to brag quite so much?
"Well, you're Daenerys Targaryen. Your parents were both in Gryffindor. I bet you'll be in Gryffindor too."
Daenerys merely shrugged back at him. She didn't know, if she had to be honest. Dumbledore hadn't really gone into any details about the Hogwarts Houses. She didn't know what criteria they used to sort the students into their respective Houses.
"I know I'll be in Slytherin – all our family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"Mmm," said Daenerys, wishing Madam Malkin would hurry up so Daenerys could finally leave her shop.
"I say, look at that man!" said Draco suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Daenerys and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.
"That's Hagrid," Daenerys explained. "He works at Hogwarts."
"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"
"He's the gamekeeper," said Daenerys. She was liking the boy less and less every second.
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage. He lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."
Daenerys glared at him, hating that word – 'savage'. That was the word everyone else had used to refer to the Dothraki, the people that – for better or worse – had accepted her as one of their own. If they were savages, so was she.
Hagrid's loyalty to Dumbledore was concerning, certainly, but he had been kind to her, even gifting her with a chocolate cake for her birthday. She didn't appreciate Draco badmouthing him. "I think he's brilliant," she said to him, unable to hide the challenge in her tone.
"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why are you with him and not with your guardians? I know your parents are dead and all—" Daenerys was surprised at the callousness of that statement but Draco went on as if he had said nothing unusual at all. "But surely there was someone better qualified to escort you to Diagon Alley. A teacher, even."
"My guardians are dead, just like my parents. And they were muggles anyway. As for why it's Hagrid and not a teacher who's my escort today, I don't know. Headmaster Dumbledore is the one who gave him this task. Perhaps the Hogwarts' teachers were too busy preparing for the new school year."
"I suppose," Draco said. He had grimaced visibly at hearing her guardians had been muggles. Perhaps some witches and wizards were prejudiced against muggles, she needed to know more about this.
Not that Daenerys didn't see the wisdom in that. Everyone who Daenerys had ever met in this life who hadn't been magical, hadn't exactly been welcoming or kind to her. Muggles were afraid of magic, and that fear led to hatred. No wonder the Wizarding World was hidden from the muggle one. She figured, if muggles were to discover the existence of the Magical World, they wouldn't react very well to it.
"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin said, at long last. Daenerys couldn't say she was sorry to have an excuse to stop talking to the boy. She hopped down from the stool and turned to go.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy. Daenerys nodded back at him, but her expression wasn't very warm.
Daenerys ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her – chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts; it was delicious. Daenerys had never tried ice cream before so she made sure to eat it slowly, without letting it melt, so she could savor it for as long as possible.
Once the both of them had finished eating, they stopped to buy parchment and quills. Daenerys asked Hagrid what Quidditch was. Hagrid explained it was the sport in the wizarding world. It was played on flying broomsticks, up in the air. As popular as football was to the muggles. Hagrid wasn't really able to explain the rules to her so Daenerys decided to look it up for herself.
They bought Daenerys's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. It was amazing.
Once Daenerys had found all the books on the list, she begged Hagrid to stay a little longer. She wanted to browse the shelves and buy some more books. Hagrid had chuckled at her, commenting something about a 'Ravenclaw in the making' or something like that.
Daenerys ended up buying a book on Quidditch, 'Quidditch through the Ages' by Kennilworthy Whisp, a book about Hogwarts – 'Hogwarts: A History' by Bathilda Bagshot –, several books on wizarding history that covered the events of the last eight decades, a Potion manual for beginners – 'Potion Opuscule' by Arsenius Jigger, the same author as the textbook required for Potions for this school year – and some other beginners' books about all the subjects she would start to learn this year at Hogwarts (Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions and Magical Theory).
Daenerys and Hagrid went to buy all the necessary equipment for Potions – pewter cauldron, crystal phials, a nice set of brass scales as well as mortar and pestle – and a collapsible brass telescope for Astronomy as well as a star chart, a moon chart, a globe of the moon and a magnifying glass.
Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling.
Daenerys had learnt a little rudimentary medicine from the Dothraki women and she recognized some herbs, but most of the ingredients on display were completely foreign to her.
While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Daenerys, Daenerys herself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).
Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Daenerys's list again.
"Just yer wand left – A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."
Daenerys shook her head at him, though she was a little pleased. "You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at – an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Daenerys now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl – her plumage almost the same colour as her hair –, fast asleep with her head under her wing. Daenerys thanked Hagrid profusely. She really loved her new owl.
"Just Ollivanders left now," Hagrid said. "Only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."
A magic wand... this was what Daenerys had been really looking forward to.
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read 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 they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Daenerys felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library. She took a look around, noticing the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Daenerys jumped – not very dignified at all. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Daenerys, rising to her full – though not very impressive – height. She didn't like being caught unaware.
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Daenerys Targaryen. You look a lot like your grandmother Rhaella. It seems only yesterday your mother and father were in here, buying their first wands. Your mother chose a willow wand, ten and a quarter inches long, swishy. Nice wand for charm work." Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Daenerys. Daenerys wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were unnerving. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the witch or wizard, of course."
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Daenerys were almost nose to nose. Daenerys could see herself reflected in those misty eyes.
"And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander pointed with a long, white finger to the lightning scar on Daenerys' chest, hidden by the fabric of her dress. It was almost as if he could see it. All of a sudden Daenerys felt more vulnerable than if she had been standing there naked – nakedness had never made her feel vulnerable, truth to be told, not since her dragons had been born anyway.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said, in a tone barely louder than a whisper. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."
He shook his head and then, to Daenerys's relief, spotted Hagrid.
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again...Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
"Er – yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.
"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.
"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Daenerys noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke. Daenerys suppressed a grin. She bet the wand pieces he said he had kept were hidden in his umbrella.
"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now. Miss Targaryen. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm right-handed," said Daenerys.
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Daenerys from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Targaryen. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another witch or wizard's wand."
"You use dragon heartstrings? You kill dragons to make wands?" Daenerys asked, furious again.
Ollivander looked at her in surprise. "Merlin, no. Of course not. Even if we wanted to, and we don't, dragons are not easy creatures to kill. No, when a dragon dies of natural causes, we harvest what we can from their body. Many parts of a dragon are useful. Their hide we use for clothes – boots and jackets and gloves. Dragonbone was once used to make weapons, bows especially. Their blood and their liver we use in potions – very expensive they are too. And their hearts we use as wand cores."
Daenerys was pacified by his answer. Ollivander smiled at her. He looked amused that she would care about dragons. But Ollivander couldn't really know what the dragons meant to her, what they were to her. Nobody could. All dragons were her children, her family – they were a part of her, the only family she had ever known that had never betrayed her. She cared more about dragons than she cared about people, if she had to be honest. The dragons had never betrayed her, never failed her. She couldn't say the same about people.
Daenerys suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was, meanwhile, flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Targaryen. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."
Daenerys took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"
Daenerys tried – but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
"No, no. Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Daenerys tried. And tried. She had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere. I wonder, now…yes, why not…unusual combination…holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Daenerys took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well...how curious...how very curious..."
He put Daenerys's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious…"
"Sorry," said Daenerys, "but what's curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Daenerys with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Targaryen. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you your scar."
Daenerys wasn't sure what to say to that, so she said nothing.
Ollivander continued, "yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Targaryen...After all, He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."
Daenerys remained silent. Hagrid didn't say a word either. She paid seven galleons for her wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Daenerys and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Daenerys didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on her lap. Daenerys realized they were standing in front of St. Mary's orphanage only when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder. She was just in time for dinner.
"Well, this is it." Hagrid said, a touch awkwardly. "See yeh the first o' September, Daenerys."
Daenerys smiled at him before making her way inside the orphanage's gate. She turned one last time to see Hagrid leave but he had already vanished.