Normal

"Speaking"

'Thinking'

Writing

Chapter 2

Since getting his letter, it had taken him the better part of two days to work up the courage to leave Privet Drive and venture into London. He knew there was a bus stop near his school, and that the bus went all the way to London, but his half-formed plans stopped when he realized the bus would require money, something he didn't have. That problem had been solved just that morning when he'd been dusting his aunt and uncle's room and had found a twenty pound note tucked away beneath the jewelry box.

Looking at the money, he'd made a split second decision. He would go to London and look for the Leaky Cauldron. He had refused the think about the very real possibility that the letter was a prank as he had still boarded the bus, and during the whole journey he had shaken like a leaf. Not only had he left Privet Drive on his own (for the first time in his life), but he'd stolen money as well. If Uncle Vernon ever found out... he didn't even want to imagine.

Now, as he stood on the edge of the crowded street, all thoughts of the Dursleys had fled. He stared in delighted disbelief between numbers 42 and 43 of Leadenhall Market where a dingy wooden sign proclaimed a particularly grimy building to be the Leaky Cauldron.

'It's real!'

Like the letter said, it didn't look as though anyone else could see this tiny pub, and Harry dared to think he was witnessing magic at work. Hesitantly, he pushed the creaky door open and entered the gloomy bar. He quickly scanned the room and was relieved to see there were only a half dozen occupants, though there were all wearing an odd assortment of robes and hats, and two women by the fireplace on his right kept moving their heads and hands in a rather twitchy manner.

Trying not to stare, and to appear as though he belonged there, Harry approached the bar and knocked hesitantly on the wood to get the barkeep's attention. An old, bald, and toothless man peered over the counter, squinting suspiciously at Harry, who held up his Hogwarts acceptance letter. Before he could decide what to say, the barkeep spoke.

" 'ogwarts." It was not a question. "Muggleborn?" That was.

Confused at the unfamiliar term, Harry tipped his head a bit, trying not to flinch as the barkeep's carrying voice caught the attention of a few patrons. In response to his apparent confusion the barkeep almost smiled. "Muggles is non-magic folk. Muggleborn, then. You'll be looking for Diagon Alley. This way."

Harry warily followed the barkeep to the back of the pub. Nothing was there except a few weeds and a dusty brick wall. Feeling trapped, Harry edged toward the door they'd come through. He was fast, he knew, and would be able to outrun the old man if he had to.

The man reached into his long coat and pulled out a long, thin piece of wood. A wand? Harry wondered, watching closely. The barkeep tapped out a sequence on the bricks and, to Harry's astonishment, the bricks simply vanished and an archway replaced them.

'Magic! Real magic! It wasn't a joke! It's all real!'

A chuckle to his left brought his attention away from the open display of magic and to the smiling barkeep. Abruptly realizing that his mouth was open, Harry closed it and shifted uncomfortably. He hated it when people laughed at him. He knew he was an ignorant layabout, as Uncle Vernon would put it, but that didn't mean he wanted others rubbing it in his face.

"Go to Gringotts Bank for money before you explore the Alley." The toothless man instructed, then turned back to his pub throwing a "Good luck!" over shoulder.

Swallowing reflexively, Harry turned to the archway and stepped through before he lost his nerve.

Diagon Alley was almost too much to take in. Used to quiet and out of the way corners, Harry felt exposed and vulnerable in the bright, vibrant alley. Even the displays of wondrous magical items in each storefront didn't make qup for the panic that spiked in his chest as he was buffeted about by the crowds.

Finally, he found himself catching his breath on the white steps of the marble building that towered at the end of the alley. The words 'Gringotts Bank' were clearly carved above a pair of enormous bronze double doors that shone in the sunlight. A short person stood on either side of the doors, and Harry's anxiety increased sharply as he realized they were wearing magnificent scarlet and gold armor and were gripping long, sharp spears.

Like he'd done in the pub, Harry stepped forward deliberately and tried to act as though he knew where he was going. He watched the guards closely as he passed between them, ready to bolt if they so much as looked at him. But he remained unscathed and found himself in an empty foyer before another set of doors, these a shimmering silver.

As he tried to calm the shaking in his hands and legs, Harry read through the warning poem engraved on the doors themselves.

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

Harry couldn't quite suppress a smile. For some odd reason, the familiarity of veiled threats was comforting. He could deal with people who didn't like him.

He cracked one of the doors open just enough to slip into the bank, closing it silently behind him. Upon entering, he quickly scanned his new surroundings for exits and potential dangers.

The hall he'd entered was enormous, nearly cavernous, and made of what seemed to be solid marble. In two parallel lines facing each other across the doors were rows of beautifully carved desks. About two dozen men and women were standing at different desks, waiting in line, or going in and out of inconspicuous doors in the back.

As his gaze fell on one of the people seated behind the desks, Harry received yet another shock: the bank workers were clearly not human. They were no taller than he, with pointed ears and noses, swarthy skin and a variety of scars, long fingers, sharp teeth, and beady black eyes that shone with intelligence and cunning.

Shaking himself out of his shock, Harry joined the nearest line and tried to make himself as small and uninteresting as possible. Before he could fully calm his pounding heart, he found himself facing the non-human bank teller.

"Well?"

He - for the non-human was definitely male - sneered over his desk at Harry. Instinctively, the boy lowered his gaze and adopted a respectfully submissive posture as he pulled his Hogwarts letter carefully out of his pocket.

"Er... I, um... I just got an acceptance letter from... Hogwarts, and I'd like to know how to... to pay the... tuition... and things." He spoke quietly, trying to sound polite and not as though he'd spent most of the last three years in silence, though he couldn't help trailing off at the end. He wished fervently that he wasn't covered in grime from London's streets, and dirt from his weeding the garden that morning. It didn't help that his huge, second hand shirt kept slipping off one of his shoulders, or that his baggy trousers were literally held up with string.

"Hn." The teller's gaze swept down Harry's grimy, tattered form, and his lip curled in a thin sneer of disgust. Harry recognized the look, having seen it frequently on Aunt Petunia's face.

"Name?" The teller snapped impatiently.

"Harry... P-Potter." Harry stumbled over his last name, not used to saying or even hearing his full name. Uncle Vernon usually called him 'boy', or 'freak' when he was in trouble, and Aunt Petunia seemed to experience physical pain each time the words 'Harry' or 'Potter' came up.

For some reason the teller's eyes flicked to Harry's forehead, which was dirt smeared and hidden by his untidy, overgrown hair. The non-human's sneer became a scowl and for one wild moment Harry thought the Dursleys might have come here to tell these people he wasn't allowed, as they'd done in the ice cream parlor, library, and arcade by Privet Drive.

But no, he realized, that wasn't right. The Dursleys weren't magic. They couldn't come into Diagon Alley... could they?

"Harry Potter's entire Hogwarts tuition as already been paid in full." The tone was like ice, and the scowl twisted into a mocking smile. "Would Mister Harry Potter like an escort down to his vault?"

"Um... yes? Thank you." Completely confused, and becoming increasingly afraid, Harry thought the best course of action was to agree with whatever the teller suggested. That usually worked with Aunt Petunia.

Unfortunately, when the teller extended a hand with unconcealed impatience, Harry had no idea what to do.

"Your vault key, wizard."

Harry flinched. The teller said 'wizard' in the exact tone of contempt that his Aunt and Uncle used whenever they said 'freak'.

"Um... I don't... don't have a key." Harry's voice ended in a near whisper, and he couldn't repress another flinch at the teller's contemptuous scoff.

"Then, wizard," The teller sneered again, and condescension dripped from his voice, "I will need a drop of your blood to verify the validity of your claim of access to Harry Potter's vault."

Harry didn't understand, but he took the little penknife he was handed and obediently slashed the palm of his left hand, allowing a large drop of crimson blood to splash onto the parchment the teller had pushed forward. To his amazement, the red drop disappeared into the paper, which then glowed with golden words that scrawled themselves across the blank page.

More magic!

Harry didn't recognize what language the words were from, but the teller seemed to have no problem understanding.

"Well, Harry Potter, your claim is valid." The teller announced, rolling up the parchment with long fingers. He shoved it unceremoniously toward Harry, who set the penknife back on the desk and stuffed the parchment quickly in his pocket with his non-injured hand.

"You will be escorted to your vault now." The teller continued brusquely, "And unless you wish to bleed each time you visit Gringotts, I suggest you locate your vault key. Griphook!"

Harry jumped at the shout as another non-human seemed to appear out of nowhere and led Harry away from the desk with a grunted "Follow me."

"Thank you." Harry called quickly to the non-human he'd been talking to, before turning to follow the other one - Griphook, he repeated to himself - further into the bank.

To get to his vault, he had to ride in a little cart on a track that wound through caves, caverns, and tunnels going deeper and deeper into the earth. It was one of the most exhilarating feelings of his life. The rush of air, the sharp twists and turns, the stomach lurching drops - Harry felt as though he were flying.

When the cart came to a stop, he clambered out with a giddy grin on his face. That, he thought, was worth stealing twenty pounds and leaving Privet Drive without permission.

"You don't have your key." Griphook snapped, and Harry turned to him, smile vanishing quickly. "So you will need to give the door your blood to gain access."

Recognizing an order when he heard one, the boy stepped forward and ran the cut on his palm across the enormous, intricately decorated door, leaving a smear of red on the dark metal. Stepping back, Harry curled his hand slightly to prevent any blood from falling to the floor, and tucked it into his pocket.

There was a click, some whirring, and a clunk. Then the huge door swung open.

Afterward, Harry couldn't exactly remember how he got back to the alley. He'd seen the stacks and stacks of gold, silver, and bronze coins, and his brain had just stopped. It seemed completely out of the realms of reality that he had a fortune that looked like a dragon's hoard to his name.

He'd wondered if he was getting into the vault of some other Harry Potter, but with the way Griphook had been scowling, he hadn't worked up the courage to ask. He guessed that his blood was like his fingerprint, and the fact that his had unlocked the vault meant that all that money was indeed his.

So where had it all come from and who had put it there?

Now he stood behind one of the columns by Gringotts front doors, clutching the leather bag Griphook had given him in exchange for two of the gold coins. Harry had filled it to the brim with gold and silver coins, putting quite a few bronze ones into his pockets as well.

He had no idea how much how much he needed for his books and things, so he'd gotten as many coins as he could carry. However, he didn't know what they were worth, or, come to think of it, what they were called.

Gritting his teeth and gripping the leather bag tightly with both hands, he reentered the busy alley, trying to reach the shop he thought might be a good place to start. No one took any notice of him as he darted between and around them, though he flinched whenever someone got too close or bumped into him.

Finally reaching his destination, he stopped to calm his heart in the shadow of the doorway. Having caught his breath, he glanced once more at the shop's name - Bottomless: bags, purses, and sacks for all occasions! - before sliding quietly inside.

Thankfully, the store wasn't very full, so Harry relaxed a bit and looked curiously at the displays. Leather sacks like the one he clutched, little sparkling beaded bags, rucksacks like the ones Dudley had, and purses of all kinds sat on the shelves and stands. Harry wandered through it all, knowing he needed something to hold his school supplies, but not knowing exactly what he needed, or even what the prices were. He kept glancing at the shopkeeper, half expecting the man to spot him and kick him out.

The door suddenly opened and a large group of women entered, crowding the front of the shop. Harry backed up immediately, pressing himself against the shelves along the back wall. None of the newcomers seemed to notice him, but he kept his eyes on them anyway. He tried to shift behind a shelf as one of them looked in his direction, but ended up slamming his shoulder into the corner of a stand and knocking several bags to the floor.

Ignoring the throbbing that was sure to become a bruise later, Harry hurriedly replaced the bags on their shelf. As he picked up the last one, an old and rather battered looking brown canvas messenger bag with two large buckles on the outside, he paused to read the tag tied to the strap.

This item has been enchanted with a Standard Undetectable Extension Charm, and two Minor Blood Seals on the central buckles, allowing none but the owner to open it.

'This... looks pretty good.' Harry thought, weighing the bag in his hand. He didn't know what that charm was, but he knew he wanted to be the only one to be able to open this bag. Imagining any of the Dursleys finding magic books and wands in his bag made him shudder. They'd probably burn his things and lock him up until he was eighteen and they could kick him out.

However, it'd be easy to just hide one bag. Would his books fit though?

"Hello, dear."

Harry jumped and spun around as the soft voice sounded directly behind him. Warily, he peered up through his dirty bangs at the woman who'd spoken. He was utterly dumbstruck.

She was, without contest, the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. Her hair was the same color as honey, and lay in an elegant twist over her shoulder. Her eyes were the light green of flower shoots, and they sparkled like gems.

More than this, she was wearing a smile like Harry had never seen directed at him before. Kind, gentle, and soft, it was the smile he'd seen mothers give their children, but that he had never gotten. He felt suddenly filthy standing before her warm glow, and panic clawed at the inside of his belly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." She took a small step back and continued, still smiling, "I just wanted to know if you had found a bag you liked."

Blinking in surprise, Harry nodded once, unconsciously gripping the messenger bag in the hand that wasn't clutching his bag of money. Was she going to take it? Aunt Petunia always took things from him when she found out he liked them.

"That's wonderful." The woman's smile became a little brighter, and Harry couldn't help but want to bask in its warmth.

"Would you like to come with me to the front?" She held up a light pink handbag that glittered in the light. "I've found the right bag too."

Wariness at people in general battled with the desire to spend a few more moments in the lady's warm presence. The latter won.

Nodding again, he took a little step toward her. A spark of something bubbly lit inside of him as her smile widened. Side by side, they went to the register where Harry suddenly remembered he still had no idea what the coins were worth or how expensive the bag was.

"I'd like to purchase this bag, please, wrapped if you will." The lady told the shopkeeper, distracting Harry from his panic, "And this little one would also like to make a purchase."

"Of course, madame. Let me ring you up." The shopkeeper took the pink bag from the lady's hand, and Harry paid close attention as he named the price of twelve sickles. The lady took out twelve of the silver coins (sickles Harry committed to memory) and handed them to the shopkeeper, who waved his wand. Brown paper and string that had been sitting on the counter suddenly sprang up and wrapped the pink bag neatly, with a little bow on the top.

Harry flinched a bit at the sudden movement, and his heart beat in his throat as the shopkeeper turned to him.

"Well lad?" The shopkeeper was smiling, but Harry could see the hardness in the man's eyes. He understood. Harry was a filthy little boy in the middle of a store that kind and pretty ladies went to. He didn't belong there.

Ducking his head and taking courage from the lady's continued presence, he reached up and set the bag he wanted on the counter.

"This'll be six galleons and four sickles, lad."

Harry immediately went to open his money bag, but stopped when the lady spoke.

"Why so much? It seems an old bag."

Nervously, Harry listened, hoping the shopkeeper didn't get mad and not let him buy it.

"It is old, but it's got an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. That's a tricky bit of magic." The shopkeeper addressed the lady with a patient tone, completely ignoring Harry, which was a relief.

"Yes," The lady agreed, and her tone was equally patient, "but one standard extension charm doesn't cost more than two galleons."

"This bag's also got a security feature." The shopkeeper pointed out the two buckles. "Each of these is enchanted with a Minor Blood Seal. Each of those is usually three galleons, but the bag's been on the shelf for so long we lowered it to two galleons. So two galleons for the extension charm, two each for the blood seals, and four sickles for the bag itself."

The lady inspected the bag, then nodded. "That's a fair price. Thank you for explaining."

"Not at all." The shopkeeper bowed a little, then turned back to Harry, his eyes hardening once more above his smiling mouth. "So, lad, that's six galleons and four sickles."

Hands trembling, Harry opened his money bag a little, carefully counted out four silver sickles, and set them on the counter. Then he put his hand back in his bag and hesitated. Which one was a galleon, a gold or a bronze? Based on what had been said, a galleon was worth more than a sickle... and everyone knew that gold was better than bronze... so...

Taking a quick breath, he pulled out six gold coins and set them slowly on the counter, watching the shopkeeper closely. To his relief, the man took the coins without a word.

"Would you like your bag wrapped up?" The lady asked Harry, who blushed and shook his head. That made it like a present, and he didn't get presents.

The shopkeeper handed him the bag - his bag - and Harry clutched it close to his chest. He followed the lady to the door, then hesitated. She seemed to notice, because she turned toward him, still smiling. Her eyes were as kind as her smile was, and Harry couldn't find any trace of disgust or contempt in her face.

"I'm glad you were able to find the right bag."

That sounded like a goodbye, and for the first time in Harry's life he didn't want an adult to leave him. He'd never had someone look at him like she did, and he didn't want to go back to the world of sneering bank tellers and hard-eyed shopkeepers.

So, gathering all his courage, he looked up at her and said, "Th-thank you. Can I... please... buy you an ice cream?"

He blushed immediately and ducked his head. It was a selfish question, he knew, but he hoped she would let him stay with her just a little bit longer. When she didn't speak right away, he braced himself for her refusal. Maybe she'd see how selfish he was and scold him like Aunt Petunia did.

"I would love that."

Harry's head shot up and he stared wide-eyed at the lady who was, unbelievably, still smiling at him. A little smile of his own found its way onto his face in response before he realized he had no idea what to do now. Frantically casting about in his mind for some hint, he remembered Uncle Vernon taking Aunt Petunia out for the evening.

He tucked his new bag under his left arm, still gripping the moneybag in that hand, but then realized he was too short for her to hold his elbow. So, before he lost his nerve, he held out his hand toward her. She took it in hers and he led her out into the Alley.

This time, the crowds didn't bother him. With the lady's warm hand around his, he felt like nothing could touch him. He kept looking up at her, mesmerized by her shimmery hair, dancing eyes, and never fading smile.

So absorbed he was, that he almost walked past the ice cream shop he'd seen on his way to Gringotts. It was the smell of toffee that caught his attention, and he stopped in front of the door. It had been teeming with people earlier, but as they entered the shop he realized with relief that the crowds had died down significantly.

"Welcome my lady, and welcome to the little master!"

Harry blinked in shock as they were greeted enthusiastically by a white haired, large bellied man wearing a uniform that was lime green, bright pink, and banana yellow. Overall, he looked like a bowl of sherbet.

The sherbet-man bounced towards them, grinning in delight and clapped his hands in excitement.

"No day is complete without a sweet treat from Florean Fortesque's!" He declared with so much enthusiastic arm waving that Harry took a step back.

"What would you both like, then?" The large man bounded over to his place behind the counter and donned a baby blue apron and matching hat. Harry and the lady both moved to the front of the counter and looked at all the choices. Harry hadn't ever had ice cream, so he had no idea what to pick. Though he was certain some of the flavors, like 'Charmingly Cheese' and 'Sleeping Snarggaloff' were only found in magical ice cream shops.

"Wait, don't tell me!" Cried the shopkeeper as the lady opened her mouth to order. She closed it again, sending an amused glance to Harry.

"You, my lady," The man narrowed his eyes, pointing an ice cream scoop at her, "seem like a woman of refined taste, with a discerning eye, and tastefully decorated sitting rooms. Therefore..."

He darted up and down the long counter, spinning, scooping, and making various exclamations of delight as he went. He returned the next moment with a full bowl of ice cream, before Harry could do more than wonder what sitting rooms had to do with ice cream flavors.

"Viola!" The man declared, lifting the bowl up as though he'd found a cache of jewels. "One scoop of strawberry, one of mango, and one of peach, drizzled with a purely raspberry puree and topped, classically, with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry. A Very Fruity Bowl for you, my lady."

Harry had to let go of the lady's hand as she took her ice cream, thanking the man with a laugh. His hand suddenly felt very cold, and he couldn't help but feel alone again, even though she was still standing by him.

"And you, little master."

Harry looked up at the shopkeeper, surprised that the man's friendly smile and big, jolly voice hadn't changed when he looked at him.

"You seem like a very kind little master, who always eats his vegetables, and never puts nifflers in his grandmother's china cabinet. For you..."

He was off, spinning and scooping up and down the counter again, and Harry was left wondering what on earth a niffler was. The man returned as suddenly as he'd left, proffering a bowl now bearing ice cream.

"A scoop of chocolate, and a scoop of vanilla, with a warm treacle tart in the middle, and topped, like the lady's, with whipped cream and a cherry."

Harry took the bowl carefully in his right hand, and gave the shopkeeper a slightly awkward bow.

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome, both of you!" The man beamed, then shooed them toward a little table along the wall. "Now go enjoy yourselves. Don't worry about payment until your bellies are full, your eyes are droopy, and you've sworn off any other ice cream establishment!"

With another laugh, he bounced away to where a few new customers had just entered.

Harry glanced at the lady with a slight grin, and she laughed as they took their seats across from each other in the booth, Harry setting both his bags carefully between him and the wall.

"I've never come to this ice cream parlor before." The lady said, using a silver spoon with a ridiculously long handle to scoop a bite of ice cream from her bowl. "And I'm beginning to think I've been missing out. Thank you for taking me here today."

Harry blushed, and grabbed his own weird spoon. It took him a moment to figure out how to hold the strange thing, but then he managed to get a scoop of the chocolate ice cream into his mouth. Involuntarily, his eyes closed and he sighed. If this is what chocolate tasted like, then Harry didn't blame Dudley for keeping a stash of it under his bed.

He tried the vanilla, then a piece of the warm tart, then went back to the chocolate. This was heaven! Swallowing, he glanced up at the lady, suddenly wondering what to say. She was, like he, savoring her ice cream, and seemed perfectly content to sit in silence. But Harry remembered the women Aunt Petunia often had over for tea, and how they talked the whole time. And every time Aunt Petunia saw someone she knew on the street or over the fence, she would always stop and chat for at least five minutes.

Harry had concluded that women liked to talk, but he'd never before had to carry a conversation with one. But he guessed that sitting in silence was not the way to go about it. So he took another bite of vanilla before setting his spoon down.

"I... I'm Harry."

The lady set her own spoon down, and held out her hand to him. "I'm Laurel Greengrass."

Harry took her hand again, but hesitated. Shaking hands was something men did to greet each other. Women said hello to each other by hugging or kissing the other's cheek. How did he greet a woman?

Deciding to compromise, and taking his cue from one of the movies Aunt Petunia liked to watch by herself, he leaned forward and kissed the back of the lady's hand. He sat back quickly and took a hasty bite of ice cream.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry." The lady - Laurel Greengrass - said, and Harry was amazed to hear his own name said with such warmth.

"It's nice to meet you, too." He replied, then added after a moment's thought, "Lady Greengrass."

Her lips came together like she was hiding a smile, and Harry took that to mean it was okay to call her that. They both took another bite of ice cream, then he asked a question he'd heard other children ask each other before they became friends. "What... what is your favorite color?"

Lady Greengrass paused for a moment, then said, "I love the color blue. I have a blue dress, and a blue necklace, and even a room with blue walls. What about you?"

Harry thought about that as he took another bite of treacle tart. What color did he like best? Not red, that was the color of blood, and he had too many nightmares about green lights to like that color. But he did like the little flowers in Aunt Petunia's back garden.

"Pink." He said, with certainty. "I like pink. There are pink flowers at my... Aunt's house, and they always look like they're dancing when the wind comes through."

Wondering if he'd said too much, he stuffed another scoop of ice cream into his mouth. His Aunt and Uncle never liked it when he talked, and he'd always wondered if it was because he said stupid things. Was what he'd just told Lady Greengrass stupid?

"That's a wonderful color." Lady Greengrass said, and Harry held in a sigh of relief as she continued, "My youngest daughter likes pink too. I was in the shop earlier to buy a purse for her, and luckily I found one in pink. I think she'll like it."

Harry nodded fervently. "She will." He couldn't imagine anyone being unhappy with presents from their parents. Even Dudley was, though he did complain about not getting enough.

"Thank you, Harry, I'm sure you're right." Lady Greengrass gave him another smile, and Harry felt like he should start counting them, wanting to know how many smiles he'd been given so he could count them in his cupboard when he got back to Privet Drive later.

"I..." Harry hesitated, wondering if Lady Greengrass would want to hear about him at all. Her smile (one) encouraged him, so he continued, "I went to Gringotts today. And... I bought this bag with my own money."

He held up his new bag, then remembered that she had been there when he got it. Again, his face lit up red, and he took another bite of ice cream to cool himself down.

"It's a fine bag." Lady Greengrass complimented with a smile (two) that gave no indication that she noticed his embarrassment.

Reassured, Harry kept going, "Now I can carry my things with me, and I won't have to worry about... losing them."

"You certainly won't lose things with that bag." Lady Greengrass nodded in agreement. "The blood seal enchantments will make sure of that. You need only be careful not to lose the bag itself."

Harry nodded. He'd guessed that the blood seals worked like his vault at Gringotts: without his blood, it wouldn't open. He'd just have to make sure to make sure to clean up any of his blood that got on the floor at the Dursleys, or they might figure out how to open his bag too.

After another couple mouthfuls of ice cream, he remembered another question he'd always wished he had a friend to ask it to. "What is your favorite pet?"

Lady Greengrass seemed to think about it, then replied, "I never had a pet growing up, but my grandmother had a parrot with the most beautiful blue and yellow feathers. And every time someone opened the door, it would say 'Welcome' whether you were going into the room or out of it."

Harry grinned at that, picturing a blue and yellow bird with a big beak squawking 'welcome' every time he went into his cupboard.

"And you?" Lady Greengrass asked, smiling (three) interestedly.

"I never had a pet either." Harry replied knowing his answer already, "But I like spiders. Sometimes I can watch them spin their webs in a corner, and it looks like lace when it's finished."

"I've never watched a spider spin a web before," Lady Greengrass admitted, tilting her head a bit, "but it sounds beautiful."

Harry took two more bites of ice cream, and then his spoon clinked on the bottom of his now empty bowl. He glanced at Lady Greengrass' bowl and realized it was empty as well.

Suppressing the sadness that welled up in his chest, he grabbed his moneybag, put his new bag under his arm, and stood. Lady Greengrass stood as well, and Harry walked slowly with her to the register. The bouncy, bubbly, sherbet-colored shopkeeper greeted them enthusiastically.

"How was your sweet treat, eh? No, don't tell me, it was wonderful! Am I right? Of course I am!"

Harry couldn't really smile, even though he thought the man was very funny. Instead he stepped forward and reached into his moneybag.

"Oh-ho, the little master is paying today then? What a good little gentleman you are, sir."

The praise made Harry forget his sadness for a moment, and he stood just a bit taller as he asked, "How much?"

"For each bowl, ordinarily, 1 sickle and 6 knuts, but for the little master's gentlemanly manners, and with the both of you being first time customers, it'll be half off today. Just seventeen knuts for each bowl."

Harry reached into his pocket, guessing that knuts were the little bronze coins he hadn't used yet, and pulled out thirty-four of the small coins. The shopkeeper took them with a grin and bowed both Harry and Lady Greengrass out of the shop.

Standing on the sidewalk of the alley, Harry turned to Lady Greengrass, and offered her a bow, taking his cue from the ice cream store shopkeeper. She returned his gesture with a curtsy and another smile (four).

"Thank you... for coming with me." Harry wished he could find better words to express how he felt. She seemed to understand though, for she smiled (five) and said, "I'm glad you invited me. I wish you a wonderful day."

"You too." Harry responded, then walked away quickly so he wouldn't have to watch her leave. He reached the other side of the street and couldn't help looking back.

She was gone.

-Line Break-

Five days later, late at night and after he'd finished all his chores for that day, Harry sat on the kitchen floor with a quill in his hand and a piece of parchment on the book he was balancing on his knees. According to one of the (many) books he'd gotten at the bookstore Flourish and Blotts - 'From Muggle to Magic, Things you need to know when joining the Wizarding World' -witches and wizards all wrote with quills and ink, so Harry had spent every evening since his visit to the Alley practicing writing with a quill.

At first it was terribly difficult, and he had left blotches all over the paper, but he wouldn't have been able to do all the chores his aunt gave him if he couldn't learn quickly. Now he could manage clean characters, but his normal scrawled handwriting was still the same. At least it was clearly legible and not covered in big splashes of ink.

On the parchment he was currently leaning over, he was writing his reply to the acceptance letter from Hogwarts. Regardless of the magic of Diagon Alley, he still felt like everything related to the wizarding world would disappear if he didn't reply to the letter that had changed his life.

So far, he'd written a couple drafts, following the style his acceptance letter had been written in, and now he felt confident enough to write out the full thing.

Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,

Thank you for your offer of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I gratefully accept my place at your school, and look forward to starting my education there.

See you on September the 1st,

Harry Potter

Scanning the letter for any misspellings or ink blots, Harry nodded his satisfaction. The first letter he'd ever written was successfully completed. He set it gently to dry on the floor beside him, then turned to the book he'd been using as a desk. It was titled 'Wizarding Etiquette: Everything you wish you'd known as a first year muggleborn'.

It explained everything from forms of address, to the meanings of different wizarding slang, to owl post and house elves, to how to properly greet other witches and wizards. It was this last bit that told Harry, to his relief, that greeting a witch by kissing her hand was a common practice, though children weren't expected to.

Surprisingly, there was a whole chapter devoted to forms of greetings alone, which Harry made a point to practice and memorize.

Children (up to age 13) greeting a wizard older than them were expected to offer their right hand to shake, and to do the same for older witches and for children their own age. After turning 13, witches began greeting their elders with a specific form of curtsy, and 13 year old wizards gave different forms of bows to those older than them, depending on the other's rank, and their own, and were expected to kiss a witch's hand if she offered it (usually only witches of high ranking jobs or families expected this treatment).

Harry practiced the different bows as he did his chores and as he worked in the garden, giving various greetings to Lord Rose Bush, Shopkeeper Spider, Lady Morning Glory, and Miss Black Ant.

He was also relieved to find out that he'd addressed Lady Greengrass correctly as well. Though it was usually only required in formal situations for those of high standing, witches could be addressed as Lady. However, wizards could only be addressed as Lords if they were the head one of 28 specific wizarding families. Unfortunately, the book didn't include a list of these 28 families, so Harry made a mental note to look them up later so as not to accidentally insult someone.

Harry closed Wizarding Etiquette, and checked his letter. The ink had dried, so he folded it carefully and tucked it into the envelope he'd gotten with his parchment, quill, and ink. Carefully addressing the envelope to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he sealed it with a bit of red wax from the candle the shopkeeper had added to his purchase of quill and ink. He didn't have a seal to imprint on the wax, so he just let it dry smooth.

He stood and set the sealed letter reverently on the counter. He was going to have to get back to Diagon Alley to send it, and the thought made him tremble with a mixture of excitement and fear. He had enough money left for three more trips to and from London, and the prospect of so much freedom was terrifyingly thrilling.

On his first and only visit to the alley, he'd discovered that the Undetectable Extension Charm on his new bag meant that whatever he put in just disappeared, and that he never ran out of room. He'd been able to put all his books and school supplies inside it, as well as his moneybag (now including the little bronze coins he'd learned were called knuts).

The cheap grandfather clock in the living room suddenly chimed, startling Harry badly. He held stock still, hardly daring to breathe as he listened intently to the sounds of the house. The hum of the fridge, the chirping of crickets outside, the fading echoes of the clock chimes, and his own pounding heart were all he could hear.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down. The Dursleys weren't coming back for another week... no one had come into the house... it was just the clock chiming midnight.

Wait... it was midnight.

Harry scooped up his book, paper, ink, quill, and letter and went to his cupboard. After tucking the precious items away carefully into his (magic!) bag, he reached beneath his narrow cot and pulled out the broken, purple crayon he'd filched when cleaning Dudley's room the other day.

Squinting a bit in the dark, and using the light he'd left on in the kitchen to see, Harry drew a little cake on the wall at the very back of the cupboard. He added eleven candles, and then the words 'Happy Birthday Harry' beneath it. With a little smile, he sat back.

He didn't usually celebrate his birthday, and the Dursleys never had, but with the discovery of magic it suddenly felt worth celebrating. Going to Diagon Alley tomorrow would be the best birthday present he'd ever gotten.

AN: Hi readers! I'm actually on a roll with the story, so expect new chapters soon :). Also, please leave a review below. It means a lot to me to know people are enjoying my work!

Have a great week!