Chapter 2: Diagon Alley
Instead of catching a bus, Harry Potter managed to subtly influence a family to give him a ride to Charring Cross Road, using his powers and genuine charm. It saved him money, but mostly it saved him time. If he only managed to catch Diagon Alley as the bank closed, unaware of the hours as he was, he would be completely toast. There was no subtly charming magical folk, Harry would never risk it. If it even worked, dealing with the aftermath might not be pretty. He kept an eye out for 'strange clothing' as his Aunt had put it. Before looking for the Leaky Cauldron though, he popped into a clothing store and bought himself a large hoodie, hugely discounted because of his 'coupon' and the 'sale'. Technically, it was stealing, but he had a receipt.
As he walked along the sidewalk, Harry began to pass by people in all sorts of odd arrangements. Some were dressed in the fashion of decades ago, others wore robes, and some even looked as if they had been caught in a laundry explosion. Eventually, an obviously out of place building thrust itself into the space between two shops. The space around it stretched and strained as Harry passed by it, strangely dressed folks walked in and out. Harry sighed as he observed from across the street. A hooded ten-year-old might be too conspicuous, but who knew with the magical world? 'The Leaky Cauldron', as it was named, appeared dingy and dark.
Harry crossed the street and entered the aptly named pub, hood raised. Inside was still dark, but much less dingy. The atmosphere was an initially off-putting mix of warm, gloomy, and strange. Harry glanced at the bar, and noticed the barkeep was eying him up while cleaning a glass with a rag. He was balding and none too attractive, but Harry noticed a sharpness about him. Friend or foe, in a magical world where he didn't know the rules, best to lean into his ignorance as best he could. He went up to the bar, most of the patrons were too deep into their drink to even look up at a rogue ten-year-old.
"Mr. Barkeep, how do I get into Diagon Alley? I'm new to the wizarding world."
"Plain as day y'are. All the muggle-born come through here. But why are you alone? Some kind of error? One of the teachers is supposed to accompany you."
Harry thought of a valid reason as quickly as he could. "I'm supposed to meet my Uncle outside the bank actually. He's magical, not from this country though." Harry leaned in. "Bit of an odd family situation, not really keen on washing dirty laundry if you don't mind. Needless to say, him and my dad don't get along."
The barkeep nodded. "I'll get you on your way. I'm the innkeeper here by the way, everyone just calls me Tom."
"Harrison, Harrison Ford." Harry struck out his hand and Tom shook it. If Tom recognized the name, he didn't flinch. He only nodded again and brought Harry to a brick wall down a hall. He then tapped a few bricks with a wand. Harry eyed the wand. What sort of powers did he have? Was he weak or strong? More importantly, how did it work? Bricks turned and rearranged themselves, opening into what must have been Diagon Alley.
Harry took a deep intake of breath at the busy scene before him. People in all sorts of odd robes and dress scurried about, even odder than the entrance to the Leakey Cauldron. Interesting and strange shops stretched further than the eye could see, some Harry recognized by their "muggle" equivalent, like an ice cream shop. Others were less obvious, like Quidditch Supplies.
"Good luck Harrison, bank is straight ahead," said Tom as he turned back and the bricks reformed.
Harry went straight as Tom told him, until he came to a fork in the road. In the center of the fork, a large marble building loomed over the alley, with armored human-like creatures outside. They were short, with long fingers and beady eyes. He hurried over and into the building, only to be met by more of these same creatures, who appeared to be the bankers. The inside felt larger than the outside could reasonably be, even considering he had taken some steps down. It was as if the marble building had transformed into a well-decorated cavern. There were multiple hallways that stretched back, and right in the center, a row of counters. Harry approached one of the counters with an available teller.
"Yes?" the disgruntled creature looked down its nose at Harry from a height. It was standing on something, as the creature was definitely short. Come to think of it, were they human? He didn't know what magic was capable of.
At the very least, he needed to trust the bank in order to move forward. "Hello, I'm going to be as straightforward as I possibly can. I am completely ignorant of the world of magic, having only recently discovered I was magical. Please excuse any rudeness my ignorance of the magical world might cause. But I was told I might have accounts here possibly? I also wish to be as discreet as possible."
The creature looked at him curiously now, still annoyed, but more perplexed. "Gringotts business is never revealed to outsiders as a general rule. Name?"
"Harry Potter."
*CLANG* The creature dropped the pen it was holding.
He, from what Harry could tell, leaned over the counter and examined underneath his hood, pulling it up slightly. He seemed satisfied when he found the scar. "Mr. Potter… I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of any account unless you confirm your identity, and then you could need a key. As for etiquette, you have comported yourself quite well."
"Then I might as well take a risk. Are you human? All I was told was that this was a bank. Do you have any etiquette advice?"
The creature laughed for what felt like ages. Its laugh unsettled Harry, as it was throaty and almost indistinguishable from coughing. "The wizarding world has some elitist traditions and some extra things not found in the muggle world, but otherwise is the same as far as I know. Us goblins are more elaborate. I would suggest reading up on our traditions, otherwise, the gist is to not waste our time. Time is money after all," the goblin patiently explained.
"How may I go about proving my identity? And I do not have a key. What if it has been lost or is in another's possession?" Harry asked.
"How rude of me Mr. Potter. Follow along please, I will explain." The goblin hopped from the desk and started walked towards one of the large halls sloping slightly downwards, Harry kept apace. "We will do a simple magical test to determine your identity. As for the key, it depends on the accounts you may or may not have. Goblin magic would prevent a stolen key from being usable, likewise a lost key found by the wrong person. A rightful key in someone else's hands means they will have access to your accounts unless your access exceeds theirs, in which case you can nullify their key remotely at great cost. As for your current situation, we can either create a key for a price, or give you access temporarily for an extra fee. Non-keyed accounts, our most secure accounts, have no such problem."
"And the costs and fees would be?"
The goblin smiled, though it came off as slightly threatening with his dagger teeth. "A 5% withdrawal fee for temporary access, or 100 galleons to create a new key."
They came into a small almost empty room with various interesting devices on a single shelf on the far side, and a stool in the center. It was torchlit, the rough stone wall made it look like a cave with a tiled floor.
"What is your name by the way?" asked Harry as the goblin grabbed a staff with a metal cylinder on one end and a glass orb on the other.
"Grab the orb please. My name is Rockgrit."
Harry did as he was told and felt a warm sensation pass through him. The cylinder spit a roll of parchment out of it with a list of numbers.
"687, James and Lily Potter account, complete access with key. 704 Potter Family account, keyless, no access until majority age. 711, Black account, keyless, galleon withdrawal only," Rockgrit rattled off, "Mr. Harry Potter, a pleasure." Rockgrit bowed with one hand at his waist.
"Are there any withdrawal fees on vault 711? And what connection do I have with the Black family? I'm not going to be withdrawing from some other family's account, am I?"
"You are the godson of a Mr. Sirius Black. He is in prison for the murder of muggles, and is accused of betraying your parents to the Dark Lord—And yet you have access to his account… Interesting."
Harry connected the dots. His Aunt had mentioned the circumstances of his fame to the best of her ability. Evil wizard who murdered his parents, Dark Lord, obviously one and the same.
"Why is it interesting?" asked Harry.
"Godson status is not magically recognized. Mr. Black would have had to alter his account manually to give you access. An odd thing to do for a traitor. I will check the records, hold on." Rockgrit swiped the air with his fingers, a scroll appeared in his hands, which he opened and then pointed at with a bony finger. "He altered it via owl on the very night your parents were killed."
"Wouldn't this have come up during a trial?" Harry asked with a grimace.
"You have a great deal to learn about magical society. I will tell you this: a wizard would easily overlook this and assume the ministry had it covered. We goblins are far more skeptical of the Ministry of Magic, as you should be as well. One day your life may depend on it," Rockgrit warned ominously.
# # #
After being reassured that he was well within his right to take from the Black fortune no matter the circumstance, a hefty sum of 100 galleons was delivered to him from the vault. Rockgrit explained if he took from the Potter accounts other goblins might leak the information to Dumbledore, who also had access to them. While they waited Harry asked Rockgrit as many questions as he could manage. The goblin was happy to answer as many questions as he could, he complimented Harry on his maximizing time spent. When Harry asked if he might need more money, he was told that all ministry approved business had ledgers through Gringotts Bank they paid for. High-level purchases were done with accounts, all he had to do was put it on his 'tab'. Though, if he was avoiding detection it might be unwise to use the accounts in the Potter name.
Hood back up, Harry first made his way towards the closest place for robes so that he could fit in more easily, and funnily enough, cover his scar better with the types of cloaks preferred by magical society. He chose Madam Malkins, as he wanted a fresh wardrobe, but not anything overly expensive. From all appearance, it was the middle ground between the fine custom robes and secondhand. The shop window was nicely decorated with various manikins in dress robes dancing about. A small note in the corner of the window noted school robes were available for purchase.
As Harry entered a chime sounded, another boy was being fitted for robes. The boy looked timid; with a round, slightly chubby face and blonde hair. Harry nodded as he entered, and then looked at the clock inside, which had the hour hand at two. The woman who worked in the shop didn't even glance up as she continued to work on the other boy.
"Stand up on the platform next to the other mirror and I'll be right with you," she said.
"Yes ma'am." Harry stood and waited for a few minutes, looking around the room at the various robes packed together in hanging racks that filled the room. With two spaces for raised platforms with mirrors surrounding them.
"Okay sweetie," the woman said, "let's get you measured first. Can you take down the hood? I need to get your neck."
Harry knew from the Goblin that his safety was much less of a concern nowadays than Aunt Petunia had been led to believe. And yet, something told him he wanted to remain anonymous. The person who had placed Harry with the Dursleys was a powerful man apparently, Dumbledore. The people who would compromise his safety, those were the Dark Lord's followers. Rockgrit told him there were too many who got off, and too many with swift convictions for his liking. If Harry waited for the regular way of things at the Dursleys, he would start his network of trust from whoever Dumbledore sent. Now, he had no clue who to trust, but at least his view wouldn't be overly painted by the man who had never checked in on him.
"Sweetie, did you hear me? Hello?"
She sounded nice enough. But the boy… What was his family?
"Sorry. Just one question. I've heard muggle-borns are discriminated against. Is this shop okay with muggle-borns?"
The seamstress looked at Harry with an open mouth, and Harry noticed the moon-faced boy light up. Either he was a muggle-born, or he wanted to befriend one.
"Why of course! We serve all! Even those who discriminate… If I had my way…" she trailed off with a dark expression, "But we can't afford to turn away our wealthy customers. Needless to say, we don't tolerate whatever I'm sure you recently encountered, so don't worry," the woman rambled.
The boy spoke up, "I'm N-Neville Longbottom! My gran says some of the best witches and wizards of all time were muggle-born. Looks like we'll be in school together, what's your name?"
"I'm incognito for safety reasons. I'll let you in on it if you promise not to tell a soul, not even your Gran" Harry responded.
"Of course!" Neville easily replied.
"What's with this mellowdr-HARRY POTTER!" the woman shrieked as Harry removed the hood.
Neville paled as he looked at Harry wide-eyed. "It's really you, you're back!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "No thanks to anyone else. I came here first because I need to be able to hide my scar, and I wanted to blend in while I got my school robes. Please keep this to yourselves."
"Not tell the world that Harry Potter has returned to the wizarding world? Are you mad child?!" the woman's eye twitched, clearly a gossip hound.
Hostility, he could manage. Idiocy of this kind, Harry found himself unable to deal with properly. Was he that famous? Perhaps, this is where the soft approach fails?
"Listen to me very carefully. My anonymity is very important to me," Harry said slowly and deliberately, "If you betray my trust, I will never shop here again. You are very nice, but I refuse to be harassed every time I shop here. So, decide now," Harry demanded.
The woman withered. "I-I didn't- I wouldn't. Sorry, the excitement just got to me."
Neville puffed up slightly as Harry turned to pressure the timid boy. "I would never betray your trust, not even for gran."
"The loyal and brave in a pinch type. I'll remember this Neville," Harry smiled warmly.
Immediately Neville turned red and withered like the woman. Was he allergic to compliments?
"I'm not brave…" Neville muttered.
"I get the impression that you're a timid guy." Harry shrugged. "But anyone can look brave in everyday life. To be brave when there's nothing to be afraid of is just pomposity."
"…" Neville took a breath to consider what Harry said and shook his head. He slumped, causing his ill-fitting robe being magically adjusted, to bunch.
"I couldn't even tell my gran I didn't want my dad's wand. It doesn't respond to me… I think my magic was an accident, I'm practically a squib," Neville revealed.
"We're in Diagon Alley right now. Go get one! I'll give you the Galleons even!" Harry encouraged. "I understand being at a family member's mercy more than anyone." It was Harry's turn to look downwards.
"YOU?" Neville hopped from his platform, his face skeptical and hopeful.
"Yes me. Don't allow yourself to be limited just because that's what your family wants." Harry clenched his fists. He calmed himself and cleared his mind. His time with the Dursleys was over forever.
# # #
When Neville's gran returned, Harry made sure to hide his face. Neville warned Harry his Gran could recognize Harry as she knew his parents. When she walked in, Neville grit his teeth and went on the attack, demanding he get a wand for himself. Partly because he was determined to do so, mostly because otherwise she could turn her attention to Harry. Clutch bravery indeed. Instead of reacting negatively as Neville winced in preparation for, she laughed and told him he was behaving more like his father. Harry smiled under his hood.
"You're all set, Mr. Ford. That's one traveling cloak, two dress robes of blue and black, a very nice trimmed robe, some undergarments, and the traditional school package. Will that be all?"
"Yes, that will be all. Please put it on vault 711."
"Sure, sign this then."
Harry signed what looked like an order form, and walked out into the street again. This time fitted in a bulky travel cloak that hid his face well. His next stop was Caldweather's Carriables, for a trunk and a bag. Neville had accidentally filled in quite a lot of detail for Harry.
He entered to the tinkling of a small bell. This store felt very cramped. Trunks filled the room in rows, leaving very little room to walk around. Bags filled a shelf in the very back of the store, with a counter to the left of the entrance at the very front.
"How can I do ye?" asked a rough-looking middle-aged man manning the front counter with a bored expression.
"First year. Need a trunk and a bag. Have more wealth than I know what to do with," Harry smirked.
"OH! Why didn't ye say so! I'll gladly help ye! You'll want the best of the best then?" the man started counting on his fingers excitedly.
"I don't need fancy, I need function." Harry sniffed, looking around the room at the various labels as he walked. "Something I could use well into adulthood."
"You'll be wanting some heavy enchantments then, quite the price leap right there. The materials that can really hold an enchantment are a bit pricier," said the man, "Do you have the coin? What's your name?"
"Do you inquire into the family business of all your customers? I have 100 galleons on hand. If you have a trunk worth more, I doubt you could convince me to buy it. Otherwise I'll just use my vault number." Harry chaffed at the questioning. This world was too small for his comfort. He had to be careful, he had won the wizarding lottery. There were plenty of cases of lotto winners going bankrupt. More importantly, the young lord act was pretend, but he couldn't end up like Dudley, not ever.
# # #
The salesman convinced Harry to buy a very expensive trunk indeed. It reminded Harry of the upsells used car salesmen tried to pull. Enchanted mahogany, with iron trim. It had a weight, protection, and space enchantments; making it consistently the same weight with a great deal of space. He chose against feather-weight, as that was too light for a trunk, and self-organizing was too expensive to justify. For the bag he got a charmed leather bag for weight reduction, it would always be 1/10th the weight of the things inside, except when the charm ran out. The man told him he would want to get another bag when he got older, and so he shouldn't overspend now, so long as he came back for his next purchase. He would.
As Harry left the shop, he noticed it was a quarter to three in the clock shop window across the way. Another clock in the window told him it was a two-sugars-in-your-tea day, whatever that meant. There was enough time to get his school books, and some other books…
Neville was walking with his Grandmother, a small proud smile on his face. He didn't recognize Harry under his new cloak. Perfect.
Neville couldn't remember what was on the school list when Harry had asked, his gran had it with her, but he did recommend Harry go to Flourish and Blotts for his schoolbooks. They were the semi-official bookstore for school textbooks. Harry hadn't gotten his letter, but Neville reassured Harry he definitely would if he had displayed magic. Harry kept his magical experimentation under wraps. Apparently, it was not normal at all, even in the wizarding world. Most only knew they were magical from rare bouts of accidental magic.
When Harry entered, there were a lot of people in the high ceiling store, with books shelved tightly and a narrow second level loft space. He approached the desk.
"First-year?" the young man at the desk asked.
"Yes, I don't have my letter with me though," Harry replied.
The young man sighed. "It's always the same every year. Only the DADA coursebook changes. Here's last year's list."
Harry glanced at it and quickly memorized it. His memory was one of his greatest assets, his 'psychic training' had improved it along with his reading speed. He didn't automatically remember everything he saw, but if he chose to concentrate on something, his memory was more or less photographic.
"Do you want the list or not?" the store clerk shook the piece of paper.
"Already got it." Harry tapped his head. "The books?"
The man stuffed the paper back into a drawer and grumbled. He then turned around to a desk with multiple stacks on it and grabbed one.
*SLAM* The salesman dropped the books down lazily, not caring about their treatment.
"There's the books. Will that be all?"
# # #
After checking out the selection of other books on his way out, Harry shook his head. That bookstore was akin to the chain bookstores in the muggle world. Mostly popular books, and a pretty storefront. He might have stayed to read everything, but the customer service made him want to look elsewhere. His trunk rolled behind him as he looked for a different bookstore. There was a secondhand bookshop, Harry decided to pop in. The windows were filled with stacks, preventing the ability to look within.
The second he walked in; he realized the inside was as advertised. Stacks filled the room; the store counter was almost completely hidden behind a stack to the left of the door. Lights were somewhat blocked by the books, making it very dark inside. It was laughable, a bookstore where you couldn't find books?
An old frazzled woman manned the desk, hunched over a book with a lantern. "No schoolbooks left. Sorry. Weasley's came through early this year."
Wondering what a Weasley was, Harry coughed. "I've got my schoolbooks already. No idea why anyone likes that other bookshop… I need a primer on the wizarding world and magic."
The witch stopped reading and looked up with bloodshot eyes. "A muggle-born with good taste. Rare. Ambitious little snot, all the good stuff is probably out of your league. If you were satisfied with Hogwarts a History, you wouldn't be here though, would you?"
Harry gave the old woman an unamused look. "Just point me in the right direction, I don't need to be handheld."
"Everyone has their favorites. The British Wizarding World is also different from the continent, which is different than other parts of the world. For the wizarding world at large, I'd read 'Magic from Egypt to Rome' and 'Spells on the Tiber' both by Delia Fortescue. Then read Boris Atkinson's masterwork, 'The Politics of Merlin'. 'Hogwarts a History' is good for understanding the Founders."
Harry quickly memorized every word she said. "And for magic?"
"Goshawk is good, your charms schoolbook should be your first read. The theory book is substandard but it works for the first four years I suppose… hmm… Oh! 'Nontraditional Magics' by Herbert Gladwell. If you feel like firing a stunner to your head, I also have a rare book, 'Magical Development: A Meta Study' by Aaron Fletcher. Poor muggle-born died in the last war, nobody wanted to carry his book out of fear. Genius though it is."
Harry felt a twinge of sadness upon learning of the man's death.
# # #
Harry walked back into the Leaky Cauldron dread reaching into his stomach. He had lied to Tom, not realizing there were not many other places to stay within the wizarding world, especially for cheap. The lady at the bookshop had no recommendations. Teleportation, tents that could house a large family, and the relative expense of land made running an inn or hotel much less profitable and in low demand.
Harry walked up to the bar and got Tom's attention.
"Harrison Ford? Looking to have dinner here? Where's your Uncle?"
Should he lie? The crowd in the Leaky Cauldron was larger than it had been before. Everyone Harry talked to liked Tom. According to the seamstress, people in Tom's bad books were few and far between. He wouldn't lie then.
"I need a room," Harry stated, "Also, dinner would be good."
"Have a seat, I'll get you a menu," said Tom with a lift of his eyebrow.
Harry found an empty high top across from the bar and sat down, calculating his next move.
After a bit, Tom came up with a menu in hand. "Here you go Harrison. Why don't you tell me what's going on? I have no problem providing shelter for wayward children when I have the room. I'm not going to just turn a complete blind eye and rent a room to a small child though."
Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. This whole day had been very stressful. He had shut down any anxiety and thrust himself fully into this new world in order to survive. It was like he was running on adrenaline and now was crashing. He felt a sting in his eyes.
"I'm sorry I lied to you Tom. I needed to get my footing. I can't go back to my Aunt and Uncle's house, and I didn't know who would send me back."
Tom laughed. "Not many a person could lie to me easily. I was skeptical of parts of your story. You tellin me the whole thing was a yarn? Damn kid, where'd you get the money?"
"Gringotts. I have accounts."
"Man of mystery until the end, eh? You're not muggle-born then, but I don't know any Fords. And I'd know them if they had more than one account, especially available to a child."
"Muggle actor's name," said Harry, quickly stopping his hand from shaking.
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Explains the clothes you had. Running from muggle relatives. I'm more confused now. What's your real name?"
"Promise you'll listen to my story before you do or say anything."
Tom put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know how these things are, my own father was into the drink. Ya have my word."
"Harry Potter," Harry muttered quickly.
"What about H-MERLIN!"
"Somat wrong Tom?" a drunk patron asked from the bar.
"All's well!" He signaled to the patron. "You're Harry-flippin-Potter?!" Tom screamed in a hushed voice to Harry.
Harry pushed his glasses up and frowned. "Yes. Am I that famous?"
"Yes! And the politics of you runnin away from muggle relatives… There'd be rioting if anyone found out, maybe even muggle violence. And after Dumbledore said he had you all tucked away. I've got to tell Dumbledore where you are. He-"
Harry seethed with rage as quietly as possible. "He isolated me! I refuse to be at his mercy! If Dumbledore told you I should go back to my family, would you listen?"
"Well, I-uh. It's Albus Dumbledore, you don't understand," reassured Tom.
Harry went into himself with his practice honed from years at the Dursleys and reigned in his emotions.
"Please explain then."
Tom, the Innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron, then explained to Harry all about the story of the boy-who-lived and the war with Lord Voldemort. Rockgrit had told him most of it, but by pretending it was all new, Tom filled in some gaps and Harry got a better sense of where he stood.
"We don't say his name in polite company though. Used to be he had a way to track you if you said his name. A taboo."
Harry shuddered at the possibility of being tracked through magical means. He would avoid saying any powerful wizard's name when he didn't want to be found from then on.
"How about this, my birthday is July 31st. A little more than a month. Let me pay for a room until then, don't tell a soul. It would come out when they try to pick me up from my Aunt and Uncle."
"Lad, there's special magic in sending out those letters. They'll come here if they notice where ya are, and they usually come out round near end of July. Either way, nobody is picking you up there. And don't worry, it's an artifact from the age of Merlin. Can't be subverted neither. Ye can stay here until then."
"It's a deal then. I'll have a butterbeer and a meat pie."