Tarnished: Chapter One "Air Mail"
Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter, or Spiderman. If you try to sue me, all you will get is my snoopy collection… please don't take my snoopies! A/N: Umm… question: where did my week go? Sigh… You may have noticed I've put up the rating on my story; this isn't because of anything explicit but there are some disturbing concepts included (at least, I think they should be considered disturbing). If you think it should change (either higher or lower) please let me know. Oh, the flashbacks are in italics between lines. If you wish to miss them you can, but they contain a lot of Harry's backstory. Your choice...
Chapter One
Air Mail
Terenth was becoming rather annoyed. He usually didn't have that much of a hard lot in life; being an owl he was unbothered by human concepts such as jobs, and school, and relationships (all of which he'd heard them complain about extensively); and as an owl owned by a school he didn't have to worry overmuch about maintaining a territory or hunting to feed. Yes, life as Hogwarts Post Owl was a literally charmed existence, one he was normally quite fond of. Usually the only real challenge any of the Hogwarts Owls faced was tracking down errant students to deliver them their letters when school term was about to begin; but really, they were the best and brightest of the Owl world so it was a challenge usually met with confident, speedy and competent accomplishment. Never before had Terenth, Owl No. 22 of Hogwarts School's regiment of sophisticated Postal Owls, failed so spectacularly.
Terenth had been up and down what he was sure constituted as most of London, in a crazy flight pattern which had taken him almost two weeks (especially as he was constantly returning to Hogwarts with undelivered letters), looking for one – count it, ONE – student, who forevermore would be referred to as "The Brat" (with capitals) by Terenth.
The first letter he'd tried to deliver to The Brat had been in the middle of an abandoned muggle parking lot and, considering the time of day he'd arrived to deliver the letter (just past six in the morning), Terenth found it a most unusual place to find a ten-turning-eleven-year-old wizardling. He had wondered briefly at the location, but the letter had been precise, as usual: "…Park #68; Turrundown Car Park…"
When Terenth had arrived, however, the only thing he found was a pile of rather trashed cardboard boxes; no sign of a magical child needing his schooling letter. Terenth had been rather put out; this was the first time in his rather long and extensive career that he'd been too late to deliver a letter, there was no point of address at which to leave said letter, and no way to track the errant recipient. In a huff, he turned himself around and returned to sender.
After Terenth arrived in the Letter Room, he was immediately given another letter to deliver. The name on the envelope was the same, but the address was now different: "…Bench #11; Serenade Park…" apparently the only way for the magic of the castle to track the boy had been to wait until he slept; but such odd places! Nevertheless, Terenth was a determined owl, and set off again, this time sure that he'd arrive in time. No such luck. The bench was empty; the park was empty; the street was deserted; the whole block had exactly three humans living in it and none of them was a small boy child. Terenth gave an annoyed hoot and again returned to the castle, rather with the hope that there would be no follow-up letter.
Of course, this would have been too much to ask, wouldn't it? Terenth had, since then, visited most of London, seen every dive and stink-hole there was to see, visited the oddest of places (if he ever caught up to the child, he would have questioned him very closely about the fish market, even if the boy had no chance of understanding him), given the child the much deserved title of "The Brat" (with capitals) and was absolutely FED UP.
This is the last time, he thought to himself in a huff. Absolutely NO MORE! The castle can assign some other hapless bird, I need a rest; I'm exhausted… I'll retire if I have to! Terenth had almost arrived at his destination, "…Under the back stairs; Warehouse 11; Warren St; London…", and was still grumbling to himself about The Brat when he saw – much to his astonishment – the child he'd been trying to track down for the last two weeks. Terenth blinked; but his vision was impeccable, and he was sure he hadn't yet descended to the level of madness when hallucinations were prevalent. The child was still some flight time away, but Terenth could see him clearly in the pre-dawn light: wild, black hair; scrawny, undernourished body; rather dirty clothes; and seemingly wrapped in a tatty blanket, asleep. Strange place to sleep, Terenth knew that humans were rather selective when it came to their sleeping conditions; something to this day he didn't understand.
Still, strange sleeping arrangements or not, this was the boy he'd exhausted himself to find. Finally! Terenth flew toward him in triumph. Ha! No-one keeps a Hogwarts Owl down! Owl #22 does it again!
Terenth was still quite some distance away when he heard quite a loud noise; it sounded like a muggle car alarm, although Terenth knew a ward alert when he heard it. The sharp noise interrupted his smooth flight as he jerked in surprise and it also woke The Brat, who looked around in fear. Terenth watched, unable to reach him in time, as the child spotted the human responsible for tripping his alarm and turned to flee. Three other (rather large, stupid-looking, in Terenth's humble opinion) humans blocked his escape, and all four started to close in on The Brat. Terenth felt a surge of anger; a Brat the child may be, but he was a future Hogwarts student, his duty to protect and guide as a Hogwarts Owl, and more importantly, he was Terenth's Brat! He flew in to attack the eyes of one of the men, giving the child a chance to slip past him. Keeping the men busy while remaining uncaught himself; Terenth managed to occupy the large humans while the boy made his escape. Once he was gone, Terenth turned his flight once again, to Hogwarts.
The Brat was in trouble. That's why it had been so hard to find him. Hogwarts needed to send one of the wand-users on this assignment. With renewed energy, Terenth doubled his speed. The sooner, the better, in his opinion, and this time there was nothing humble about it!
Harrison Chase Potter was about to turn eleven. One might expect such a milestone in a young persons' life to be met with much serious thought; especially if the subject matter regarded such things as model planes, or play station and computer games, or perhaps soccer balls or other sporty pursuits if a young boy was interested in such things.
But young Harry had never had the chance to play sports; and though he'd heard of electronic and computer games these things were so far removed from his life he gave no thought to them. Had he been expecting a gift, he would have preferred his next meal rather than a model plane.
In any case, his fast-approaching birthday was the last thing on Harry's mind at this moment; as he was currently pre-occupied with his current task: running.
Harry had been on the move for the best part of two weeks now; no bolt-hole he had cultivated was safe, and no matter how far he descended into London's dive it wasn't far enough; he'd barley slept and eaten less. It had been a mistake to sleep where he had; he knew it, but it didn't stop him from being exhausted enough to sleep there – anywhere – even though he knew how dangerous it was.
When his ward alarms had gone off he'd woken immediately, sleep forgotten in an instant – a handy skill to have with the life he'd had to live – shoved his blanket into his small backpack and turned to run. Of course, he'd almost run right into a Hunter, who had looked livid (and Harry really couldn't blame him; he'd managed to avoid them for over three years now), and quickly turned to flee in the other direction, only to realize he'd been boxed in.
Nothing new there, he'd been almost caught so many times he'd lost count and in this exact situation seven times before.
Of course, he'd never been saved by an owl before… it had been most strange, he thought, especially as he didn't know anyone who owned an owl other than himself, particularly someone who would be so protective of him that their familiar would take on that role as well. Still, the puzzle would keep; he needed food and sleep desperately. It was time to pull out his last hope; if he was found here, he may as well be caught.
First, he thought, to rectify the food dilemma. Harry had, luckily, a few pounds on him which he hadn't yet lost. He'd been so busy moving, keeping one step ahead; he hadn't time or opportunity to stop for anything, even food. He didn't have time to steal anything right now, and that left buying it. He quickly headed into a small corner store, bought some chicken and bread, and was on the move again inside five minutes; stuffing his provisions inside the small backpack that held his thin blanket. Harry knew how to do things quickly and unobtrusively; it was something he'd had to learn very young.
He moved quickly but purposefully along the footpath which was just starting to fill with people on their way to work. He blended in very well, even in his rather dirty clothes. He hadn't had a chance to clean them the last two weeks; it was usually something he made sure to do, because it helped him blend in better.
Finally Harry made it to his destination: the public library. He slipped inside the warm building and made it to the dark corner in the back where he would be able to eat and spend his day without anyone seeing him. There was a small hole he could slip into, made by the ill-fitting shelves to the wall and a study desk. Once crouched inside it, Harry proceeded to make a little nest with his blanket and backpack and started to devour his food. After he'd eaten a good amount, he set his alarm wards as usual and slipped into an exhausted sleep…
Harry woke, once again, to his proximity wards going crazy. They were set to be tripped by someone looking for him. Harry quickly silenced the alarm, packed his belongings away, and crouched behind the shelving. He was ready to move at a moments notice; he would wait for whoever it was to pass him then slip out behind them. Then whoever it was came into his line of vision, and Harry had to stifle his gasp.
A giant of a man was standing on the other side of the shelves, moving through the library with surprising grace for one of his size. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard; but as he got closer Harry could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles.
He passed Harry's hiding hole – Harry got ready to move – but then paused, almost as though he could smell his prey (which, Harry had to admit with a cringe, was quite possible; and he wished he'd taken the time to wash in the bathroom when he'd had the chance). The enormous shadow turned towards the shelves, Harry held his breath, wondering what was going on and who was this person? He'd never seen him before. Then a giant hand came down from the other side of the desk and lifted him without any effort at all – not really a hard thing to do, conceded Harry, but irritating just the same – and he was set down in front of the stranger.
Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile (:). Kindness radiated from the man, despite his alarming size and choice of dress. He wore an enormous black overcoat – one of the kinds that would have lots of pockets, Harry thought – and odd, old-fashioned-looking clothes underneath it. Some instinct from deep within Harry told him that this man was safe; and more than that, would do anything to protect him. Could this be the mysterious owner of the owl?
"Well, there yeh are, Harry! Haven't seen you since you were a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but I can see yer mum in there too – she had green eyes just like yours!"
Harry listened to this entire speech, stunned. One thing, however, had stood out like a neon sign to his mind; and he just had to question it…
"You knew my parents?"
Hagrid looked down at the boy in front of him in relief and joy. When the castle had told the headmaster that a new student was in trouble and needed help, almost all of the professors had volunteered to fetch the child; but when Hagrid had discovered it was Harry, he had demanded to go. He hadn't seen the headmaster that startled in years, he thought with a quick smile; but Albus had been quite agreeable – and also gave him another job to complete at the same time.
I owe it to her, to look out for her son… Hagrid thought of Lily fondly. Although Lily had been quite popular in her last few years at Hogwarts, when she had first arrived she had been painfully shy and quiet, and unable to make any friends – other than Hagrid. He himself had been the same, only finding comfort in the creatures that were just as misunderstood as he was. After Dumbledore had given him a job, he had felt it was his duty to look out for the students that had been the same as him, and be their friend. And so he had done so, for over fifty years; been the only friend to countless young, shy, unpopular, scared students that had gone through Hogwarts. Lily had a special place in his heart; she had been so kind, helping others even when they had been cruel to her. He had known that she was destined for great things; had cried like a proud father when she had married the man she loved and been so happy; had been overjoyed in the birth of her son (who had won his heart the moment the child had looked at him); and absolutely devastated when she had died, and her son gone to those… people.
Still, that was over; now Harry was right in front of him, ready to enter the world he'd been forced to leave behind, and Hagrid – while sad he'd missed Harry growing up – was quite looking forward to the next seven years. He studied the child carefully.
He was quite small and very skinny; especially for his age. He looked more like he was nine than eleven. The clothes he wore fit rather loosely, as though they had been purchased with room to grow, and seemed a little old and dirty, but not really something out of the ordinary for a muggle boy of Harry's age to wear. Hagrid's first impression, that Harry looked like his father, James, was supported by the wild black hair that grew in uncontrolled curls all over the boy's head, the general shape of his face, and his nose and ears were exactly the same. He didn't seem to need the glasses James did, as he was looking right at Hagrid without anything to obscure the intense green eyes Lily had passed down to him; and as Hagrid examined him, other parts of Lily seemed to jump out at him as well. He saw the beautiful girl in the boy's cheekbones and stubborn chin; and in the strong spirit that seemed to radiate from him. Lily had been like that, Hagrid remembered; with that air of responsibility and kindness – everything about her, and her son, told others around them they were trustworthy. And then Hagrid saw the feature that came from neither James or Lily, but rather their murderer – a very thin scar of his forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning – still visible after all this time.
Hagrid felt a moment of anger against the foul creature that had done such wrong to their world, then shook himself out of his thoughts, to answer the question Harry had asked.
"'Course I knew yer mum and dad! Nicer people yeh couldn't find! And I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Key and Grounds at Hogwarts. Speaking of, I'm supposed to deliver this…"
And he held out a letter.
Harry took the letter from the giant hand, and read the address:
"Mr. H Potter
Reference #798LOR, Non-Fiction Section (1)
Public Library
Euston (2) Square; London"
Harry blinked, and looked at the shelves he'd been sleeping behind. The address on the letter matched exactly. OK, that's more than a little creepy, he decided. Harry opened the letter. Skipping over the heading at the top, he read:
.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
.
Harry smiled; he hadn't truly believed someone in his circumstances would be accepted to a magical school… a magical school – but if Hagrid worked there, and he knew Harry's parents –
"…but then, if you knew them, my mum and dad must have been wizards…"
"'Course they were, Harry! You didn't think they were muggles, did ya?"
"Well… I… was told they died in a car crash. I just thought that meant – "
"Car crash? Who told you that? Ne'er mind, I can guess. Ruddy Dursleys." Hagrid looked outraged and concerned all at once; quite a feat as far as Harry was concerned. "Well… I don' think I'm the right person to tell yeh this, Harry… but you've got to know…"
And so the story was told. Harry could well believe that some wizards go bad, for as much as some tried to believe themselves superior, wizards were human, and Harry had seen enough of both the good and bad of human nature to know that there was evil inside the best of people, and a little seed of goodness in the worst – even if they were able to resist the temptation to let these parts of themselves show, it was there.
Harry didn't really understand the fear people had of speaking the name "Voldemort", especially considering what it meant; what self-respecting dark lord would want to be known as "Flight of Death", anyway? He supposed the terror of his first reign might be compared to what it had been like when Adolf Hitler was making his bid on world domination; but even so, muggles didn't fear the name "Adolf Hitler" after he died, did they? He supposed he'd have to research the matter.
As the story progressed, Harry realized just how terrified people must have been; even just recounting this story for him, Hagrid seemed scared, and though he didn't really know Hagrid well, it didn't seem to be in his nature.
Dumbledore. Harry remembered seeing that name in the heading he'd skipped over in the letter. He was the headmaster at Hogwarts, and, if he remembered correctly, he'd also defeated Grindelwald in 1945 (something that struck Harry as quite a coincidence, as he remembered his previous thoughts about Hitler, and resolved some serious research was warranted), discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood and done quite a bit of work in the field of alchemy – what was his partners name again? – oh, well, it didn't matter now. Add the only one Voldemort was ever afraid of to that list, Harry thought.
And then came the part about his parents – and the part about himself – and he remembered, again, the terrible pain in his forehead, the cold green light and the cruel laughter… Voldemort.
Harry thought about everything Hagrid had told him. Having believed his Aunt – even as biased against him and his mother as she had been – when she told him that her sister and her brother-in-law had perished in a car accident, he'd simply assumed they had been un-magical, and himself to be muggleborn. Now he knew the truth – Voldemort had murdered them… and one day, he was going to pay for it.
After Hagrid had finished talking, they had settled down to sleep; Hagrid on one of the sofas and Harry curled up in a huge armchair. Harry woke with the dawn; finished what was left of his chicken and bread (he'd thought about leaving some for Hagrid, but then realized that Hagrid would be going home later today, and would eat there; so Harry wasn't worried about him going hungry), and had a quick wash in the bathroom. He'd rinsed out his shirt and socks and dried them as best as possible under the hand dryer, too. By the time he'd returned to the sofas, Hagrid was paying an owl some money for a paper; and that reminded Harry of the owl that had saved him – had it only been yesterday?
"Hagrid, yesterday I saw an owl… it helped me out of a tight spot. Is it yours?"
"Nah. School owl. Terenth, his name is; poor beast, been lookin' fer you fer the longest time… very protective of students, our school owls are. Nothin' like them in all the world!" Hagrid was obviously very proud. "Anyway, must be off; got to take ye shoppin' yet!"
And so the two set off; through the streets of London that were only just stirring, talking all the way – about Gringotts and the money that Harry's parents left him; and the fact that Hagrid would love a dragon; and about the Ministry of Magic; and the other Very Important Hogwarts Business Hagrid had to see to (some of the information Harry knew already, but a lot of it was new) – and into a tiny, grubby, run-down looking pub called The Leaky Cauldron. Harry knew from experience that this pub couldn't be seen by just anybody; in fact it had several very strong muggle-repelling charms on it. As they passed through the almost empty pub, Harry remembered the first time he'd ever come across this particular establishment…
Harry, Age 8 ½
Harry had moved out of permanently living with the Presul (3) sisters when an inspector from the board of education had come looking into the 'situation'. He'd left disappointed, because he'd been unable to find anything of any note other than a small guest-room built into the attic. Harry had started roaming the streets again, his small backpack holding his now rather worn blanket, a change of clothes, some emergency money sewn into the lining in a water-tight plastic bag, and now and then some food he managed to buy or steal. He carried his violin in a case with a strap attached that allowed him to carry it over his head and shoulder, hanging by his side. All his other possessions (including clothes and the book he'd inherited from Miss Nancy) he'd packed away into a cardboard box and stowed on top of the wardrobe in his room. The inspector hadn't found it odd at all.
Harry had managed to cultivate some pretty good hiding places and emergency stashes (including a locked security box with all his bank account information and an emergency fund of nearly three hundred pounds, the key to which was worn around his neck); still turned up at the Presul residence three days a week for his music lessons and to tutor his students; and also spent at least one day a week hanging out with Miss Nancy at the library, who continued to tutor him in secondary school subjects, according to an old guide she'd found on the internet.
Harry had lived the two years he'd run from the Dursleys in blessed anonymity. No-one was looking for him; no-one cared where he went or what he did (as long as he wasn't stealing from them); no-one cared what he called himself or how he survived (apart from the Presul sisters). While his circumstances weren't the happiest at the moment, Harry certainly appreciated the positive elements he got out of his life – such as being able to live without being beaten to a bloody pulp every other day by a bigot six times bigger than he was. He still had to look after himself, but he'd been doing that for most of his life anyway, and it wasn't such a hard task. Living out on his own also allowed him to perfect his control over his 'power' and hone his instinct.
Yes, Harry had been, if not happy, at least content with the status quoi the last two years. But now all that had changed. Miss Kelly had been so impressed with his help with her younger students, she'd assigned him some older ones (she talked him into taking a percentage of the payment now that he wasn't living full-time with them). One lady, by name of Mrs. Regina Gold (Harry suspected this was a stage name), whose eleven-year-old daughter Harry was instructing in piano, had heard him play his violin and offered him a position playing with her in an up-market restaurant. She would give him a percentage of the pay she received (which was increased thanks to Harry, so she was very happy) in return.
One of the patrons who had heard him had been most impressed. Nicholas Stafford was a very rich, very old man who ran an exclusive boarding school that focused on musical studies. When he discovered that Mrs. Gold was not his parent, and (after some invasive investigating) that he was a runaway living primarily on the streets, he decided to force Harry to attend his school. Had he offered to pay Harry's way, Harry might have accepted; but in forcing the issue in the manner he did (by attempting to blackmail Harry using Miss Kelly), he assured that Harry would never co-operate out of pure obstinacy. When the attempt to coerce Harry failed, Mr. Stafford called in the Hunters.
Harry hated them. An illegal racket that scoured the streets, rounding up kids for sale to the highest bidder, they were (as far as Harry was concerned) the lowest type of scum he'd ever encountered. Some of the kids were sold back to their parents (if they had enough money, and they were lucky enough); but most were simply sold into slavery – as cheap labour, prostitutes, the youngest sold into pedophilia rings – the list went on. If you could pay, they provided, and they didn't care what happened after their merchandise was sold. The other "service" they provided was contract searches – which is what Nicholas Stafford had recently taken out on Harry.
The Hunters weren't the only group of people who were all-of-a-sudden interested in Harry. The other group was quite different, far more easily evaded, and dressed in the strangest of manners. They had turned up about six months ago, led by the strangest-looking person Harry had ever seen, with a wooden leg that ended in a claw and what looked like a funky, new-age fake eye. Unknown to him, this was the Order of the Phoenix, under the instruction of Albus Dumbledore; though they didn't have nearly as much luck, and they obviously weren't full-time searchers like the Hunters were. Harry was wary of them because most of them seemed like they had escaped from a mental institution – muttering under their breath, looking at the simplest things in wonderment, almost getting themselves run over when they crossed the street – especially one man that had bright, red-flamed hair.
Harry would soon discover where this group of bumbling do-gooders had come from, for at that moment he was hiding from Hunters, crouched in an alley across from a certain dingy-looking pub. Although he was rather busy looking out for his pursuers, Harry none-the-less noticed the way peoples' eyes seemed to travel across the stores on either side of the pub without pausing to look at the pub itself – almost as though they didn't see it at all; and his instincts were continually guiding him to the pub, as though it was pulling at him somehow. Quite aside from the fact that it seemed a good place for Harry to hide, he was a curious boy by nature, and would have investigated anyway. Darting across the street and into the pub (Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast), he then slipped into a dark corner to do what he did best – observe and remember.
That day had opened Harry's eyes to the hidden world of magic. He realized the strangely-dressed people were wizards and witches (though why they had been looking for him, he didn't have a clue); and the strange things that always happened around him, that strange power he could manipulate, and that instinct that guided him through the most difficult situations, was due to his own magic. He would have to learn more…
Harry shook off his thoughts and started to move. Hagrid was greeted by the barman by name – something Harry found to be most amusing – and quickly declined a drink when he was offered one; stating he had Hogwarts business to take care of. He'd looked around for Harry in that moment, but… he seemed to be missing. Harry had, in fact, automatically moved through the pub to the back door; not wanting anyone to notice him particularly, as he had learned that that was something to be avoided; and standing with someone of Hagrid's size and girth was something that was bound to get him noticed. Hagrid blinked, located Harry, and moved after him. Tom – the name of the barman – noticed the small boy and smiled. "Hogwarts student, Hagrid?"
"O' course, Tom!" Hagrid beamed; and then both noticed a rather peculiar man enter the almost-deserted pub.
"Good morning, Professor!" Tom greeted with enthusiasm. He then went about getting the man a drink.
"Harry, that's Professor Quirrell; he'll be your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year," Hagrid explained, motioning to the strangely-dressed wizard. Harry looked at the man with mild disbelief. He was stuttering rather spectacularly to Tom as he paid for his drink. Hagrid sighed. "Never been the same since he took off lookin' fer first-hand experience…"
Harry and Hagrid left the bar behind, and entered Diagon Alley. Harry looked around. It hadn't really changed since the last time he'd seen it; one could spend a year there and still find new things around every corner. They made their way swiftly to Gringotts, and Harry once again read the warning written above the door as he passed through:
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 and Hagrid moved quickly through the bank to a free goblin; Hagrid handing over both Harry's key – I wonder where that's been all this time? Harry thought – and a letter that had the goblin frowning and calling over a goblin to help them; name of Griphook. Harry wondered what other Hogwarts Business Hagrid was on, but was content to simply observe. One hair-raising cart ride later (which Harry rather enjoyed, actually; and Hagrid obviously didn't) and they had arrived at a vault that Harry had never seen before. When Griphook opened it, Harry was stunned. All this was his? He swallowed and quickly filled a bag with coins; and then they were back in the cart and picking up a rather small, grubby package from vault seven hundred and thirteen. After they had finished in the bank, standing on the stairs outside, Hagrid and Harry parted ways; Hagrid to have a quick drink in the Leaky Cauldron and Harry to buy his uniform from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Before heading there, though, Harry slipped back into the bank and changed a few Galleons into muggle pounds for later.
Satisfied, Harry set off purposefully to the Robe shop and entered. Smiling at the witch who was obviously in charge, he quickly found himself situated on a stool in the back of the shop, a robe over his muggle clothes being fitted to him.
Standing on a stool next to him was another boy, with a pale, pointed face (:), sharp grey eyes, platinum-blond hair and a holier-than-thou air about him; he was also, Harry was rather annoyed to note, about two inches taller than Harry, which aided him in staring down his nose at the smaller boy. He was somewhat familiar to Harry; he was sure he'd seen him somewhere before… but before he could think of where, the boy spoke.
"Going to Hogwarts, too?" he drawled in a voice that he apparently believed made him seem important.
Well, obviously, Harry thought; but he pinned a bright smile to his face and nodded, playing the shy little boy.
"I'm going to look at brooms after this; do you play Quidditch at all?"
Harry raised an internal eyebrow. No, and I'm sure you don't either, unless there's a junior, junior league no-one else knows about… Harry shook his head silently.
"Know what house you'll be in yet? I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin; it's by far the best. All my family has been, going back generations," he bragged.
Harry didn't think that would particularly qualify him. He shrugged.
"Don't say much, do you?" the boy appeared to be torn between sneering at him and laughing.
Harry, who had long learned how to control such responses, allowed his cheeks to flush slightly in a blush and looked down.
Amusement won out. The boy snickered, then his eyes widened as he noticed something outside of the window. It was Hagrid, who was holding two ice-creams.
"Would you look at him?"
Harry didn't think Hagrid would impress this boy very much, but he said, quietly, "That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts; he's the gamekeeper and grounds man."
The boy blinked at him, then quirked a smile. "So you do speak. I've heard about him. A servant isn't he? Why's he with you? Where are your parents?"
Harry bit his lip, keeping up his chosen façade. "They're dead," he said softly.
"Oh, sorry," he said, though Harry noticed he didn't seem very sorry at all; it was more like an automatic response built into him. Harry found what he said next very interesting as well; it was said almost as though he'd been programmed with a certain reaction. "But they were magical, weren't they? I don't think they should let anyone else in, do you? Our world would be so much better without it being contaminated by the other kind – "
He was interrupted by Madam Malkin telling Harry – loudly and with a pointed glare at the boy – that his robes were finished. Harry walked out of the shop in a very thoughtful mood; this was the first time he'd actually spoken to another magical person his age, and he could only hope that not all of them were so prejudiced.
The rest of Harry's shopping didn't take them too long, considering everything they'd had to get; the last item on the agenda was a wand. Hagrid insisted that the best place was Ollivanders, and so they made their way there. Hagrid dropped Harry off at the wand shop looking a little shifty, claiming he had one quick errand to run; and so Harry entered Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC alone.
Buying his wand was an interesting experience in a day full of interesting experiences. Harry found Ollivander himself to be slightly eerie; and was a little worried about the fact he ended up with the brother wand of Voldemort himself… Ollivander had said Harry was destined for this wand, which in turn meant that Voldemort had been destined for his own wand; and that meant that their destinies were most probably tied together in a way Harry didn't really like to consider… and there was that book he'd read in wand lore, about brother wands… yes, Harry would have to be careful…
He was torn from his thoughts by Hagrid, who seemed to appear from no-where right in front of him (and considering his size, that said a lot about the depths of Harry's thought patterns) with a bright smile on his face, a curious-looking ball of black fuzz held gently in one large hand, and a wicker basket in the other.
"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Hagrid said, and handed the fuzz ball to him. Harry took it from him in shock; today was his birthday? He'd never known when it was; the Dursley family had never told him and he'd never found a record of his birth. And Hagrid had gotten him a birthday present… Harry was astonished to feel tears spring to his eyes at the actions of this kind man; he'd never before received a birthday present that he could remember…
Hagrid was looking a little subdued, and hurried to explain, "I was gonna' get yer an owl, but I dunno, this little'un just seemed right…" he trailed off looking rather hopeful. Harry looked at the small, black kitten cradled against his chest in awe; she had piercing green eyes just like his own, and her coat was as black as his own unruly locks. She was beautiful…
"She's perfect, Hagrid. I love her," he whispered. He looked up the large man. "Thank you," he said intently.
Hagrid beamed at him; and quickly told him not to mention it. He sounded close to tears himself.
Harry had managed to talk Hagrid out of going into the house he claimed as his home, but only just. He'd played being just a bit awkward about Hagrid's size and his "guardians" delicate sensibilities, and Hagrid had understood right away. Harry felt a bit wretched about manipulating the man – someone he'd be proud to call his friend, and Harry didn't meet many of those – but his instincts told Harry it was better that no-one at his new school found out about the truth of his "home" life.
Harry went up to the modest two-story building and (after he was sure Hagrid had left) knocked on the door.
Miss Kelly and Miss Nancy were two nice, older ladies – sisters who'd never married – that Harry had met a few years after leaving the orphanage. One was a librarian who Harry had met after she had watched him reading his way through almost half of the shelves under her watch. It had been a delicate thing, trusting Miss Nancy, but something – that same instinct that had already saved his life a dozen times or more – had told him that she was safe, and trustworthy. And so, one day, she had brought him home to meet her sister, the music-teacher, Miss Kelly. Harry had, at first, refused to stay in their home; and still moved around on a regular basis, because he knew their financial situation was tight at best. He also knew that they would love to have adopted him; had they the means, and Harry the inclination to trust the 'system' (which, it shouldn't need to be said, he did not). Still, when Hagrid had asked Harry where 'home' was, this was the first place he thought of.
The door was opened, and Harry looked up into the kind face of Miss Kelly. Harry couldn't help but remember the first time he'd ever met them…
Harry, Age 7
Harry had spent his last five weeks practically living in this library; he'd found a small place he could sneak into to sleep at night and was able to wash up in the bathroom when he didn't get a chance to shower properly. As he'd done in the library back in Surrey, he soaked up the knowledge like a sponge; assimilating the books at an alarming rate.
After the whole Hunter fiasco, Harry had decided to leave the Lost Boys and go it alone. For the first few weeks he was continually thinking about Sky; he wondered where she was and if she was alright. He didn't know her real name; only the nickname given to her by the Lost Boys; neither did she know his. He'd never be able to find her. The only comforting thought he had was that maybe Sky would get home, because someone obviously cared about her enough that they'd paid the Hunters to find her.
Eventually he shook himself out of his melancholy, there was nothing to be done about the situation now and dissecting it would only lead his mind in pointless circles; it couldn't be done over, it was time to let it go.
And so, Harry had started thinking about the other most important thing that had happened that night: his apparent ability to manifest and manipulate some form of energy. He wondered how far this power might extend, and started to experiment with it and refine his control of it.
He was also searching desperately for some kind of explanation of the power inside of him; but there was nothing. Things such as ESP and psychic ability didn't account for the fact he'd been invisible; nor for the loud sound and bright light he'd conjured…
Still, he wasn't about to give up. The fountain of knowledge contained within the library's of the world hadn't let him down yet; and he was determined that they wouldn't now. Even if he couldn't find out what it was, he was sure he'd find something that would be aid him in controlling it…In the meantime, the librarian, Nancy Presul, an elderly unmarried woman who lived with her younger sister, had been watching him – as he read his way through the shelves – in amazement. She rather suspected he was probably sleeping nights in her library, and if that were so, she wondered what had happened to the boy's parents. Any other person might be tempted to call the police or child services; but Nancy and her sister Kelly both knew what it was to grow up on the streets, and she knew that sometimes a child had no other recourse than to flee what authorities called a "stable environment". She resolved to help the urchin as much as possible. First, she would have to gain his trust.
Tarnished
So she started smiling at him whenever she went passed him, and encouraging him to ask questions when he didn't know something. Next, she inquired as to his name, and asked if he might help her carry a stack of books from one end of the library to the other. If he wondered why her cart was suddenly non-operational, he didn't voice the question. Eventually, she felt she'd made enough progress to ask him to do odd jobs for her for 'pocket money'. He'd accepted straight away; more, she suspected, for the fact that he was being useful than any monetary gain he might receive. She would often talk to him about her past as he completed chores that she could have done herself, but far less easily with her ageing body. Finally the day came when she invited him home to eat dinner with her and her sister, Kelly.
He had been uncertain at first, she knew; and was almost afraid she'd pushed too soon, but he answered yes, anyway, and that had been that. He'd been the perfect house guest, sitting politely and helping to carry the dishes to the sink when they were done, and making chit-chat with them as though he'd been doing it for years. After dinner, he asked Kelly about herself, and the boy and her sister started to bond over their shared passion for music.
When he played for them – such talent in one so young! – she could see the resolve in her sisters eyes. There was no way Kelly was letting this one go! She invited him to spend the next day with her, so they could talk more, and Nancy knew then that little Harry was now a part of their lives. It couldn't have made her happier.Harry had been unsure, at first, whether it was safe to accept the dinner invitation from his new friend, Miss Nancy – he refused to call her just "Nancy" – but his instinct, which he always trusted, had been urging him to accept, so he did. When he had met Miss Kelly, and he found out she was a music teacher, he'd thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Miss Kelly had allowed him to play on her piano, and though he'd been unsure at first – it had been over a year since he'd last practiced, after all – he soon became confident in his abilities once more.
Tarnished
When he'd been invited back the next day, Harry was ecstatic. Then Miss Nancy had offered to put him up for the night – with a look in her eyes that said I know exactly were you're planning to sleep tonight, so don't think about trying to hoodwink me, mister – Harry had again accepted. That night he'd been snuggled up on the couch in pure bliss.
Not long after that, the small attic room at the top of the sister's two-story home had been cleaned out and fixed into a bedroom for him. Harry soon developed a routine mostly centered around the two ladies. He would go with Miss Nancy to work and read in between helping her with small chores, or he'd stay at the house with Miss Kelly. He had lessons with her everyday, and was improving in leaps and bounds. She'd started teaching him the violin, and he picked that up even easier than the piano – natural talent, Miss Kelly called it. Eventually he started helping her out by tutoring the younger children, saying it was in exchange for his board. She had smiled and hugged him then, because even with both sisters working, money was tight.
And so Harry made his third family. He was wary, however; because whenever he seemed to settle into a life, events beyond his control usually disrupted it. He could only be vigilant, and hope for the best…
Miss Kelly smiled widely at him and pulled him into a warm hug. Harry allowed himself to soak up the feelings of home and comfort she gave him; letting her ground him after his two weeks of running and the fantastical world he'd just come from. She gave the trunk sitting on her porch a funny look, but helped him get it inside, and then pulled him through to the kitchen, where she was obviously cooking dinner. Harry immediately started to help her; he never let them simply give him something, he'd always earned his keep, and she had long learned not to try to dissuade him.
Miss Nancy arrived home just as they were finishing, and she gave a surprised cry at seeing Harry and also pulled him into a hug. Once they were sitting around the dinner table, Miss Kelly questioned her student on the trunk.
Harry debated with himself on what to tell them; on the one hand, he didn't want to lie, and he thought they would believe him; but on the other, he knew the stance the wizarding world had about muggles and didn't really want the sisters anywhere near anything that might hurt them – unfortunately, he knew the wizarding world fell into that category, even more so now that he knew the truth about himself.
Sighing, he explained that apparently his parents had been somewhat rich; and had left him some money and pre-paid for a very exclusive boarding school.
"The people in charge of my inheritance somehow managed to track me down, and my first semester starts this September," he said. "If I went, I'd be away from September to mid-June. It should be safe there, no Hunters, for one thing. The only thing that worries me is they might try to force me to go back to Aunt Petunia," he finished.
Miss Nancy looked extremely skeptical, and Harry knew he'd have to explain more when she pointed out, "Harry, what would really be the point in risking it? You're well ahead of the curriculum in any case, so unless there's another reason…" and she looked at him shrewdly.
Harry had to smile. He could never get away with anything under Miss Nancy's watchful eye; even though she respected his privacy when he didn't want to tell them something, she never let him lie about it.
"There is something else… I was just worried about telling you…" Harry went on to explain about the wizarding world, that he had known about it for some time but had been unsure whether or not they would admit him to one, and that he'd recently found out that his parents were magical.
The kitchen was silent. Both sisters found the fantastical story very hard to believe, but Harry was not the sort of person to lie about something like this. It was too… ridiculous, in the scheme of things. And when Harry demonstrated his power by conjuring a flower for Miss Kelly and a colourful bird for Miss Nancy, they had to admit that it was real.
"Well, I suppose this is something that we can't teach you," Miss Nancy said with regret. She suddenly shook herself, "goodness, listen to me! It's not like we're sending you off to war!"
Harry bit his lip. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought – ignoring the sudden thought that struck him that that was a rather ridiculous saying – and said, "well, actually…"
The sisters looked at him in alarm. "What, Harry?" Miss Kelly asked.
Harry sighed; how to explain?
"I found out today that my parents were murdered by an evil wizard. He calls himself Voldemort," Harry ignored Miss Nancy's raised eyebrow, knowing her reaction would be somewhat the same as his own, "and he decided that everyone that came from a non-magical family had impure blood, and should be, well, exterminated."
"Sounds like Hitler," Miss Nancy mused. She sighed, "I apologize for interrupting; go on, Harry."
"He gathered followers and started to wage a war of terror on the wizarding world. One man was able to stand up to him, and he gathered followers as well to combat them. My parents were among them. Voldemort targeted them personally. They went into hiding, but it obviously didn't work. He murdered them and then he tried to kill me. For some reason the death magic he used didn't work on me, and he was torn from his body and left as only a spirit. It's all been quiet ever since then, apparently, but I have a feeling that he'll be back. And he'll probably want to come after me again, for revenge if nothing else," Harry explained the rest of the story, "though I don't see what he has to be mad about. It was own stupid fault," the reflection was somewhat childish, he knew, but he had had a long day.
Obviously Miss Nancy could tell, but she still had one question: "Are you going?"
Harry looked at them somewhat sadly; he knew that whatever was left of his childhood was only possible because of them, but he was leaving that possibility behind. "Yes. It's my parents' world, where they came from, where they wanted me to grow up, even though it didn't happen. And I have a feeling that Voldemort will come after me whether I join the magical world or not; I'd rather be ready for him," Harry said firmly.
Besides, in everything Hagrid had told him, there had been no mention of Padfoot and Moony. He had no idea what their real names were, but Hagrid would have mentioned, surely, that two others had died the same night? What had happened to them? Were they dead? And if they weren't, where had they gone, and why had they never come for Harry? Why didn't they look after him? Harry needed to find out.
Miss Kelly looked at her sister; then said, "that's that then, I suppose. But I expect lots of letters, alright?"
Harry grinned, "of course. Wouldn't dream of leaving you out of the loop!" and then he yawned spectacularly.
"Alright, enough is enough. We'll talk more about this school in the morning. In the meantime, young man," Miss Nancy looked at him sternly, and pointed to the stairs, "bed. Now," she finished.
Obeying the order easily, because he was very tired, Harry gathered all his belongings and headed up to his room.
He quickly carried his trunk and new pet up the stairs; placing the trunk at the end of the second-hand, but comfortable, bed; and the cat carrier on a spare shelf of the bookcase. Harry looked around the small attic room that he'd been gifted with not long after he'd met the two sisters. It held the bed, an old wardrobe, a music stand, and the bookcase. It was all the sisters could give him, but he was thankful for it. They had such big hearts; would give of themselves without any thought of the reward – or cost. Harry felt fiercely protective of them, they had looked out for him for years and Harry was determined that one day, he'd return the favour; make their lives easier.
Harry wasn't naïve in any way, he knew that the magical world would have it's own problems, and would possibly be harder to live in than the muggle world. Still, it would be a good place to disappear to for most of the next seven years. Harry smiled as Hedwig, his snowy white owl, swooped in through the window to land on her perch that sat on his bookcase. He gave her an owl treat and stroked her feathers gently; and knew that he would find some things in the magical world that would make it worth the risk.
As he readied for bed, he thought about everything he'd learned today. Harry had gathered from everything that Hagrid had told him, that he was somewhat famous among his magical brethren. Knowing what kind of things famous people went through in the muggle world, and suspecting it wouldn't be much different in the magical one, this made Harry somewhat uneasy; he had been around enough to know that at the first opportunity to turn on him people would be lining up to do so – it had once been said that what people loved more than a hero was to see a hero fail (4) – and Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to the consequences when he didn't measure up to the image he knew people would already have of him.
Harry picked up his violin from the bookcase – where it was stored in it's case – and walked over the music stand that stood next to the small window. He ran the smooth wood of the violin underneath his fingers, the tactile sensation bringing forth the memory of the first time he'd touched it…
Harry, Age 8
It had been a year since he'd started living with Miss Nancy and Miss Kelly, and to celebrate, the two sisters decided to have a special dinner, after which Miss Kelly presented Harry with a gift. He was astonished to find, under the wrapping paper, the violin he'd been practicing and busking with. It had been the very first instrument Miss Kelly had ever been given, from her mother, who had died when she was seven. Harry thought about refusing the gift that held such great sentimental value; but as he looked seriously into Miss Kelly's gaze, he understood that she'd given him the violin to welcome him to their family. His eyes stung, and he threw himself into her arms.
Miss Kelly had hugged him back with tears in her own eyes; it had been the first time Harry had ever instigated physical contact between them. She spoke softly to him, telling him how much she had loved her mother, and that she was sure the woman would think it proper she hand the instrument down to him. It needed a loving hand to play it, something she hardly did anymore, and had survived a lot; considering she had also used it to survive on the streets of London.
Miss Nancy smiled at the sight; and she was increasingly glad that this small miracle had chosen her library to take shelter in, because she didn't really want to know what their lives would have been like without him in it. It was now her turn to hand the boy a gift.
Harry was again surprised; two gifts? He looked at Miss Nancy with questions in his eyes, and she smiled at him gently – he loved Miss Nancy's smile. He reverently opened the plain paper the gift was wrapped in to find inside her own precious treasure: an extremely informative book on the language, culture and religion of the Ancient Egyptians. His eyes widened. He also knew the story behind this item: again, the last gift given to Miss Nancy by her mother before she died (Miss Nancy had been nine); it was almost the only thing Miss Nancy had refused to leave behind when the two had escaped the hell-hole their home had become after the death of their mother.
Harry was again speechless, teary, and initiating a hug – this time with Miss Nancy. She didn't seem to mind – in fact she held him firmly – and also spoke softly to him, that even if it was never legal, he was their son, and a most treasured part of their family, just like their mother was.
And Harry knew, even though it would probably never be legal (due to the fact that if he was ever found, he'd probably be given back to Petunia Dursley), that he had just been adopted.Elsewhere in the world, unbeknown to Harry and the Presul sisters, one Arabella Figg had just made a panicked call to the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore; Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock; Supreme Mugwump and all-around good-guy.
Tarnished
To say that Albus was shocked to hear the news that while Mrs. Figg was living with her daughter-in-law recovering from a rather nasty bout of wizards flue (though not magical at all, Squibs were, apparently, able to catch the dreaded ailment) Harry Potter had run away, was an understatement. For him to hear that Harry had been abused – badly enough that the muggles had pressed charges and forcibly removed Harry from the environment – caused him to feel no-end of guilt. Having felt that he had considered all the dangers that Harry might have had to face, the fact that he had missed the most deadly of all had been rather damaging to his confidence.
Still, let it never be said that Albus was unable to rally. He recovered enough to issue Mrs. Figg with instructions as to inquire from the muggle end of things about Harry – hopefully the muggle policemen would be able to give them some leads – while he himself called, for the first time in almost seven years, an emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. The child had already been lost and alone, vulnerable, for the last year-and-a-half, at least. Well. He'd been vulnerable a lot longer than that, apparently, and Albus took a moment to curse himself for seeing the big picture too well to enable him to see the details anymore. Albus shook the guilt away. Plenty of time for that later; now, they had to find an eight-year-old boy before any 'reformed' death eaters found out about this…
Harry breathed deeply and smiled, then put the instrument into playing position and began to play. The soothing melody of the song filled the room, relaxing him completely. When he was finished, he put the violin back into it's case and fell onto the bed, slipping off into a deep, cleansing sleep.
Harry spent the month before leaving for Hogwarts planning for the time he would be away and picking up his life again. Miss Nancy insisted that he keep up his muggle education (she obviously found the word amusing, and relished using it), so he spent a lot of time with her in her library. Miss Kelly was adamant that he not neglect his musical studies, and so a far amount of time was taken up with practicing and organizing for him to take some more advanced lessons with him; and also organizing for someone else to tutor his students. He himself contacted his busking group to tell them he was leaving, and while he gave up his daily rounds, he continued to play with them as a group.
After the trouble with Nicholas Stafford, Harry had become a lot more careful of where he played. Luckily, one day when he'd been playing on a busy street corner for money, he'd met Lucy. She was an E-flat Bass player and had formed a group of buskers that not only watched each others backs; they also worked the restaurant and club circuit as a group. They had, apparently, been looking for a violinist for a while to round out their group, and had invited Harry to join. He'd been a little wary at first; and, after explaining (a somewhat edited version) what happened to him the last time he'd tried working in that environment, agreed to join on a temporary basis until he was comfortable and sure it was safe for him.
That had been almost two years ago, and now Harry was a permanent member of the group. He loved playing with them; their practices were lots of fun and the other musicians were all kind people who had made music their whole lives, even though it wasn't such a good living monetary-wise, they were all very happy; and Harry had been contented to be one of them.
He also, in the time he had before school started, made some changes to his muggle and wizarding accounts. He transferred some of his inheritance into the pitiful vault he had set up to allow him to owl order, as it was tied to his muggle account, and hired someone to handle his investments for him while he was away, supervised by a Goblin accountant. A small income from the account was also organized for the sisters.
He bought a cage for Hedwig, so they would blend in, and introduced her to his birthday present – the memory of it still made him smile – she'd been uncertain, at first; obviously offended at the thought of her master replacing her with a new familiar. Harry had watched as the small black kitten had won the owl's heart, and now Hedwig watched out for the small ball of fluff as though she'd hatched the animal herself.
Harry also spent some time at the Depository of Knowledge (the wizarding library); looking up anything and everything he could about Voldemort. He was startled and quite un-amused to find information on himself, as well (most of it inaccurate).
Still, he found out that the followers of Voldemort were called Death Eaters and their descriptions met those of the other group of magic-users that had been following him around. Harry was quite glad his instinct had kept him away from them.
In any case, by the time it came for him to leave, Harry found himself prepared. He was uncertain what he would find once he again belonged to the world of his parents, but he knew he was as ready as he could be to face it.
The night before the train was due to depart, Harry was packed, he'd checked his school list twice, his own list three times, shut Hedwig (his snowy owl) away in her brand-new cage and Pasht (as he'd named the kitten Hagrid had bought him, after Bastet the Egyptian protector Goddess) in her carry basket… he was as ready as he could be. Now… how to get there?
Harry pondered the problem for a few minutes, looking at all the angles. While a taxi would be most convenient, would the driver allow animals to be transported as well? The bus would pose the same problem with a lot more hassle, and he didn't want to bother the sisters. Well, that left magical means. While it was easy enough to transport himself, Harry had never had so much luggage before, and he'd never transported living passengers. Then there was the arrival point, if it was crowded… perhaps it was best to go right now. He could transport his trunk and hide it somewhere, then… well; maybe he would risk a taxi. He could only ask.
Decision made, Harry walked downstairs to the phone and, leaving some money on the phone stand to pay for the call, dialed in the number of the nearest taxi service. Luckily they did allow animals to be transported; and Harry arranged for a pick up early the next morning. Taking a last look at everything and going over his mental list one last time, Harry nodded to himself in satisfaction, set his wards with a timed alarm to wake him up, and curled up with his blanket to sleep.
Once again, Harry woke to the sound of his wards going off, only this time it was the gentle chiming of his time alert. Harry quickly and efficiently used the bathroom, dressed and transported his belongings down the back stairs of the sisters' home; leaving them by the front door. After a hurried breakfast, he said goodbye to Miss Nancy and Miss Kelly – both were suspiciously bright-eyed – and left in his arranged taxi.
Once he arrived at King's Cross, he located a trolley, and – with the drivers' assistance – loaded everything onto it. Paying his fare and making his way to platforms nine and ten, Harry paused and looked around. He knew from Hogwarts, A History that the entrance was right here, through the barrier between them. Firming his jaw, he was just about to make an attempt when a family of red-heads came barging through the throng.
There was a plump woman – who was obviously the matriarch of the family – leading the way; she was rather short (especially compared with her children) and wore a rather patched, faded dress which, Harry saw when he looked closely, was on backwards. Firmly attached to her hand was a young girl, who Harry thought might be a little young to be going to Hogwarts, but wasn't entirely sure; he was, of course, the poster-boy for the vertically challenged himself. She had the same flame-red hair as the rest of her family, and seemed to take after her mother in the shape of her face and brown eyes. There were four boys trailing behind her, all with trunks, and what looked to be the eldest and youngest boys each had an owl in a cage. They were all rather tall and thin, with the same hair, and clothes in various states of disrepair.
Harry wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, but it seemed as though the mother was marching them through the barrier pretty quickly. Harry was rather reassured at this; and as soon as they had all passed through, hurried himself after them.
The platform on the other side was packed with people; there was a sign overhead advertising the Hogwarts Express with the time it departed under it, as well as a sign over the archway behind him that said Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Sitting next to the platform, in all it's glory, was a scarlet steam engine, ready and waiting for departure.
Harry quickly made his way over to the train and located an empty compartment at the back end of the train. He put Hedwig and Pasht inside, and then turned to his trunk. Harry looked around himself covertly; no-one was watching him, far more focused on the hustle and bustle of greeting old friends and saying tearful goodbyes to parents (well, most of the mothers were tearful, anyway) and the excitement of going away to a school to learn about magic or leaving home for the first time. Quickly waving his hand over his trunk, Harry floated into the empty compartment he'd found and stowed it away. Hedwig and Pasht were settled in the overhead rack, and Harry closed the door and sat next to the window to watch everything going on outside.
He saw the red-headed family congregating not far away, although they seemed to be missing one…
There came a knock on the door, and it opened a fraction – just enough for a boy to poke his head through.
"Hi. Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked. It was the missing boy from the family outside.
Harry smiled. "Sure, no problem," he answered.
The boy walked into the compartment, carrying an owl in a cage; but without any other luggage that Harry could see. He was tall, with flaming red hair that was obviously just starting to go dark; thin in the way that spoke of a high metabolism rather than starvation; with big hands and feet that predicted a large, muscular frame when he matured; a long-shaped nose that was covered in freckles; and shadowed blue eyes. He pulled out of his pocket a miniaturized trunk that was about the size of his palm.
"Shrinking charm," the boy explained, "came with it. Good value, I found." He finished as he resized his trunk and settled it next to Harry's; his own owl placed next to Harry's familiars.
"This is Michael-Angelo," the red-head introduced. "And I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley…"
TBC...
(:) Description of Hagrid from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling, pages 39 and 40; Gringotts rhyme pages 56 and 57; Draco Malfoy pages 59 and 60.
1) This is how library shelves are labeled in Australia, I don't know if it's the same anywhere else.
2) Euston Square is a real place but I don't know where it is or what it looks like or anything.
3) According to an on-line translator, this is Latin for "protector". I felt it fitting considering the role I have for these two characters to play…
4) Direct quote from Spiderman (the movie) by the Green Goblin!
Phew! Over eleven thousand, five hundred words – I don't know how I did it! Hope you enjoyed meeting Terenth, I sure enjoyed writing about him! Oh, and to my knowledge the places I wrote about don't actually exist in London (beside the public library, I should hope) but I hope you don't mind. Sorry it took so long to get out, I wanted all of the back-story written so I don't contradict myself in the future (which I already did about three times and had to change), and it will probably happen anyway, but if you see something like that, let me know! Not all the chapters will be as long as this one, sorry; but I wanted to 'set the scene', as it were.