Chapter 2

Roach had been waiting patiently whilst rain dribbled onto her scalp for roughly fifteen minutes. Regrettably Roach's patience was fleeting. Hagrid had entered the remote hovel and she hadn't heard a peep from him since, she had started to fear he had run into some trouble. Darling hadn't expected to see a boy with a pig's tail sprouting from his behind darting around the room.

"Holy shit."

Roach uttered a few seconds before diving for the nearest object, which by chance happened to be a lump of coal, and flinging it at the pig-human hybrid.

"Are you mentally deficient?!" Squawked the senile muggle-woman who encompassed the weeping boy in her spindly arms.

"If I was mentally deficient I would missed, but look at that." Roach bragged gesturing at the black stain on Dudley Dursleys forehead. "Bullseye."

"I told you to stay in the boat."

"And miss all the fun?" Taunted Roach. "Over my dead body."

It wasn't hard to notice Roach's electric personality. Harry certainly grasped it immediately when her eccentric laughter sent shock-like tremors through his skin. She was entertaining and fun to be around, her mischievous grin stirred a warm and friendly feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"Why are you called Roach?" Harry asked as he followed the strangers out of the shack.

"Why are you called Harry?" She repeated. "It's such a plain name, not a lot of effort went into that. Roach - that shows signs of effort."

"It's not her real name." Hagrid chipped as turned the boat's mighty oars. "Her real name is Darling."

"Darling is still odd." Harry cited. "Why do you go by Roach?"

"Always have done." said Roach. "Nothing more to it. It just stuck, I don't think there is anyone alive who could tell you where it came from."

Harry peered at her inquisitively.

"Oh." He said sheepishly. "I wish I had nickname."

A wicked grin had soon transpired on Roach's face.

"Scarface." She gestured toward Harry's glaringly bold lightning-bolt scar. "It's a classic movie."

"I'd rather have one which isn't deprecating."

"That's boring." Roach noticed Harry's expression fall and rolled her eyes dejectedly. "Hazzer?"

Harry shrugged and settled for Roach's suggestion. Anything had to be better than scarface.

Roach inclined against the bar stool of the dimly lit pub. The Leaky Cauldron looked as dodgy as it sounded. It was desolate and the uninviting customers were shrouded in peculiar attire.

"Harry Potter." A stranger cooed from the shadows, approaching the trembling eleven-year-old. "It is an honour."

Roach marvelled as the woman outstretched her gangling arms and greeted Harry with a firm hand shake. As if the flood gates had parted more witches and wizards surrounded Harry, desperate to meet him.

"Why is he so famous?" Roach inquired to herself.

"You don't know the story?"

Roach leapt from her semi-reclined posture. She hadn't anticipated a reply. Turning her head she observed the plump barman who polished a goblet with a duster.

"Afraid not." Roach responded after a moment's consideration. "Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"Ten years ago. He defeated you-know-who." The barman explained as if Roach were supposed to know who 'you-know-who' was. "Just a baby. His Mum and Dad both slaughtered by that beast. When you-know-who tried to kill Harry Potter and he was rendered powerless. So forth, he was dubbed the boy-who-lived."

"The boy-who-lived." Roach reiterated cynically. "What a shitty nickname."

Hagrid noted Roach's absenteeism, his eyes browsed the pub before seeking out her jaded expression.

"Roach." Hagrid called to her. "Come meet your soon-to-be dark arts professor."

"Dark arts?" Mumbled Roach as she approached Hagrid and Harry. "Will we be sacrificing chickens in a satanic ritual?"

"P-professor Q-Quirrell." The adult man stammered. "P-pleasure to meet you M-miss Kuryakin."

"Do you have tourettes?"

Hagrid's eyes grew wide and Harry's cheeks flushed with discomfiture.

"N-no. I-I don't have t-tourettes."

"Then why are you-"

"And we best be off." Hagrid interposed as he deposited two muscular hands on Roach's shoulders. "Plently to buy."

Hagrid pried out an insincere chuckle as he decisively pushed Roach out the backdoor before any more disconcerting remarks could roll of her tongue.

"You ought to be more cautious with what you say." Warned Hagrid using his bewitched umbrella to tap away at the brick wall.

Roach was immediately mystified.

"But why?" She said.

"People can mistake you with being rude."

Nevertheless, Roach scratched her head with a perplexed expression. Yet, she was immediately distracted as the brick wall commenced moulding into an archway, revealing a animated and bustling street.

"Welcome to diagon ally."

Harry and Roach were immediately fascinated by the street's dynamic atmosphere. The pair of eleven-year-olds straightaway approached a shop window with a broom stick on display. The gold inscription on the broom: Nimbus 2000.

"Does it fly?" Harry queried aloud.

"I bloody hope so."

It took Hagrid awhile to get the two children away from the sequence of shops and toward Gringotts bank.

Roach could feel Harry's fear radiating off him as they ambled amongst rows of goblins each with a face more grotesque than the last. Hagrid brusquely stopped, both Harry and Roach followed suit as the Goblin in front ogled them shiftily.

"Mr Potter and Miss Kuryakin would like to make a withdrawal."

The goblin sited down his quill before leering over his desk at the two children.

"And do they have their keys?"

"Hold on. I've got 'em here somewhere." Hagrid expressed aloud as he agitatedly rifled through his coat for the two diminutive keys. Ultimately he found them both and smiled with glee. "Oh and there's one more thing.."

Both Harry and Roach exchanged wary glances as they witnessed Hagrid indiscreetly pass an envelope to the Goblin. After briefly browsing over the envelope's contents the creature hastily nodded and directed them toward a cart.

Roach treasured the feeling of wind flowing through her hair and applauded like a lunatic as the cart descended deeper into the cavernous undergrounds of Gringotts bank. The cart came to an unforeseen stop, Roach and Harry lurched forward.

"Vault 687."

The goblin proclaimed as it waddled toward the gargantuan vault door. Roach's jaw fell ajar as the door swung open and exposed a plethora of gold.

A dazed grin had transpired on Harry's face and he looked to Hagrid for an explanation.

"You didn't think you're parents left you with nothing, do you?" Responded Hagrid as he grinned at the boy's reaction.

Hagrid treaded cautiously inside and ladled a couple of galleons into a small burlap sack.

"You're minted, mate." Said Roaching, as she impishly prodded Harry in his side.

"I know." He responded, still in disbelief. "My Aunt and Uncle wouldn't even give me breakfast and lunch more days."

"I get the feeling, mate." Roach nodded sombrely. "Government rarely gave the group home too much funding. Sugar sandwiches for dinner wasn't too bad though."

Fortunately for Roach her vault was not disappointing either. The girl almost staggered off the ledge when her own vault was opened. The interior walls were lined with shelves of lavish gold and silver antiques; the heart of room was amassed with mountains of overflowing gold; and the most appealing item of all was the bejewelled rapier mounted to the wall.

"I own fucking sword."

"Language." Snapped Hagrid. "It's a family heirloom."

"Can I take it home with me?"

"Over my dead body." The giant chided. "Now grab a couple of galleons. We're in a hurry."

Hagrid tossed Roach a burlap sack and with a downtrodden expression, Roach packed the sack with a decent sum of galleons. Nevertheless, not once did she move her eyes from the alluring weapon. Roach was intellectually slower than the average person, so it's not a surprise she came to revelation late: You had to have a family to have a family heirloom.