Chapter Two
"Harry Potter!" The little bat eared creature with ridiculously large eyes squealed, "so long has Dobby wanted to meet you sir…such an honour it is…" the thing trailed off, neglecting to address its reasons for being on his bed.
"Thank-you?" Harry tried tentatively. The painfully loud creature began to tear up immediately.
"Harry Potter thanks Dobby?" it said, pitch increasing as it went.
"May I ask who you are?" he interrupted, aiming to distract it with an explanation of its presence. Hopefully a quiet one.
"Dobby sir, just Dobby, Dobby the house elf," the thing, now identified as Dobby told him, seeming to choke back tears.
"Oh – not to seem rude…but what's a house elf?" Harry asked, hoping Dobby – a gender would a been nice – wouldn't be offended.
"A house elf be taking care of wizard's sir…Dobby is bound to serve one family forever sir…" the elf trailed off again. Feeling the important points had now been addressed, and very mindful of the sound of the Masons downstairs, Harry nodded and edged forward to sit on his desk chair.
"Okay Dobby…not that I'm not pleased to meet you, but this isn't a great time for me to have a house elf in my bedroom," Harry said carefully.
"Oh yes sir, Dobby understands, but Dobby had to warn Harry Potter…Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts," there was a pause while Harry processed this new development.
"Why?" he asked, after a moment.
"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year- " the tiny creature, which seemed quite insane, was ranting but Harry cut it off.
"A plot by who?" however this question seemed tip the elf quite over the edge as it promptly began banging its head against Harry's desk. Harry grabbed it bodily by the filthy pillow case it appeared to be wearing, and lifted it away from said desk.
"Please be quiet!" he whispered, straining to hear anything from downstairs.
"Dobby, had to punish himself, sir," the elf said dejectedly. For the first time it occurred to Harry that what he was looking at was magically induced slavery. Putting the elf gently down on the floor Harry knelt down next to it.
"Is there anything else you can tell me?" he asked it gently. The elf hesitated, then shook its head.
"Okay, look I won't go back to Hogwarts," Harry lied is a whisper, "thank-you for coming to warn me."
"Really sir? Oh, Dobby is so pleased, sir!" the elf squealed, and Harry winced.
"That's all right, you have a good evening Dobby," he said quickly, hoping to get rid of the creature without any more loud-noises.
"And a very good evening to you to you to, sir," the elf said cheerfully, before it vanished with a quiet pop.
Harry stood very still for a moment, processing this new development. Then laughed quietly into his sleeve.
The clink of knives and forks from downstairs called him back to the present moment and Harry carefully sat down on his bed and pulled out his ancient runes book. He had just passed the halfway point and was feeling cautiously optimistic about his chances of finishing it without resorting to stabbing himself or someone else with a fork out of pure frustration.
However unsurprisingly, he found his eyes wouldn't focus on the explanation of runes combinations used in – banned – ritual magic that he was supposed to be reading about. Dobby had quite clearly been mad, and likely a danger to himself as well as Harry, but he couldn't quite get the image of Dobby banging his head against the desk out of his mind.
It had never really occurred to Harry to think about magic being used in that sort of context. To actually control another creature's actions to that degree. Dobby hadn't been loopy, he'd known exactly what he was doing but had still been forced to do it…against his will.
"Dobby is bound to serve one family forever, sir…" Dobby's words echoed ominously in his mind.
Closing his runes book, Harry crossed to his desk, pulled his notebook towards him, flipped to a blank page and began penning a new letter to Moon.
Dear Mr Moon
He paused, trying to think of a non-house-elf-plot-at-Hogwarts way of introducing this topic.
Dear Mr Moon
I was reading through the copy of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts that you were generous enough to recommend to me, and came a few times across mention of the Imperious Curse which it said was used to control and force other wizard's actions during the war.
This was all actually true, although what he wasn't mentioning was that it was one of the few useful things the book had had to offer.
I was wondering if there were any ways to defend against this sort of magic, and if you could recommend anything to me.
Kind Regards
Harry James Potter
Harry chewed his lip as he folded up his letter and let Hedwig out of her cage. Although reading about the curse hadn't alarmed Harry the way watching Dobby had, it was true that it probably should have. He had no idea whether the sort of magic that compelled Dobby could be used on wizards – one thing Fantastic Beasts had been very clear on was that creature magic and Wizard magic did not necessarily operate in the same way – but he knew for sure that this curse couldbe used on him.
After sending Hedwig off with the letter Harry returned to his bed, only to find it was now occupied by a small parcel of letters. Harry picked the bundle up carefully and read the note scrawled on top.
Harry Potter must not be angry with Dobby. Dobby hoped that if Harry potter though his friends had forgotten him, Harry Potter might not want to go back to school
Harry frowned as he slowly sat down and stared at the bundle. It had never occurred to him that his friends weren't writing, and he'd never thought of writing to them. It wasn't that he didn't like Ron and Hermione, it was just that…well…he'd never really had friends before them and…he was really enjoying just being on his own and reading and not needing to worry about what other people thought of him.
Only he could now clearly see that his friends had been writing to him. And they likely though he'd been ignoring them. The though filled Harry with a very familiar sense of trepidation.
He'd spent most of his young life trying to delay the point at which anyone he met realised he was a freak. Even when he hadn't understood what that meant everyone else had seemed to. Sometimes the Dursley's told them, sometimes the neighbours. But somehow, they would always eventually find out and then they'd start to politely avoid him and he would know that they knew.
What was he supposed to write to Ron and Hermione? That a house-elf had been blocking his mail? No one would believe that! No. No better to say that he'd been getting their letters, but his uncle had locked Hedwig's cage, so he couldn't reply. That was very plausible. And also, not far from the truth. He would see them both anyway in a couple of weeks when they went to Diagon Alley…provided the Grangers still came to get him. Harry set the bundle of letters down beside his bed and lay there looking up at the ceiling, ancient runes forgotten.
There was nothing wrong with his plan that he could see, but that didn't mitigate the adrenaline pumping through his system.
Harry closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply. He knew he was avoiding the problem by not opening the letters. He also knew, all though he'd been doing a good job of ignoring the fact lately, that he was ignoring a similar problem by not bothering to retrieve the photo album Hagrid had given him from the cupboard under the stairs. Harry had never coped well with emotional confrontation, which both were likely to cause. He still vividly remembered his complete inability to function for some time after he first discovered the Mirror of Erised. Gritting his teeth, Harry reached down beside his bed and pulled out the letters. He pulled off the string and began sorting them by correspondent.
There were four from Hermione, six from Ron, two from Hagrid, and even one from Neville which made Harry feel very guilty when he remembered he couldn't respond to it. Neville was the unpopular kid at Hogwarts. Harry knew exactly how that felt…
Beginning with the letter from Neville, Harry opened it and read through. It was nothing of any particular importance, just good wishes and a description of what Neville had been doing, a few questions about the summer homework which Harry realised he'd also not given any thought to.
Ron's letters were similar, only without the considerations for school work and with repeated questions about why Harry wasn't writing back. Hermione's followed the same patent only with lots of reference to homework, and Hagrid's mostly just asked about Harry and how he was doing.
The problem was that by the time he was finished, Harry knew he'd never be able to manage not responding, the nervousness and suspense would kill him. It was very clear what it was his friends wanted him to do and Harry would never be able to sleep properly now until he did it. The fact that he knew this was an absurd aspect of his personality and one he wished to be rid of changed nothing. Harry hated disappointing people. To this end Harry sat down and write two nearly identical letters.
Dear Ron/Hermione
I'm sorry I haven't managed to get back to you sooner, but the Dursleys have locked Hedwig in her cage and won't let me let her out until I'm leaving as they don't want owls coming to the house. I'm okay, and I can't wait to see you both at Diagon Alley
Harry
Good. That should be fine. Now all he had to do was wait for Ron's next letter and give them both to the owl to take back. However it happened, the word would get out and Harry would be off the hook.
The letter arrived the next day while Harry was watering the garden. Harry heard his aunt scream when it descended to land next to Harry. Thinking quickly, Harry scooped the bird up and letting it sit on his arm as he raced inside and up to his room. Pulling the letter roughly from its ankle, Harry grabbed his own letter from under his pillow and was just at the point of throwing the bird out the window when his uncle arrived in the doorway.
"YOU!" Vernon Dursley bellowed, grabbing Harry by a fistful of his hair and tossing him hard onto the ground.
"I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS IN THIS HOUSE!" he yelled, spit flying every which way, "I WILL NOT HAVE IT!"
The resultant whipping, Harry held down over the end of his bed while his uncle made judicious use of the buckle end of his belt, had only been the beginning.
The storm had finally broken, and the Dursleys, now finally forced to deal with Harry's 'freakishness', dealt like never before. Harry was locked in his room, the window of which now had bars, and was only allowed out twice a day to use the facilities. Meals had become an extremely irregular occurrence and usually consisted of cold tinned soup or a little bit of leftovers. Hedwig was once again furious at her confinement, but as Harry had no way of letting her out to do more then fly around his room, which he did often, as the chance of being caught had at the very least dropped considerably, he was struggling to feel much sympathy for her constant bad mood.
Moon had recommended a book titled An Introduction to Occlumency as the best way to defend against magic such as the Imperious Curse, however the Bars had put a stop to further communication. Within the first few days of his confinement, harry had finished Ancient Runes Made Easy and had followed it up by properly reading the Dark Arts book, as he had inicaially only focused on the parts relating to his parents and himself, not actually having been particularly interested in the first place.
His initial impression of the text had not been disproved. It read like a school history book, which was to say that everything written within smelled of governmental approval and gave nothing but the most general overview of the events it discussed. He'd been interested to learn that 'Dark Lord' was not simply a title Voldemort had made up for himself but was actually a common designation given to wizards who were considered to have mastered the several fields of the Dark Arts. More interesting had been the fact that just prior to Voldemort there had been another Dark Lord, Grindelwald, who had started a war in Germany, but more surprising still had been Merlin's inclusion in the list of Dark Lords who had lived too long ago for there be more than a few chapters of information on them.
However aside from these basic facts, the book offered very little. It claimed that Grindelwald had wanted to conquer the world and rule the muggles, and that Voldemort had wanted to kill them, and cited blood supremacy as a doctrine of both wizards, but the actual reasons for why they wanted these things enough to devote their lives to attempting revolutions which eventually vanquished both of them, were frustratingly absent from the text.
It may be a little odd, but Harry's parents had died during a war; he wanted to know what specifically they had been fighting over.
It was during the second week, while Harry was perusing the books on the ministry with, though he couldn't see it, a highly disgusted look on his face, that something completely predictable, but which both Harry and the Dursleys had failed to remember was happening, occurred.
The Grangers rang the front door bell.
Harry heard Hermione's voice from down stairs and immediately recalled the discussion from Kings Cross. He'd completely lost track of the date. Thinking quickly, Harry shoved the boring book under his bed, just as he heard feet on the stairs. He quickly looked around the room, but there was nothing else telling visible, so he grabbed the old back pack he'd used for muggle school and waited quietly while Uncle Vernon addressed the many locks that had recently taken up residence on the outside of his bedroom door.
"Hurry up, boy," Vernon called, the moment he got the door open. Harry could see he was already regretting agreeing to this and had to congratulate himself on successfully springing it on him in June.
"Yes, sir," he murmured, rushing past his uncle to join a very uncomfortable looking Granger family in the hall.
"We'll have him back by six," Mr Granger announced, looking at Harry's uncle, who merely grunted, showing clearly with both tone and posture that he wanted them all out of his house.
Praying that they wouldn't go into his room while he was out, Harry followed a very awkward looking Hermione to her father's car.
"Happy Birthday, Harry," she said quietly, breaking the silence as he climbed into the car beside her.
"Thanks," Harry replied, smiling his best it's-all-fine smile at her, and trying his best to cover the fact that his own birthday had completely slipped him mind, "and thank you for coming to get me Mr Granger," Harry added, glancing up at the rear-view mirror.
"That's quite aright, Harry," Hermione's father responded, smiling back. This seemed to be what was needed, as Hermione immediately began a long spiel about their transfiguration homework, which to which Harry lent half and ear as he hadn't actually done it yet and most of this would likely be very helpful when he got a chance.
It was when she moved on to their electives next year that he began to pay proper attention.
"I know its recommended to only take three," she was saying "but their all look so interesting and I'd hate to miss out on anything. Have you thought at all about it Harry? You really should, they can effect what jobs you can get later on and it's very important to think about these things although of course out doubt Ron will but then he's got lot of brothers to give him advice and – " Harry didn't bother to mention that he did in fact know all of this but was instead contemplating something rather risky. You see while he had decided against trying to peruse healing in any form, Duelling as a distance elective, and just generally as a life skill, interested him greatly.
But you had to have someone to duel with.
"Do you know we're allowed to do subjects that aren't offered at Hogwarts?" he interrupted quietly.
" – that studying muggles from the perspective of – pardon?"
"We're allowed to do subjects that aren't offered at Hogwarts," Harry repeated cautiously.
"But Hogwarts is the best school in Britain!" Hermione argued loudly, "surely they offer any subjects worth studying." Harry shrugged as if to suggest it was just a thought but decided to take one more stab anyway.
"I guess…but it's like you said, I'd hate to miss out," he said shrugging again for good measure. Hermione visibly floundered for a moment, unable to argue with herself effectively. Then eventually relented, if grudgingly.
"What other subjects are there?" she said, sounding like she was humouring him, and not particularly graciously at that.
"There are a few history and culture subject, a couple of Healing subjects, and Duelling," he told her.
"Those all sound interesting," Mrs Granger offered from the front seat. Harry was then treated to the rear sight of a speechless Hermione.
"Well – yes – well, I guess they might be worth looking into," she admitted, to her mother, not to Harry.
"How did you find that out?" she asked, finally focusing her attention back on him.
"Some of the second years were talking about it," Harry lied quickly.
"Oh," Hermione finished lamely.
"Well – anyway – as I was saying…" and off she went again.
By the time they had reached London, Harry had been given a comprehensive rundown on each of the electives available in third year, as well as the pros and cons of doing other electives, and had had every possible pitfall in every homework assignment they'd been given pointed out to him. Subsequently, he was both exhausted, and planning on buying another notebook – that didn't have an addition table on the back – as soon as they got into Diagon Alley, so he could write as much of it as he could remember down.
"Did you bring money with you Harry," Mr Granger finally cut his daughter off as they were getting out of the car one block up from the leaky caldron.
"No sir, I'll have to go to Gringotts," he replied apologetically.
"Oh, the wizard bank!" Hermione exclaimed eagerly, "I've never been there but it looks so interesting, I've read the poem outside and – "
"Hermione," Mr Granger interrupted, for the first time looking impatient, "you have been talking since Surry."
Hermione blushed scarlet and stared at her feet, blinking quickly.
"Rupert!" Hermione's mother hissed furiously, and Harry inwardly winced. The silence stretched for several minutes as the entered the pub and then followed Tom the barman out the back.
"Hermione's never really had a lot of friends, Harry," Mrs Granger said gently. Harry glanced at his friend, who looked like she was trying to vanish into the ground and hold back tears at the same time.
"She's just excited to see you," Hermione's mother finished, addressing the last bit forcefully to the back of her husband's head.
"That's okay," Harry said quietly, looking again at Hermione.
The silence however, did not concede to Mrs Grangers attempts but remained oppressively present as they walked up the alley.
Harry was confused; and still staring steadily at Hermione.
It had never occurred to him that she might have been the unpopular kid too and the sympathy he suddenly felt for her was overwhelming. Hermione walked stiffly and looked at no one. The few glimpses of her face that he caught suggested she was still fighting back tears. She seemed to have gotten smaller all of a sudden, her bushy cloud of ginger brown hair seeming to have actually retreated towards her head.
"I'd like to make a withdrawal please," Harry said quietly to the first goblin teller he saw.
"Key," it replied grumpily.
"I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore has my key," Harry replied, suddenly realising this was still true. Why hadn't Hagrid given it to him last year?
The Goblin glared at him.
"Is there some other security measure that can be put on my vault, so I won't need it?" Harry asked, thinking of the vault the Philosopher's stone had been in.
"That costs money, Mr Potter," the goblin admonished.
"How much?" Harry asked, losing some of his timidness at the implied confirmation and not even bothering to wonder how the goblin knew who he was.
"Three galleons for password, six for magical identification," was the reply.
"I'd like magical identification, please," Harry replied, not wanting to use something as fallible as a password, which was almost as bad as just having a key.
"Hand," the goblin ordered. Harry dutifully held his out and the goblin unceremoniously slit his palm with a knife the was conveniently to hand and then proceeded to drip some of his blood onto a piece of paper that he quickly pulled from somewhere. Harry nursed his injured hand while the goblin did whatever it was doing with his blood, fervently wishing he'd had the presence of mind to offer it his left hand.
"Follow me, Mr Potter," he goblin said, climbing down from the desk and leading him away towards the vaults. He glared as Harry stepped into the cart behind him, then waved a clawed hand over his injured one, healing it instantly.
"Thank-you, sir," he said quietly. The goblin only grunted and started the cart.
The procedure for opening his vault was very different this year, the goblin waved and tapped at the vault's door for some time before instructing him to place his hand on it, at which he heard a subtle click and the door finally opened. Harry made sure to collect several big handfuls of galleons this time, after all he had a tab at Flourish and Blots to cover, so all up it was a good fifteen minutes before he returned to the waiting Grangers.
"All done?" Mrs Granger asked kindly. Harry nodded, smiling back at her.
"We're supposed to be meeting the Weasleys at the book shop," Mr Granger interjected uncertainly, looking at his wife. She nodded, still clearly annoyed with him, and they walked in a slightly less oppressive silence down to Flourish and Blots.
The moment they arrived, Harry missed the silence.
The bookshop was packed, a line extending from somewhere within through the door and off down the Alley, which appeared to be made up primarily of witches Hermione's parents age, was blocking to doorway and taking up a good deal of the front of the store from what harry could see. The remainder of the space was filled with Hogwarts students and their families, navigating around and through the line in order to locate course books.
This brought a sudden thought to Harry's mind.
"Um…Hermione, did you get the book list?" he asked timidly. She looked up at him, frowning.
"Of course, didn't you?" she asked confusedly. Harry shrugged.
"Probably, no owls remember…" he trailed off awkwardly. Hermione nodded, with a look of sudden comprehension and pulled a piece of parchment from her pocket.
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk
Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart
Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart
Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart
Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart
A sudden squeal interrupted Harry as he was processing his feelings of foreboding at all the alliteration.
"Look," Hermione squealed again, pointing to a large banner stretched across the upper windows of the store.
GILDEROY LOCKHART
will be signing copies of his autobiography
MAGICAL ME
today 12:30 – 4:30pm
Harry took an immediate dislike to this person.
Not only was he responsible for a long list of what sounded like picture books, but he was also apparently the cause of the multitude of people filling the bookstore, and depriving Harry of what he had hoped would be a pleasant few minutes browsing in peace with Hermione before Ron arrived and demanded they all go and 'do something.'
"We can actually meet him, I mean he's written half the booklist –" Hermione stopped suddenly, looking at Harry and blushing, he smiled and handed her copy back to her.
"I'll get the Goshawk books if you'd like to get us his stuff," he offered. Hermione grinned and nodded as they both stepped into the crowd of students struggle to shop amid the chaos.
Admittedly, Harry's reasons for his suggestion weren't entirely altruistic. He was rather hoping to locate Moon and get that Occlumency book he'd recommended so he'd have something interesting to read over the two weeks before term started. Therefore, as soon as he'd manage to lose the grangers in the crowd, Harry turned back towards the entrance where a harassed looking shop attendant was attempting to bring some sort of order to the chaos.
"Calmly, please ladies…don't push there…mind the books, now…" he was saying with an expression that implied he had no delusions about the women's inclination to 'mind the books.'
"Excuse me," Harry said, once he'd reached the shop attendant's side, "I'm looking for Moon, is he here?"
The attendant gave him a very unimpressed look. He was tall and thin, with straw coloured hair and a slightly waxy completion which only highlighted the generally bothered look in his pale blue eyes.
"Speaking?"
"Oh," Harry smiled brightly, "I'm Harry Potter," the young man's expression did a complete one-eighty, "do you still happen to have the book you mentioned in your last letter?"
Moon nodded distractedly, staring out over the sea of middle-aged women, then seemed to come to a decision.
"This way," he said, leading Harry back into the shop and into a small side room that appeared to function as some mix of store room, filling room, bedroom, and office. Moon immediately pulled the book from under a pile of papers, some of which Harry recognised as his own letters, and handed it to him.
"Close the door, will you?" he said, sitting down on the edge of his desk and giving Harry a long-suffering expression. His distaste for the noise level in the shop overriding his natural concern at being alone with a relatively unknown adult, Harry did so.
Moon sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.
"If anyone asks, you were paying your tab," Harry grinned as he sifted the book in his arms and handed Moon the purse he'd just acquired at Gringotts.
"If anyone asks, I was asking you where to find the Goshawk books." Moon grunted.
"Third aisle, this side, far end of the store," he recited.
There was a moment of silence before Moon opened his eyes.
"Why'd you stop writing, I was getting worried?" he asked, crossing one ankle over the other.
"My muggles found out and put bars on my window," Harry deadpanned. Moons eyebrows shot up.
"Blimey," he muttered, looking at Harry, "you don't get along then?"
Harry shook his head. Moon frowned.
"What are you gonna do with all the books when you go back to school then?" he asked, "I doubt they'll all fit in your trunk especially with all the Lockhart books."
"I don't know to be honest," Harry admitted. It was actually a problem he'd been worrying about a bit over the past few weeks. Harry had brought a total of twelve new books so far, including the one he was holding, and this, added to two years' worth of school books and all the other things that would have to go in his trunk, added up to a concerning volume.
"You should get one of those trunks with compartments they sell across the road," Moon suggested, "if you're willing to pay for it you can get one that'll hold hundreds of books," he grinned a little self-consciously at Harry, "I got one in my seventh year, I probably didn't need it, but it was cool anyway."
Harry nodded politely.
"I might just do that," he replied. Moon, seeming to decide her could no longer delay, pulled a piece of parchment out of a nearby draw and after consulting it for a moment, began counting out galleons onto the desk.
"I don't have any change in here," he said awkwardly, realising that was all the purse contained.
"That's fine," Harry said, taking the purse back, "consider it a down payment on future purchases."
Moon seemed about to argue but decided against it at the last moment and simply made a note on Harry's tab before returning the draw.
"I suppose I better not push me luck with my manager," he sighed, standing up. Harry moved out of the way so he could open the door, feeling that it would be impolite to do so himself.
"Pleasure doing business with you," Moon said by way of farewell, ducking around Harry.
"Likewise," Harry replied smiling and nodding politely. Moon disappeared into the crowed.
Harry stood there for a moment, debating with himself whether to look into Moon's suggestion now or later with Ron and Hermione. But then, he couldn't very well explain to them why he needed a new trunk with extra book space without admitting that he could have written them but hadn't thought of it. And it was only across the street.
Carefully slinking around the back of the shop, Harry ducked out as unobtrusively as he could manage and crossed the street into the little accessories shop he'd been to last year with Hagrid. The place was small but had a high ceiling, and was lined with shelves packed with bags, hats, shoes, belts, and all manner of other things. There was a faint smell of leather in the air and the bright light from a medium sized chandelier combined with a low store from outside gave the place an eternally inside.
"May I help you?" a portly proprietor asked, stepping in through a doorway behind the counter that presumably led to the back of the shop.
"Hi," Harry said, putting on his most polite smile.
"I was wondering of you have any trunks with extra space for books?" the man's face lit up immediately.
"Why of course! We can offer you the simple model with only a basic expansion charm if you would like but if you're after something more advanced we have several multi-compartment designs that include a library compartment which can be offered in various sizes depending on your needs, all of course available with feather light charm included and…" at this point he paused his enthusiastic tirade and leant a little closer to Harry.
"I've just managed to patent a design with a built in shrinking charm, papers just arrived from the ministry a few days ago. As a young wizard still in school, you're not allowed to shrink or levitate your own trunk, with can be no end of bother to young people. But with this, a simple tap will shrink it to the size of a matchbox and then unshrink it for you again. Its brilliant! You don't even need to have your wand in your hand so there's no way anyone can accuse you!"
Harry continued nodding as the man spoke, thinking of his struggle to get his belongings on board the Express last year, but more specifically, of his need for a better way to hide magical possessions from the Dursleys.
"I'll take one," he said definitively. The man grinned broadly, bustling behind the counter and pulling out a form.
"Alright then, young sir," he said, his enthusiasm for his vocation beginning to infect Harry to, "first things first. How many compartments would you like?" Harry bit his lip, thinking.
"What the cost variation?" he asked.
"Three compartments is 6 galleons, with the five and seven compartment models coming in at 9 and 13 galleons respectively. That's before any other upgrades though." He replied uncertainly. Harry nodded, taking this in.
"I think I'll take the three compartments one, with the shrinking charm you mentioned and is there any way to enchant it so only I can open it?" he asked.
"Certainly, I can offer the basic password locking system however if you'd like something more advance we offer magic and blood identification however those are a little more expensive," the shopkeeper replied.
"I'll just take the password option please," Harry decided. For his bank account it wouldn't do but this was slightly lower stakes.
"And would you like separate passwords for each compartment or one general one?" he asked.
"Separate," Harry replied. The shopkeeper made some more notes for a moment, then glanced up at Harry.
"Any preferred design, young sir?" he asked. Struck be a sudden idea, Harry turned and looked around the shop until he found the trunk Hagrid had gotten him.
"Can you make it look like that?" he asked pointing. The shopkeeper smiled and nodded conspiratorially.
"So, you'd like a three-compartment trunk with an in-built shrinking charm designed to look like a regular trunk, but still with the standard indestructibility charms I presume?" he clarified. Harry nodded sheepishly.
"I presume you'd like one regular compartment then?" he asked, and Harry nodded again.
"And a library compartment – standard?"
"What the difference?" Harry asked.
"Standard offers you two shelves five meters long, I can add length to that at well as extra shelves for a bit more," the man elaborated. Harry though about it for a moment.
"Can I come back to get extra space if I ever need it?" he asked.
"Not really," the man frowned and looked uncomfortable.
"Better make it ten meters then, just to be safe," Harry decided. Who knew how long he was going to have this trunk.
"And the third compartment?"
"What are my options?"
"Anything you want really," the man shrugged, "if you want I can give you a large stone room about the size of your averages potions lab and you can turn it into whatever you like." Harry nodded, thinking this actually offered great potential for hiding his broom and Hedwig, or even himself.
"Alright so that's six galleons for three compartments plus ten sickles for then expanded library and fifteen for the shrinking charm, all up that comes to seven galleons and five sickles," he said smiling as Harry laid out eight galleons on the counter.
"I can finish it tomorrow and you can come get in Monday if you'd like Mr…"
"Potter," Harry supplied, "I'll see you then!" he quickly ducked out of the shop before the shop keeper could finish coming to the obvious conclusion.
Remembering Moon's advice, it took Harry only a moment to locate the books he and Hermione required however upon approaching the counter, scanning for the Grangers or even Ron, he came across the rather terrifying site of two men brawling on the flaw, cheered on by what looked like half the Weasley clan.
"Gentlemen, please – please!" Moon shouted bustling over.
Harry rushed over to help him and was joined in pulling away a man that could only be Ron's father by the woman he remembered form Kings Cross. Moon meanwhile was pulling a blond man from the other side under the stunned eyes of one Draco Malfoy.
"Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you –" the blond man, whom Harry was guessing was Malfoy's father, spat handing Ron's little sister a book before beckoning to Draco and sweeping out of the shop.
"Harry Potter, I presume?" Mr Weasley said, turning to Harry.
"Yes, sir," Harry nodded, bending down and beginning to collect some of the fallen books.
"Come on Arthur, we really should help to," Mrs Weasley told her husband crossly, setting down her things and beginning to assist Harry and Moon in putting the shop to rights. The youngest Weasley, whom Harry was fairly sure was named Ginny, quickly put down her cauldron and set herself to collecting books too. With the help of the rest of the Weasley clan as well as Hermione and her family, the shop was tidied within a few minutes and Mrs Weasley was apologising profusely to Moon about the trouble.
"Nothing to worry about, ma'am," he was telling her a little stiffly as Harry picked up Ginny's cauldron and went to stand with the rest of the Weasleys. Ginny blushed horribly at the act of gallantry, but Harry pretended he hadn't seen. Mr Weasley insisted on taking everyone out for ice-cream to apologise for the entire scene and it was just as he was shifting Ginny's admittedly heavy cauldron as he waited for everyone to choose a flavour, that harry notice a battered leather notebook peeking out of her copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
"Is this yours?" he asked Ginny who promptly gasped and, after only the briefest of glances to see what he was talking about, began shaking her head vigorously. Harry shrugged, sitting down as Fred and George finally finished ordering, and oped the little book up. However, to his surprise it was completely blank.
"Do you mind if I keep it then?" Harry asked, glancing back up at Ginny. She shook her head, blushing worse than ever as she sat down across from him.
"Here are you books by the way," Hermione put in, setting down a large linen bag in front of him, his copy of this year's Standard Book of Spells peering out of the top.
"Thanks," Harry said as he relocated the bag to the floor, sliding the diary and his occlumency book, which thankfully no one had commented on in all the action, in as well.
The rest of the day past without further excitement, Harry and Hermine only needing to refill their potions kits before returning to school, and Hermione declining Ron's suggestion that she ask her parents to but her a broom. The car ride back with the Grangers was pleasantly quiet, as Hermione buried herself in Gadding with Ghouls and Harry relaxed into the car seat, planning out his next few moves and generally ruminating on the state of things.
He could take the night bus up to London on Monday but only if he could find a way to get out of the house, or more specifically, his bedroom. He would also need to find a time, presumably at night, when he could sneak downstairs and get his wand from his trunk. Really the entire thing was only feasible if the Dursleys stopped locking his door. However, presuming he managed to get to London and back with his new trunk, he could move almost everything out of his old one and keep the new one in his room.
Sadly, none of this solved his problem with corresponance but if he could get out of his room at night he could release Hedwig into the backyard. Receiving letters – and books – promised to be a little more complicated but it was something at least.
"Hermione," Harry said quietly, getting out of the car. She looked up and Harry swallowed, acutely aware that he was about to be more honest with her then he had probably been since they'd met.
"I didn't have a lot of friends growing up either."
Harry shut the car door and walked up to number four without looking back, his arms full of his new books and potions equipment.
Okay. Hello people reading this.
So, this isn't the first fanfic I've written but it is the first time I've had any sort of sense that there were people actually reading my work. I'll try to contain my excitement for the most part contained but I'll inevitably fail so I'm apologising in advance.
So what do you think?
Is it too fast paced? Does Harry seem too smart for a twelve-year-old? Does he lack 'objective correlative'? Am I doing an okay job of creating a British setting? Does the whole thing just seem really tacky and stupid? How many typos have I missed?
But most significantly, how do I get the line across the top of the page that everyone else writes their author's note under? I can't figure it out.
Shout-out to Yenerys, who favorited this story 52mins after it was posted. I love you so much.