Harry shot up away from his pillow, sweaty and breathing heavily like he had just run a marathon. He had a nightmare—one which he hadn't had in a long time—one which he could now put into context. And he wasn't sure if the knowledge comforted him or not.
A terrified, feminine scream. Horrible, high, cold laughter. A flash of green light.
His mother's murder. His mother Lily. Murdered. He remembered it.
She wasn't killed in a car accident at all. And people—he had read—had nothing but good things to say about her. And his father, too. His father James.
He was murdered, too. No drunken car accident for him either. Nope. Murder.
The Dursleys!
Oh how he hated them even more. So much, so intensely, so indescribably acutely. The white-hot hatred flared inside him at the thought of those—those filthy creatures besmirching his parents' good names! He would make them pay!
For years—years!—he had hated his parents and cursed their memory for being so abysmally weak and careless and stupid enough to get killed in a car accident and leaving him with the Dursleys. Had hated his father for being drunken and stupid and jobless and his mother for being a whore and not caring about her family. That was gone now.
Completely.
Replaced by the crushing knowledge of what he had lost, and the eternal shame for ever believing the Dursleys' lies about them. How could he have been so stupid?! Nothing they had ever said about him was the truth, so why would anything they said about his parents be true either?
He wanted to pull his hair out and scream!
But it was worse than that. Still worse. Impossibly worse. Not only were his parents apparently good people who seemed to have loved him very much, but they were heroes! Heroes! There was truly no justice in the world if he had lived his life thus far hating his parents for their failures while the rest of the world—the magical world, the world of his parents, the one to which he belonged—had gone about lauding them, and practically canonizing their spirits!
Really… What the fuck?!
And what about him? He, Harry James Potter, wizard. Huh?
He was a hero, too. The biggest hero of them all, apparently. He was in the history books! There was even a large series of children's stories about his…adventures, and his magical fucking floating castle that he called home.
What?
Something was seriously wrong with…everything. Something was seriously wrong with everything.
Everything about his life as he knew it…was a lie. His parents. Their deaths. His scar (and wasn't that something to think about?!). His family. The world. Harry himself.
His identity as he understood it was shot to hell. Completely and utterly ruined. What there was left was…well, the weak, tattered strips of his personality as he imagined it would have been if he had succumbed to the Dursleys' assaults—and also this…Boy-Who-Lived…thing. Because, surely, this was part of whom he was, as well, even if he didn't know it yet, and couldn't at all relate to the loathsome, caricature of a person that was the Boy-Who-Lived.
At least, that was what he figured. Did he even have an identity anymore? There were books! So many books written about him! But rather than call him 'Harry James Potter', they often used 'The Boy-Who-Lived' as the name for the little shit character. Was he not even worth his name? Surely they were the same people. Right? There could only be one Harry James Potter with a lightning bolt scar and messy black hair and green eyes. Right? That was him.
It had to be.
But it wasn't. Not at all. He didn't have fantastical adventures. He didn't call a magical floating castle his home. And he didn't even wear glasses. He gardened. He got beat up. He lived in the cupboard under the stairs. How could he, Harry James Potter, exist at all when compared to all that, a storybook hero? Was he meant to be consumed by the character of the Boy-Who-Lived? Who was he, anymore?
Oh yeah, apparently, the Boy-Who-Lived also wore glasses. Was blind as a bat without them. Did that mean Harry would have to start wearing those hideous, round metal contraptions now? Was it not enough for people to steal his identity, but they had to tell him how he had to look?!
And was it normal for ten year olds to have an identity crisis?!
"AAAAAHHH!" he screamed, overcome by a raging storm of emotions.
Harry clamped his hands on the sides of his head and screamed again. He rocked violently forward, and then back, cracking his head against the ugly blue and white striped wallpaper that covered his rented room, taking comfort in the sudden pain that temporarily managed to overwhelm his panic. And what a panic it was. Even in his wildest dreams he had never…
It was like some really fucked up fiction that was meant to be a fantasy but was actually a horror, and he was cursed never to stop reading it. His whole desperate life was laid bare before him in the pages of those stupid books. It was so pathetic that Harry almost wanted to cry.
Then, like lightning, a thought struck him.
Someone knew.
All those books—and how ridiculous they were, even the history ones! There were no notes! Anywhere!—and how the artist seemingly knew exactly what he looked like (save perhaps for the glasses thing and how skinny he was; after all, the protagonist of any story can't be a scrawny little kid, but a big, strong young man), and his letter—his Hogwarts letter—was addressed to: 'The Cupboard under the Stairs.'
Someone was playing a game with his fucking life, like it was all some sick joke! It felt very much like those instances from years ago when Vernon used to pretend to be nice to him after a beating, only to hurt him even more after he had finally been lulled into a false sense of security. Harry had learned that particular lesson quite quickly: Don't trust anyone, especially adults. Especially adults.
Well, it wasn't like he was one to trust anyone, really, or like he ever would for that matter, so there would not really be much of an effect on his behavior. But! But, there was new information now. About him, his life, his family, and…oh yeah, magic! Who was he kidding? Probably everything about him currently would have to change.
There was just so much that he had to assimilate, though. There were obviously expectations of him, and they were seemingly high, if the adventures in the storybooks were anything to go by, and there were also the expectations he had of himself, which had just gone up exponentially.
But there was also such an opportunity for him now; the kind of once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that, if the hum of his magic was telling him anything, was likely to make-or-break the universe itself. Oh, Harry was so excited. His previous rage temporarily forgotten, he began planning out his day.
First, he would need to go back to Gringotts and speak to someone about his family's holdings because, well, you know, apparently he was some kind of knight or something and his family was unspeakably wealthy, like all those other families that had huge country estates and actual heraldry and maybe a slave or a hundred cultivating indigo and cotton on a plantation somewhere in America or Brazil before that all was outlawed. Harry couldn't help but laugh; apparently there was class conflict everywhere, even if all the people had magic fucking powers. So, yes, he definitely needed to speak to someone, and it seemed that the goblin bankers were the people he was looking for.
Then he'd have to go…shopping. Stopping midstride, Harry realized that he had been pacing for the past few minutes, which was odd, because he had never paced before, but decided to come back to it later in favor of his more pressing concerns, namely, that he had to go shopping. He had no qualm about the act of shopping, per se, but his experience of it had not been good, and also…well, he was alone. And that might be a problem.
It was quite unusual, he understood, for children— and he used the term lightly because he had never been a child, he merely looked like one—were never ones to go about shopping by themselves. Sure, they ran away from their guardians, but that was the point—they had guardians, people who were responsible for them.
Harry had never had the pleasure of that experience.
And wouldn't it just draw all kinds of attention to him if someone realized that not only was he shopping without a guardian, but that he was Harry fucking Potter? Ridiculous. He was practically baby Jesus to every witch's uncle. Harry had seen on the television the crowds for when the Pope came to town, and he really, really, really didn't want to imagine what sort of absolute chaos there'd be if it was made known that Harry was out and about.
This was a big problem, now that he thought about it. There was no way the goblins would give him control of his family's estate. First, he had no identification—and he seriously doubted that some old faded scar would help him out there. Second, he was ten fucking years old!
A serious problem, indeed.
But wait… Yes. That might work. Whenever anyone around Little Whinging had a serious problem—like when Mr. Number 12's wife caught him having an affair with Mrs. Number 7, or when Ms. Number 1 didn't pay her parking tickets on time—they always contacted a solicitor. And though he likely didn't have nearly enough money on hand to employ one at the moment, there was a good chance that the prospect of making much more money—because Harry was due to come into a lot of it, it seemed—would entice them enough to be helpful.
He had a plan.
~Dragon Chronicles~
After eating ravenously of the food he had stolen from Number 4, Harry prepared himself for a long day. He showered, brushed his teeth, put on some of his less-ruined clothes, donned a rather unexciting grey dress he had bought after leaving Ollivander's shop the day before in hopes of blending into the other shoppers—he still couldn't get past the fact that witches and wizards wore dresses everywhere (to say nothing of the fact that they were deluding themselves by calling them robes)—and then tried and failed to tame his hair, he slinked out of his rented room at The Howling Monkey and made his way downstairs.
The common area was dimly lit by a lone, crackling fire, and a slight haze of grease from the breakfast and smoky ash made its way around the ceiling as if moved by invisible ceiling fans. The place didn't disgust Harry to the extent that The Leaky Cauldron did, and that was probably the only reason why he hadn't just slept outside. One would think that, with magic, cleaning apparently wouldn't be so difficult or troublesome that so many things would be dirty and grimy and send a chill of disgust down Harry's spine, but it was not to be. Alas.
Looking around, Harry began his search. He had to get a newspaper and look at the advertisements because, if the magical world was anything like the muggle one, there'd likely be some information about a solicitor's office that would point him in the right direction.
Chances were that there'd probably be something close by, actually, given how expansive the magical district seemed to be. And wouldn't that be convenient? Maybe he could find an accountant in the same building, even?
Hah, as if—
—A newspaper! Excellent.
Harry opened up the newspaper—The Daily Prophet, apparently—and started perusing it. He was quite shocked, and then very excited, when he saw the pictures moving. Moving pictures! Of course! Because, why not? Oh, how he wanted to do magic right then and there. Maybe he could make the words move? Or make the paper sing the words to him? Or maybe—
Harry sighed. He had been too easily distracted recently. It was unacceptable. He had to stay on task. Especially as things stood. He could be in danger from Death Eaters, if the half dozen history books he tore through last night were to be believed, or even from whomever the fuck had decided that leaving him with the Dursleys was a good idea. Harry clenched his teeth. He still needed to get information about that. He was not about to let that injustice fall by the wayside.
And he was doing it again!
AH!
Harry took a deep breath and calmed down, idly noticing that the window panes near him had rattled slightly. Perhaps his…unsettled state of mind was the price to pay for being given the chance to have a new life. If that was the case, then fine. Because, sure, the scientist within Harry understood that lots of shocks in a relatively small amount of time would mess with anyone's head and cause them some measure of disquiet. It was acceptable in the short term, at least.
Ah, excellent. He found something promising.
Both a solicitor's office and an accountant's office, and they were quite close to one another. And he didn't even need to send an owl to arrange for an appointment, which was fortunate, because he still needed to buy one of those.
Harry didn't even want to think about how strange it was to use owls to communicate. He probably wouldn't eat for days he'd be so distracted.
Oh look, the solicitor had office hours currently. How fortuitous.
Standing from his seat, Harry glanced one last time at the address printed with the advertisement—312 Horizont Alley—and made his way outside into the morning sun.
The door creaked something awful as Harry opened it, but his attention was immediately caught by the wonderful vista as he saw it from his position on the threshold.
Unbidden, a ridiculously happy smile lighted Harry's face. He was a fucking wizard! Ha ha! This was so cool.
People were already milling about, opening stores, setting up stalls, and going about their early shopping. The click-clacking of people's shoes on the cobblestone street joined in with the gentle hum of conversation to create a busy atmosphere for the quiet morning. Off in the distance some bees were buzzing seemingly in synch with the wavering haze of the morning dew. The sun shone brightly and hard and prickled the pale skin on Harry's face. It was definitely going to be a hot day.
Turning down Horizont Alley, Harry had to rethink his opinion of wizards. A few times.
The street itself was rather curvy—never running straight. The buildings were jutting up from the ground at strange angles and curves, sometimes their rooves were almost facing the building across the street from them, or they looked like someone had gripped their tops and twisted them like pretzel dough, or like they had been given a push and were about to fall over into another street. In other words, nothing about the place was horizontal. Or mostly vertical, for that matter.
On the one hand, it nearly scared the shit out the Harry. How did the buildings stay up? Hadn't anyone ever heard of gravity?! And then he realized that it was only through magic that the buildings had managed not only to look like they did, but also stay that way. On the other hand, magic seemed to make pretty much anything possible, and this was a pretty awesome example of that, if a little irrational in a modern-art-kind-of-way.
This magic stuff would take some getting used to.
312 Horizont Alley looked like it was a store straight from Portobello Road in London, and it certainly wouldn't have looked out of place in the colorful and famous shopping district, except, of course, for the fact that the building was angled about twenty degrees to its left.
Seriously, Harry thought, there's quirky, and then there's crazy. And wizards are definitely crazy.
Hesitating only slightly, Harry grasped the brass doorknob and opened the door, almost tripping on the skewed frame.
One quick gaze told Harry that—thankfully—the inside wasn't all crazy like the outside, so chances were that he'd likely avoid a massive headache from feeling like he was trapped in an M.C. Escher painting. Which was good news.
The bad news?
There didn't seem to be an assistant to direct him, which meant that he likely would have to explore the building until he found his quarry, which was an inconvenience, but not terrible. With luck, he wouldn't walk in on something inappropriate or embarrassing.
Moving into the downstairs section, Harry saw a rather nice sitting room with tasteful arrangements that left quite a bit of space open in front of the fireplace…where there were footprints in the soot leading from the grate.
What?
Was this just another instance of wizards not cleaning or did fireplaces experience foot traffic?
Ha! How ridiculous.
Past a bathroom—where instead of a little blue man and a little red woman on the door, there was a dancing wand and a smoking cauldron—an open door revealed a spacious office where the walls were absolutely covered with framed newspaper clippings and certificates and books and books and books.
The desk was besieged by paperwork, and even the two chairs where ordinarily clients would sit were weighed down with towers of binders full of information that were teetering precariously over the edge. It was madness. If this was a look into how it would be to manage an estate or be a solicitor, Harry was glad for the sneak-peek. He now knew what he never wanted to do professionally!
But he still had to find the proprietors. Perhaps upstairs?
The stairs were unusually creaky, one had even groaned when he stepped on it, so Harry was only too glad that he was light of foot, lest he might have fallen through if the climb collapsed. That would have been painful. Regardless, he made it to the second floor unscathed, and proceeded to look around. There was another sitting room up there too, with its own bathroom. And farther down the hall was another door, likely leading to an office. Excellent.
Knock-knock.
Nothing but an uneasy stillness. Interesting.
Knock-knock-knock.
That got a reaction.
Inside the office Harry heard what sounded like quick rustling, a collapse of what was presumably a pile of papers if the thwack-shh was anything to go by, and harsh, urgent whispering.
How curious. Bet they're wishing they had a secretary, now, Harry thought humorously, smirking slyly.
A gruff cough caught Harry's attention, and he schooled his face. It wouldn't do to have a first meeting go poorly because they thought he was laughing at them. Even if he actually was laughing at them.
He-he.
The door opened swiftly, revealing a kind-faced, pot-bellied man and a dark haired woman who gave off such a superior air that Harry had the sudden urge to bow for her, but then it was gone, and he was left feeling only horribly out of place in his drab, second-hand robes and messy hair.
Shaking his head slightly, Harry took another look at the strangers. Their shock that a child had come to meet them was apparent, and Harry was glad he had not owled ahead. No doubt they would not have taken him seriously, and he would have been out of luck. But now? Now, he had his foot in the door, so to speak, now he had a chance to make his move and get what his rightfully his.
Harry gave them a small smile and stuck out his hand.
"Hello, I'm Harry Potter, and I'm in need of a solicitor and an accountant. May I presume that you are Mr. and Mrs. Tonks?" he asked politely.
The Tonkses looked at Harry blankly, not even acknowledging his outstretched hand. A little miffed, Harry peered at the two more closely and extended his senses. Perhaps if he got a read off of them he might be able to direct the conversation in his favor before they could throw him out the door.
Mr. Tonks was…like a jar full of laughing honey. That didn't' really inform Harry of anything much besides, perhaps, that he was an amenable sort. The man's warm brown eyes, however, clued Harry in a bit more. There was surprise, disbelief, and wonderment. And a strange image of…something. Not important. In other words, there was nothing Harry couldn't work with.
As for Mrs. Tonks, she gave the impression that she was a particularly regal wolf, with a veiled penchant for exceptional cuddliness. Her grey eyes were…blank. What? And now Harry was getting no feeling from her at all. How—
Mrs. Tonks jerked away from him in abject shock. And Harry could only mimic her. How had she been able to do that? Only ever had Mr. Ollivander been able to detect Harry's mind reading trick, and that had been after he had seen quite a bit in the man's mind. Harry simply guessed that he had only been caught that time because the shifting images set off some reaction in his subject's mind, but perhaps that was not what was going on. Damn! He needed more information! How could he have been so stupid!? Now she knew what he was capable of. What if—
"Hello," Mrs. Tonks said, her clipped voice drawing her husband's attention.
Shit.
She was glaring at Harry.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Uh—"
"Hello, uh, Mr. Potter," Mr. Tonks said, drawing Harry's and his wife's attention. He was looking between them, apparently aware of his wife's frosty greeting yet decidedly confused about it.
Perhaps Harry wouldn't have to negotiate from a weak position after all. If he could get the husband on his side chances were that the man could get his wife to be amenable to a business relationship too.
Yes, that would do.
Harry smiled innocently at the man, thankful for the opportunity.
"Greetings. I hope I haven't interrupted anything. I can come back another time if this is inconvenient for you. The advertisement said—"
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary, Mr. Potter," Mr. Tonks assured him, looking rather embarrassed as he drew up his arm and ushered Harry into the room, heedless of the looks they both were getting from the man's wife. "Why don't you take a seat and we can talk about why you're here—uh, why you're here as you are and not, well, yes," he finished awkwardly, catching his wife's eye.
As Harry sat down he caught Mrs. Tonks' eye too, and really wished that Mr. Ollivander had already finished with his wand so that he wouldn't be vulnerable for much longer. That was a problem that needed fixing. Soon.
Harry smiled shyly at her, and he wasn't even totally faking it. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous, and was obviously part of the aristocracy (though her husband…), and Harry was definitely embarrassed that he had been caught trying to read her mind, so he allowed some of that to leak through. If her husband saw it—
Mr Tonks clicked his tongue. "Andromeda, stop scaring the boy!" he laughed. "Look at him, he's harmless," Mr. Tonks said jovially, drawing up a seat on the other side of the desk. "Now, sit down with me, dear, so we can talk to Mr. Potter."
Mrs. Tonks gave Harry another long look before joining her husband. Harry just kept smiling at them both, but inside, he was quite nervous. He had already made a great mistake with the wife, and it would be a total disaster if the husband got wind of exactly why Mrs. Tonks was so being rude.
"Now, um, you say that you are Harry Potter, yes?"
Harry nodded his head at Mr. Tonks, still smiling.
"Well, forgive me, but, do you have any proof?"
Damn! He knew this would be an issue. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He had absolutely no proof. Hell, he doubted Petunia even had proof that he was Harry Potter. He had no choice. They couldn't be mean to a poor little orphan boy, could they?
Harry let out a small sigh. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid I don't," he answered in a truly pathetic voice.
Mr. Tonks smiled weakly at Harry as if he had expected that was the case, and turned to his wife, who was looking at Harry queerly.
Harry did his best not to squirm in his seat. The woman's look was most unsettling. He had to think of something to get back control of the conversation before they came up with a reason to throw him out. Perhaps he didn't appear to be wretched enough? Could he surprise them again?
"You see sir, ma'am, I only found out about magic yesterday"—that got their attention. Yes!—"and I'm afraid I'm in rather a bit of a predicament. I need to get my school things, and I'm worried the coins I have left might not cover the cost of everything I need.
"Apparently, my family left behind quite the estate, a fact I found out last night reading The Triumph of Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, which also contained other interesting things like, for instance, that my parents were murdered and not killed in a car crash as I had been led to believe, and that apparently I've been living in a magical floating castle having all sorts of wonderful adventures with my tutor, the time-traveling super mage Merlin." He let out a truly pathetic sigh and he looked at the Tonkses with wide eyes.
"Can you can help me?" he asked hopefully, desperately trying not to let show that he was actually rejoicing at the looks on their faces.
Oh, was he good. So good.
"What?" Mrs. Tonks asked loudly, losing her icy composure.
Her husband, meanwhile, was doing a passable impression of a fish. He was rather funny.
Harry smiled a tad condescendingly at Mrs. Tonks, and said, "Yes."
She looked back uncomprehendingly.
Perhaps he ought to try her husband? What could he use? He had seen the man's office. It was a mess. But something stood out. He remembered what those colors meant. Admittedly, he was reading those magazines to aid in his study of Statistics, but….
"I know what you mean sir," Harry said, nodding slightly at the man even though he hadn't actually said anything, "it's pretty unbelievable. I mean, just imagine, waking up one morning and you find out that you're more famous than Alan Smith, Liam Brady, Perry Groves, and Frank Stapleton combined"—shocked recognition, excitement. Ha! And Mrs. Tonks knew those names too, but Harry only heard her give a low groan—"and to top it off, you find out that you have magical powers. You never expect it to happen, and then suddenly it does."
Harry turned his attention to Mrs. Tonks. Perhaps some honesty? "I quite sure that the last thing you imagined when you woke up today was that I would walk into your office building, interrupt you and your husband"—what that a blush he saw?—"try to read your mind, and explain how I came into the magical world and just how much help I need. Am I right?"
She nodded. "Yes, you are, Mr. Potter."
Mr. Tonks was looking between them cautiously, all mention of Arsenal FC and four of its most famous players forgotten. "Mind reading?"
Mrs. Tonks looked like she was going to answer, but Harry beat her to it, doing his best to sound contrite. "Yes, sir. It's something I've been able do to for about two years now. I've found being on my own in this strange world of magic to be more than a little unnerving"—and really, now that he thought about it, holy fuck was he out of his depth here—"and so I'm afraid that I'm a little more on guard and suspicious of others than I normally am"—which was totally untrue. Harry had a theory that he was born a paranoid bastard, and that it only got worse as he aged. Maybe it had something to do with his magic? Hmm.—"so I'm sorry to say that when you both seemed so unsure and wary when you greeted me that I…extended my senses, as it were, just to be safe."
Mr. Tonks just looked like he didn't know what to make of any of what was going on. Mrs. Tonks…she just seemed like she was trying to take stock of everything Harry had said. He had regained control of the conversation, but now he needed them to participate in it and not just listen. Perhaps he should break the tension?
"If it's any consolation, sir, I'd like to inform you that the feeling I got from you was that you were like a large jar of laughing honey, and Mrs. Tonks was like a particularly regal wolf, and that she actually likes to cuddle a great deal, though you would never guess it at first glance."
Harry was expecting some embarrassment on the part of the Tonkses, or some light laughing at his ridiculous statement, so he was wholly unprepared for the deep belly-laugh that suddenly sprung from Mr. Tonks and the scowl that Mrs. Tonks shot his way before she hit her husband on the head with a rolled up newspaper.
Thwack!
But it seemed Mr. Tonks was not to be deterred. The man's laugh was infectious, and Harry was hard-pressed not to smile in response.
"Oh, that's hilarious! Ha! Did ya hear that, Andy? You secretly like to cuddle!" The man actually slapped his knee and bent forward, reaching for his wife's hand, grinning like a complete idiot.
"Yes, Ted, I did hear Mr. Potter's assessment of me," Mrs. Tonks responded primly. "Need I remind you that while I am apparently a dangerous and beautiful apex predator, you are little more than a poor imitation of Winnie the Pooh?" she asked dryly.
Mr. Tonks stopped laughing and gave a disgruntled grunt, before he smiled happily again. "You know dear, that gives me an idea. We could use honey—"
"Ted!" Mrs. Tonks yelled, sounding mortified. "Shut up! We have a client, right now."
Yes! Harry thought victoriously.
"So you'll take my case?" he asked before their argument could develop any further.
The Tonkses paused and turned to look at Harry synchronously, but he just smiled back. Things were going well. They hadn't really resolved the issue of his identity yet, but he was inside, and talking to them, and Harry hadn't even been in the room for more than fifteen minutes yet.
Harry felt a sudden urge to cackle.
How curious.
"Um, well, I think—"
"What exactly is it that you are after, Mr. Potter?" Mrs. Tonks interrupted her husband, all previous levity gone from the room.
Harry appreciated her professionalism.
"Well ma'am, it's like I said before: I need access to my family's estate. The books I read last night seemed quite convinced that I've been living in the lap of luxury, as it were, and that, though they lack specifics, the Potter family is part of the upper-crust of magical society. Simply put, I want what's mine, and I'm willing to do what is necessary to get it."
Mrs. Tonks shifted in her chair, the wooden legs scraping against the oak-paneled flooring.
"And your family? Where are they?"
Harry peered at the woman uncomprehendingly. "My family is dead ma'am. They were killed years ago."
Mrs. Tonks winced and sent Mr. Tonks a look that he seemed to understand.
"Yes, Lily and James. They were wonderful people," Mr. Tonks explained sadly, but then he smiled brightly. "Your dad had a wicked sense of humor."—what?—"Did you know when he was a little older than you are now that he charmed the stairs down the hall to creak so that you'd think they were about to collapse? Yeah, he did it way back when Andy was pregnant with our daughter!" he laughed.
"I don't think she really forgave him he was nineteen and Lily told us that James was afraid of cats."
Mrs. Tonks smiled smugly at the reminder.
"Lily and Jimbo got along very well, I'll have you know. James simply should have learned to leave the cat alone."
Harry wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand, he was glad that he seemed to have found a solicitor who was willing to help him, though he was aware she hadn't actually agreed yet. On the other, he had just heard a story about his parents from people who apparently actually knew them quite well, it seemed.
His parents.
He couldn't do this now. He—
"But what I think my wife meant was, what about your family you're living with now? The Muggles. Why aren't they here with you?" Mr. Tonks asked.
What?! How dare he!
"I assure you, sir," Harry said icily, "I have no living family."
In response, Mr. Tonks did his fish impression again.
Perhaps that was a bit harsh.
"May I assume sir, and ma'am, that you have taken me on as your client?" Harry asked, his voice clipped.
"Why won't you answer Ted's question, young man?" Mrs. Tonks asked.
Harry turned to look at her, not at all liking where the conversation was headed. "I believe I have. And before I say anything more, if, of course, I say anything at all, I want to ensure that you two are working for me, and that you can't go gossiping about my business without putting yourselves at risk and ruining your reputations."
He looked at both of them flatly, juggling an idea around in his mind. He really knew nothing about the law— pretty much except for how old one had to be to leave one's home and school legally—and he was now paying the cost of that ignorance. It would be a gamble, but then, what's a great reward without a little risk?
"I came to you both because I'm in trouble and I need help. As I understand it, I have a lot to gain by claiming my family's estate. Once that happens, I will need help managing it and also help protecting my interests. This is where you two come in.
"There's a lot of money to be made, if, and only if, I can get what's mine. You can accept that, or I can walk out of here right now and find someone else. Do we have a deal?"
Mrs. Tonks looked rather stunned at being issued an ultimatum from a ten year old, but she also seemed to be thinking it over. Mr. Tonks was just looking at his wife as if he had already made up his mind.
Mrs. Tonks sighed heavily.
But Harry had one more trick up his sleeve.
"One-nil to the Arsenal," Harry chanted softly.
Mrs. Tonks gasped and looked at Harry, horrified at what she had heard. But it was Mr. Tonks' reaction which interested Harry the most. The man looked like Christmas had come early. He had—and this was what had been Harry's intention from practically the outset of the meeting—found what appeared to be a kindred spirit with Harry.
He couldn't completely stop a victorious smirk from working its way onto his face when he looked back at Mrs. Tonks. She knew she would lose any attempt to send Harry away now that her husband was so firmly aligned with him.
Harry had never guessed that sport could ever prove to be so useful.
"Excellent! I'm sure we'll have a most profitable relationship." Harry said grandly…or as grandly as any male could whose voice hadn't yet changed could. "Now, I imagine I have to sign something, yes?"
Mrs. Tonks drew herself up in her chair and whipped out her wand, causing Harry to tense—foolishly, he hadn't actually prepared any sort of response if someone used magic against him—but it wasn't to be, as a file zoomed across the room and landed on the desk. She opened the folder and looked up at Harry.
"This is a standard employment contract. Normally, there would be a one-thousand Galleon payment due at signing, but seeing as the whole point of this venture is, as you say, to get you your due, I think we can just add it to the final bill."
She looked at Ted and sighed. "This will cover our agreement to aid you in the recovery of your family's estate, but beyond that, we would need to create a new contract because, and correct me unless I am wrong, you seek to have both myself and Ted on retainer."
Harry considered her words and tried to come up with something that sounded officious. "I am in need of council and protection to handle my family's assets and my personal affairs, so if that's what you mean by 'retainer'"—seeing her nod, he went ahead—"then yes, that's what I would like."
Mrs. Tonks looked like she was about to say something else, but Harry cut her off.
"I imagine, what with this whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' thing," he said nonchalantly, "which I personally find unsettling, detestable, and more than a little irritating, that many people would not appreciate it if I were to be…mishandled in my dealings with others—taken-advantage of, you might say—and that they would lead what I'm sure would be quite a public campaign to address the wrongs wrought against me."
Seeing he definitely had their attention, he continued. It was important this threat was delivered skillfully. He could not allow his ignorance to be too much of a weakness. "I doubt the good witches and wizards of Britain could bear to have their savior, doubtless a young, impressionable boy, be led astray by sharks."
He gave them a cold little smile. "Yes, it would certainly be a tragedy. Don't you agree?"
Mr. Tonks looked absolutely stunned, but Harry wasn't sure if that was because he had just been threatened by a fellow Arsenal FC supporter, or if it was because Harry was ten years old. Mrs. Tonks—impossibly—gave Harry a smirk! As if she enjoyed the game he was playing.
Perhaps he had seriously underestimated the woman. He would have to get better at reading people without actually reading them.
Wait, it looked like she was gearing up to give a retort.
"Well Harry"—He never said she could call him Harry!—"considering that I've changed your diapers"—What!?—"that I've bathed you"—Ah!—"that you once ruined a new dress of mine after you threw up magically-resistant vomit all over it"—How embarrassing! Wait. What was going on? This wasn't supposed to happen! No!—"and that you once peed all over my kitchen table in a fit of infantile pique"—Never!—"I daresay I know how to take care of you. After all, what are second-cousins, for?"
Silence.
Then Harry remembered to breath.
His voice was caught in his throat. And he couldn't take his eyes off the woman.
What?!
How did that—how—she—what?
"What?"
Mrs. Tonks let out a long cackle, causing her husband to look at her like she was crazy.
Harry was still shocked from what the woman had said to him. Cousins? Baths? Impossible! She had to be lying. All those books said there was no one left!
"Prove it."
Harry's voice cut through the office like a whip. He was taking no chances with the woman. But even if she was telling the truth, Harry doubted he'd know how to handle it. What would she expect of him? How would this affect what Harry wanted? These were pressing concerns.
Mrs. Tonks looked at him sadly, like a mother about to explain to her child that the pet wasn't on a farm, but had actually died and could never come back. Harry felt a sudden surge of anger at her. How dare she take pity on him!
He wasn't some scum off the street; he was Harry Potter, boy genius, wizard extraordinaire! So what if he knew practically nothing about his family or wizardry? That didn't make him inferior to anyone. He just had to catch up, and then they would all know….
"Your father James was born to Charlus and Dorea Potter in 1960. Dorea Potter used to be Dorea Black, my great-aunt. I was disowned from the Black family by my cousin, Arcturus Black III, who is still head of the family, because I married Ted here, against my family's wishes.
"Aunt Dorea still kept in contact with me despite this, and she and Charlus supported us in the early years of our marriage; they even gave us the money to start this business. I knew James quite well, and he and Lily would visit us and our daughter Nymphadora often, eventually bringing you along with them."
Mrs. Tonks sighed at the memory.
"I don't have any pictures of them here, but at home there are plenty if you would like to see. Your parents and grandparents were wonderful people, Harry. I miss them very much."
For some strange reason, Harry's eyes were itchy, and he couldn't understand why that was. Was he getting sick? Perhaps he should see about going to a physician. Maybe there were wizard ones? Surely there were.
Regardless, he had to seal the deal he had just made. If what she said was true and they were family, perhaps that might compel his new lawyer and her accountant husband to be loyal to him. And if he paid them very well in return for excellent work, Harry was sure that'd help, too.
Harry cleared his throat, refusing to acknowledge Mrs. Tonks' story. It wouldn't matter one way or another so long as they kept his secrets and did what he asked of them.
"Where do I sign?" he asked crisply.
Mrs. Tonks was still looking at him sadly, so Mr. Tonks pushed forward the contract and a…a feather? What the fuck was he supposed to do with a feather? What—? Oh! A quill! …Wow. Harry had no clue how to write with one. This was going to be terrible.
And it was. Harry could hardly read his name on the parchment. And it was parchment. There was no paper anywhere.
Harry hoped desperately that wizarding society was not as totally preindustrial as it looked.
~Dragon Chronicles~
The next several hours were spent going over a plan of action to secure for Harry his parents' estate, and by the end of the meeting Harry was quite sure that he had managed to charm the Tonkses enough that they would not betray him at the drop of a hat.
And there was also the contract, which, if he understood it correctly, would compel them to aid him until its parameters were met. As it was, Harry doubted he could do anything more for the time being to ensure that he could not be betrayed in some way.
It would have to do.
He hadn't really come to the meeting prepared, in part because there wasn't much for him to do to prepare, but regardless of that, Harry felt he had made significant progress in establishing himself in his new world: He would soon have a lot of money, a place to live permanently, and perhaps two strong allies which he could wield to good effect (it certainly didn't hurt that they likely felt some sort of familial loyalty toward him, either).
In short, Harry could definitely work with everything. It would be easy.
But, there were just some things Harry wasn't prepared to discuss. And for all his intelligence, even he couldn't anticipate everything. Particularly the things he couldn't really comprehend in the first place.
"Harry," Mrs. Tonks began hesitatingly, which sounded peculiar given her cultured accent and immediately caught Harry's attention, "I know Ted already asked you this but—where are the Muggles you've been living with?"
Mr. Tonks, too, was waiting for an answer, as he looked at Harry intently.
Harry had to suppress an indignant response. Wasn't the money he was paying these people enough? Why did they have to question him? He wasn't in their office to talk about them!
Harry sighed. He felt quite annoyed at the posing of the question—it wasn't any of their business—but he knew he would have to temper his reaction.
He answered in as polite a tone as he could manage. "I don't really see how that's any of your business, ma'am. I came here to discuss—"
"I know why you came here Harry," she interrupted, "but you're a child, and were it not for the fact that Muggles don't have any legal rights in Wizarding Britain we never would have accepted you as a client, despite the fact that you're family.
"Now," she declared, her voice becoming suddenly stern, "tell me where your family is so that we might discuss with them exactly why you seem to be handling complicated legal issues on your own when you should be at home."
How dare she!
"And I would ask that you keep your personal opinions to yourself," Harry bit out, struggling to keep his anger in check. "I am not paying you to tell me how you think I should be, where I should be, and whom I should allow to handle my affairs!
"I have no family, and given my experience of living with others, I can say quite definitively that I don't particularly want one!
"And I also have no home, as of yet. Which was another reason I decided to employ your office. I refuse to rent a room in one of these disgusting taverns for any longer than absolutely necessary. I am on my own, and that's just fine with me."
Harry took in the Tonkses shocked faces.
It serves them right, telling me about my own life!
Harry noticed that he had risen from his seat and had balled up his fists. It was an unfortunate expression of emotion that he could allow to happen again. He would have to redouble his efforts to keep control of himself. It simply wouldn't do to blow up the room.
Reading had always calmed him down. Perhaps he could go pick out a few new books to hold him over until they were ready to make their move on Gringotts?
Definitely.
He needed to leave. Now.
Harry took a deep breath and gave a disappointed sigh, hoping to convey his displeasure with the Tonkses in a more socially acceptable manner.
Harry drew himself up to his quite inconsiderable height and spoke. "I can see we're not getting anywhere right now, and I'm sure you two will be quite busy preparing to fulfill the contract, so I'll leave you to do your jobs. Good day."
Before either of Harry's new employees could recover from the abrupt end to the meeting, Harry fled the building with as much dignity and poise as he could muster.
Once his worn trainers hit the cobbles, Harry tore down the street and past all the other office buildings, seeking to put as much distance between himself and the Tonkses as possible. He wasn't ready to have any sort of conversation about them, and he highly doubted he would ever want to talk about his previous life at all, let alone acknowledge it. Ever. Some things were better left forgotten. Especially if he was fashioning a new identity for himself which, as it happened, he had decided to do.
Meeting Andromeda Tonks was quite a wake-up call, for Harry. The lady was elegant, refined, and, as the aristocracy would say, had proper breeding. He admired her discipline. Harry would need to emulate her mannerisms if he was going to stake his claim in the magical world; he couldn't have people perceive him as some stupid little boy, after all.
He had to lose his soft estuary accent that was prevalent throughout Surrey—which basically sounded like Cockney that was easier on the ears—he had to purchase clothes that befit a wizard of his station, he had to cultivate as much knowledge as possible, he had to harness, somehow, the air of superiority that had made him want to bow for Andromeda.
In short, he had to internalize the lessons he likely would have had growing up with his parents and utilize them to become the Harry Potter he ought to be, the Harry Potter that would have undoubtedly made his parents proud, and he had to do it all inside of two months, before Hogwarts classes began.
He would never be 'Harry Potter, form the cupboard under the stairs' ever again. That weak person had died as soon as the letter from Hogwarts came, Harry realized now. If it wasn't for that letter, Harry never would have escaped from Privet Drive before he was sixteen and could do it legally and he would never have begun the search for his true potential. If that Harry Potter had thought himself strong, it only underscored how ignorant he had been. The new Harry Potter had magic, he was rich, he was famous, he had a history—he was special. The new Harry Potter was going to make history for being the greatest wizard there ever was, for being the most powerful sorcerer in the world, for making discoveries that changed the world, and producing feats of magic never before dreamt of.
Yes.
He had a lot of work to do.
~Dragon Chronicles~
Flourish and Blotts was much more crowded than it was the previous evening, and it was obvious that it would be difficult maneuvering about once inside, but this annoyance turned out to be quite an opportunity for Harry, because now he could roam the entire store without the scrutiny of half the staff hampering him, being unlikely to stalk and question him when there were ten other customers waiting for help. This was very good, because he had an extensive shopping list.
Despite the fact that his relationship with Mrs. Tonks was not currently as he would like it, Harry would have to rely on her for legal advice for the time being. There simply was too much for him to do just then, so he could hardly familiarize himself with all the laws of the country. No, as much as he didn't like it, he couldn't do that, and he would have to trust his lawyer. Not to say that he wouldn't question her every step of the way, but for the ins-and-outs of centuries of statutes…
…perhaps one law book—something on inheritances—wouldn't go amiss in his growing library.
But! He had magic to learn. So much magic to learn. And he was desperate to start. Even if he didn't have a wand yet, he could certainly read all about what magic had to offer and what he would spend his school days learning.
Yes. That would be excellent.
Swerving between bored children, annoyed adults, and overladen bookstands, Harry made his way around the large store, searching for wherever they kept books on the law. Fifteen agonizing minutes later, Harry was in the very back section of books on the third floor of the store. As it happened, law books were immensely unpopular, and so they were kept far away from the popular sections, lest customers' delicate sensibilities be offended.
The horror!
Anyway, the book Harry was after was actually a worn and dusty three-volume set that totaled about four-thousand pages altogether. Hardly light reading, but it was what he needed. He placed the tomes—because they were that big and old—into the expanded bag—which was very cool, in Harry's opinion, and he definitely wanted one like it—and he made his way back down the narrow, winding cast-iron staircase to where the other books he was after were likely to be.
The ground floor was still packed with witches and wizards—their odd sense of style was really beginning to make Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable—but he was able to get back to the stacks without much problem. Remembering the booklist Hogwarts had sent him, he made his way over to the Transfiguration section, as that was closest. He couldn't wait to see what this new subject was all about!
There was just one other person in the aisle he stopped in. A tall, handsome boy with well-styled black hair, probably a few years older than Harry, was looking at some book like it held all the answers to life's questions, and was utterly devouring its knowledge. Harry could appreciate the enthusiasm, as he himself felt that way about physics.
Perhaps he had found a kindred spirit? Did the boy study physics too? It was likely too much to hope for. As Harry understood it, it was quite uncommon for…people around his age to study physics, and he had no idea what wizards taught their children. Well… He very likely went to Hogwarts, so there was a chance that Harry could glean information from him about various things. It was worth a try, certainly.
And Harry couldn't forget that as The-Boy-Who-Lived he would have to have a greater degree of social interaction with his peer group than was his custom; certainly people were going to be swarming him because of his fame, and it would be quite silly of him if he was brusque with them. There was no need to alienate his schoolmates, after all.
That thought gave Harry pause.
Oh.
Bother! He'd have to be tolerant of others, now! Of all the… Well, it could be worse. It was likely that there would be so many potential acquaintances that he'd be able to discriminate amongst them, so that he wouldn't have to deal with idiots who followed the crowd, the weak looking for protection, and the envious looking to share in his fame; in other words, the magical version of Dudley's gang. So, Harry would do the sensible thing and take the best of the lot!
But also… There was just something about the boy he was targeting; something…nice, and approachable. Harry had never felt that before, and to be honest, it kind of scared him because he didn't really know how to handle it (too accustomed, as he was, to dealing with people who were hostile to him), but the urge to satisfy the intrigue he felt was greater than his fear.
It would be agreeable to have a companion, perhaps, he allowed himself.
A conversation would be enough to tell if any of his thoughts were on the right track. (And anyway, it was only right for Harry to begin his collection now; the day was turning out to be one for gathering resources, after all, and an older boy who knew about Hogwarts was certainly worth the effort.)
Harry extended his senses to get a read off the boy as he prepared to engage in conversation with him. He was stubborn, intelligent, strong-willed, and slightly proud. Traits Harry was sure they had in common. But he needed to know more.
Harry began with a question. "A good book?"
The boy startled badly out of his reading and caught sight of Harry. He dipped his head a little and gave a short, deprecating laugh at having been caught in an embarrassing situation, shut the book he had been reading with a dull clap, and walked over to Harry with a friendly smile on his face.
"Hello, I'm Cedric Diggory," he introduced himself. "And yes, it's quite a good book. Transfiguration is my favorite subject," Cedric said easily.
That was true, as far as Harry could tell.
"I'm—"
Shit, do I tell him the truth? Fuck. This was a bad idea. Ah! I don't even have a plan. What do I do? What do I do?
Perhaps a test of Cedric's intelligence was in order. Would the boy even take the bait?
—incognito."
Cedric opened his mouth to reply to the strange name when he stopped suddenly and a smirk graced his face.
"A spy, eh?" Amusement.
"We all serve at Her Majesty's pleasure."
"Are you on a secret mission?" Intrigue.
A faux-reluctant look crossed Harry face. "If I told you…"
Cedric's smirk grew. "…you'd have to kill me." Excitement.
"Is that worth the price of admission?"
"You assume you would be successful." Enjoyment.
"People tend to underestimate me," Harry explained with a slight smile, not acknowledging the book floating off a shelf and holding steady behind Cedric's head.
"Is being short part of your cover?" Playfulness.
"Is losing track of your surroundings part of yours?"
"What—"
At Harry's smirk, the book rapped lightly against the back of Cedric's head, causing the teen to spin around.
Cedric let out a startled yelp and started looking around for someone—presumably a wizard in hiding. Harry took the opportunity of Cedric's distraction to slip the book the older boy was reading out of his hands and allowed it to fall open to what he assumed had been the page Cedric was last on.
(Harry wasn't sure if either the book was magical and simply knew things like that, or if it was just the normal way a book would open naturally if a page had been read for a long time. Perhaps he could create a spell to put on books so they'd remember things like that? And now that Harry thought about it, he would have to buy a journal to keep track of all his new ideas—there were so many of them!)
Harry leaned back against one of the bookcases and perused the page while Cedric was still looking for the hidden wizard, all the while dodging the floating book that was playfully dogging his head.
"You know, Cedric, this is pretty interesting stuff," Harry commented lightly, trying desperately not to show his amusement at the scene in front of him. "Can you do this Switching Spell?"
Cedric turned to look at Harry incredulously. Perhaps he should have the book cease and desist?
A wave of his hand had the book floating back to its home on the shelf and Harry turned his attention back to the spell book he captured from Cedric. It was certainly an interesting read, but the description of this one spell seemed terribly complex. There was no picture to describe the oh-so-important wand movement, just three large paragraphs of very small print. And there was far too much ridiculous verbiage that obstructed learning rather than assisted in it to describe the actual theory of the magic of the spell worked.
Really, why did the author take two pages of text to explain something that was so glaringly simple? What was so hard to understand about: "Each object transplants the other; now make it work!"?
"What?" Cedric was dumbstruck.
Perhaps Harry had been a bit heavy-handed in their introduction—even he could admit that his personality was rather strong—but he had certainly enjoyed himself, and despite Cedric's current state, he was sure that he was having fun as well.
"Is something the matter Cedric?" Harry asked, trying to appear nonchalant as he flipped past some pages in the book Intermediate Transfiguration.
"How—What—Did you…how were you doing that?"
Was Harry really that impressive? Well, he himself certainly thought he was, but… Weren't all witches and wizards capable of making things fly? He had gotten control over that particular power when he was four and had to carry things that were too heavy for him to manage otherwise, and had only gotten better at it since. Surely that wasn't uncommon?!
One look at Cedric's eyes was more than enough to answer his question.
Shocked.
How should he handle this? It simply wouldn't do to have his first attempt at making a peer contact be an unmitigated disaster…
Harry shrugged lightly. "It's something I've been able to do for a while now. Honestly, I thought a lot of people could do those sorts of tricks." He gave Cedric a false smile to give off the impression that he was shy. "I'm sure you can do pretty cool things too, right?"
For his part, Cedric looked at him like he had two heads, but then—
Cedric gave a short, astonished laugh. "Uh, well I can't really do wandless magic at all, but my parents told me I had a few interesting episodes of accidental magic as a kid. Our cat's been afraid of heights for about seven years now, as Dad always reminds me."
Harry chuckled good-naturedly. "And the Switching Spell?"
"I've never actually tried that one yet—Professor McGonagall said we'd be doing it around November—but Transfiguration is my favorite subject so I always try to stay ahead." Cedric paused, peering at him closely. "Are you a first year?"
Harry assumed so.
"Oh, well in that case you'll be wanting A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch," Cedric explained, pulling the book from the shelf. "It's rather basic, though. I always had to go to the library to find other resources that explained things better, you know?"
Harry took the book, giving Cedric back his own.
"Thanks Cedric," he said with a slight smile. "Are you looking for any other books?"
Cedric smiled. "Yes I am, actually. I'm going into my third year at Hogwarts so I'll need to get all the other intermediate books, as well as the ones for my electives." He looked around again. "Are you, uh, here alone?"
This was slightly dangerous territory. Harry decided to play it cool and smiled nicely. "Well, I'm a voracious reader so it only made sense that I came here ahead." He sighed despondently. "Apparently I am the only one who could spend an entire day in a bookstore and not consider it time wasted."
Cedric laughed at that. "Well it sounds like you'll be a right proper Ravenclaw, then, my friend. Would you like to go get our books?"
Harry grinned triumphantly.
"Oh, please, can we?"
Author's Note:
Hello! I hope that you all have received this story positively and are interested in seeing it develop further. I know these three chapters have come quickly (and bear in mind that this pace will not hold), which is in part due to the fact that they were mostly written already, but largely because I'd like to hear what readers have to say if they have access to a large sample of the story up front, rather than just the first chapter (which is mostly exposition, anyway).
Moving on, I certainly plan to have the pace of the plot quicken—I know it seems like I've been dragging things out, and perhaps I have been—but I'm attempting to develop Harry's character evenly, as opposed to, say, throwing in a paragraph to summarize his personality and his thoughts on everything and everyone, which is far too easy for me to write for it to be worth very much of your time were you to read it.
The things which happen in these chapters will be important for the development of the rest of the story. Harry's had a rather violent life, which is not as uncommon as one might think, and his life is only going to get more violent. Harry's wand is going to be vital to the plot later on in terms of the symbolism of the dragon. This Harry is not canon!Harry, this is Dragon!Harry, his personality is in flux because he's going through some major shocks and he's just run away from the only shelter he has ever known on some crazy adventure. Also, he's kind of an asshole (though given his age the term might be 'little shit'), and there is much more evidence of that fact yet to come.
Also, and perhaps I should have stated this in a note after the first chapter, I am attempting to recreate the Potterverse with this story—to make it bigger and better. There are a lot of problems with the world JKR built, such as a population of 10,000ish not being sustainable and the convoluted economic system to name a few, and I'd like to try my hand at correcting it in my own humble way.
(This is going to be a political story, certainly, but there will be lots of magic, violence, and references to literature, science, history, and philosophy along the way. It's rather ambitious, if I might say so.)
This story will not have Harry paired with another male character (I already have a pairing in mind, but it will take a really long time for that to come into play because, like, Harry's eleven!), however I will not promise that none of the other characters will be in homosexual relationships; they're teenagers, so who really knows what they do? That being said, I will not write those nauseating 'Lemons'; this story is rated M for violence, language, and adult themes which might not be suitable to children under the age of sixteen, not because I have a dirty mind (which I do) and want to write about teenagers fucking each other.
