Chapter 3: The World They Knew
Summary: The night Lily and James Potter died is well known. What no one suspected, or even imagined, was that their spirits remained with their son.
Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own (or live in, magic rocks) the 'Potterverse' … I do not.
A/N: Muggle to Magical monetary conversions are done via the Wizarding World Currency Converter on the Harry Potter Lexicon, the shop locations are taken from the Diagon Alley Map from the same site.
As the days went by Harry and his parents grew more and more anxious, waiting for the arrival of a very special piece of post. It finally arrived the day after Dudley's uniform for the Smelting's Academy does. His real family could only cheer in his head as Harry picked up the envelope, sealed with the wax crest of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with a smile. Quickly, before his 'uncle' got impatient, Harry made his way back to the kitchen, slipping his letter into his cupboard on the way. The rest of breakfast is uneventful and Harry went about his daily chores with his Black Mamba, 'Arc', keeping him company. Retreating to his cupboard, he examined the envelope while seated on the small cot. The wax seal bore the Hogwarts coat of arms, the image of a lion; an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large stylized letter "H." The envelope itself was made of rather thick yellowish paper - parchment according to mum - which was the precursor to paper. Turning the letter over Harry read the address and frowned slightly, sharing his confused displeasure with his parents. His address was emblazoned across the front of the envelope in excruciatingly exact detail:
Mr. H. Potter
the Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Winging
Surrey
His parents both know that Professor Minerva McGonagall personally addressed and signed every letter to new students, which amounted, at most, to about 30 students. Considering what his parents had told him about the night he was let on the doorstep of 4, Privet Drive, she would have paid special attention to Harry's letter. "Hard, but fair" was his father's almost grudgingly opinion of the Professor, and there was no doubt that she would not have missed the fact that the letter was addressed to "The Cupboard under the Stairs."
"Something stinks," remarked his mother, "…and for once, it's not your cousin's socks!" both were more than a trifle upset that ten years had gone by without a single visit from the Headmaster. The rare visits to Mrs. Figg's over the years should have seen something done to correct the situation. Nothing had changed. Harry was as underfed, improperly clothed and mistreated worse than many a house elf! It seemed that no one had ever known he lived under the stairs until today. Still, there were no professors to check in on him, no oddly dressed strangers in pointy hats ringing the bell, nor was there a sign of a certain tabby cat on the garden wall, as James and Lily knew of McGonagall's animagus form. For all intents and purposes: not a soul cared one whit for the living arrangements of Harry Potter.
{O.o}
Harry lied back on his cot and focused his mind, sinking deeply into his meditation. Opening his inner eyes, he found himself standing outside his mental Godric's Hollow. The door opened and Lily rushed out and enveloped him in a loving hug. James was right behind her and wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders, rubbing Lily's back with his free hand. Harry sighed in contented release and embraced his mother, glancing to his father with thanks in his eyes; James smiled and nodded, knowing that sometimes a child just needed to be held.
"Don't you worry about that Harry, Minerva is a good person and Dumbledore is probably pressuring her to keep silent." Lily said soothingly. Over the years the three of them had grown distinctly cold towards Dumbledore, annoyed at his manipulations and disregard for Harry's welfare.
"Hell, with Dumbledore's connections and influence, he's probably the reason we haven't seen Moony or Padfoot in all this time, although I hope he used that influence to get Peter Pettigrew the Dementor's Kiss." James said, spitting his former friend's name like a curse.
They had told Harry all about the Fidelius Charm, how they had chosen the Secret Keeper and then changed it at the last minute. Harry knew that the only person not involved in the casting of the charm was Sirius because he suggested using Pettigrew to throw Voldemort off their trail. Peter, as a matter of fact, had betrayed them and the rest, as they say, is history.
The three Potters retreated into the home they had created within their son's mind, partly to cheer each other up from the high of getting that all important piece of post and the immediate crash of discovering Dumbledore's manipulations. The elder Potters regaled their son with more stories of their past and of the world they lived in and Harry's excitement grows at the thought of finally returning to the real world: His world, with the wonders of Diagon Alley and Hogwarts itself described by his parents. The wonderful shops of the alley including the Goblin Wizarding Bank Gringotts, Ollivanders, and the Apothecary are defined in crystal-clear detail and fondness. The school seems to come alive as rooms such as the Great Hall, the Library, the Kitchens, and Gryffindor Tower are reminisced on lovingly. Eventually Harry fell asleep on the couch in the sitting room and James carried him up to 'his' room, the only room in the house that had changed from the original Godric's Hollow. There are some joys of parenting that the Potter's could have taken for granted…but they never had the opportunity to do. Tonight it was James's turn, however limited it was, to tuck his son into bed. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
{O.o}
When Harry awoke on his own cot with Arc coiled up on his chest for a long moment, he wondered whether the highs and lows of yesterday were real. He turned his head and grinned. Sure enough, the Hogwarts letter was still there. Harry was on his feet and dressed in seconds. He had a great deal to accomplish.
The Dursley's were unlikely to be much of a problem, and would probably just think that he had finally runaway. When Dumbledore finally tracked him down – something the headmaster would do easily enough – and try to make him return to Privet Drive, his plans for the two months before the start of term will be made. Lily was none too keen on them, but James was all in favour of it. Sometimes, Harry wondered just how it was his parents came to be his parents. He understood, knew, and could see that they did love each other, but they were so different at times. He shook his head, deciding to put that question to them at another time. Right now, he had places to be and creatures to meet.
With the entire Dursley family ensconced in front of the television, it was easy for Harry, with Arc coiled around one arm to slip out the kitchen door and then to the park down the street. One normally needs a wand to summon the Knight Bus, but, "magic is more than just waving a wand. It's about emotion, desire and intent," explained Lily once. And in this case emotion, desire and intent were about getting to the Leaky Cauldron in London.
This early in the day the park is still empty so Harry stepped up to the curb and stuck out his right hand, just as if he was hailing a cab. There was no puff of smoke but the sharp bang sounded like a car backfiring, moments before a lurid purple triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere, screeching to halt just in front of Harry, where its doors slid open with a bang of their own, "Welcome to the Knight Bus," a young man in an equally lurid purple uniform had leapt off the bus, and continued with what was clearly a well presented and practiced speech, "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand or hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this morning."
Harry stared at him for a moment before mental prompting snapped his back to reality, "Er, thank you. I need to go to the Leaky Cauldron and I was told you take muggle money?" Harry asked, pulling a crinkled, filthy five pound note from his pocket. In a rare stroke of luck Harry had found the note wedged into the toe of one of his 'new' hand me down trainers, the latest ones Dudley had outgrown.
Stan nodded and took the note, "Its eleven sickles to get to the Cauldron from here, which converts to ..." he paused and tilted his head, thinking, "three pounds twenty-four pence. Would you like your change in muggle or wizard?"
"Wizarding money is fine." Harry said, knowing there was nothing he could or would buy in the muggle world without raising the suspicions of his relations, should he have to return to them next summer.
Stan handed him six sickles and ushered him onto the bus. Harry got settled in one of the armchairs just in time as, with another bang, the bus lurched forward. He was thrown forward against the back rest of the seat in front of him, and Harry discovered that almost nothing inside the bus was actually fixed in place. Armchairs, sofas and tables seemed to slide around in time to the bus' jerky, seemingly random and erratic movements. Despite having been told, it was still something to see, the way things from streetlights to parked cars, buildings and moving vehicles seemed to swerve, and even jump out of the way of the erratically moving bus.
Harry was left feeling slightly off kilter when he managed to step off the bus onto Charring Cross Road, "Seatbelts, would be a very good idea!" he thought as his father smirked knowingly, "You could have warned me!" His parents just laughed. Standing at one end of the shopping strip, he could see a bookstore, a dingy little pub and a music shop. Strangely enough, nobody around him seemed to notice the pub, their eyes sliding from the bookstore to the music shop without pause. "It has a muggle repelling charm on it. They can't see it unless in the company of a witch or wizard." James intoned in his head.
Harry gave a nod and made his way into the dilapidated building. As it was still early, the bus having taken only moments to get them to London, there were very few people present. It was dark and seemed slightly shabby. Those present were scattered about the room on small lowslung tables with armchairs that ranged from overstuffed to thread bare. With a confidence he wasn't too sure he actually felt, Harry made his way towards the barman, who was busy wiping the counter, and cleared his throat, "Excuse me? I was wondering if I could book a room until school starts, I'll have to get to Gringotts first to pay for the room, though. Also I need you to open the way to Diagon Alley for me."
Tom the barman looked up from the spot of countertop he was cleaning, he studied Harry's face for a moment as if trying to determine the sort of person he was, before his spotted the scar on his forehead. He paled, mouthed 'Harry Potter', and looked about ready to start shouting before Harry held up his hand.
"Now none of that," He said, "I know I'm something of an icon, but I would like to go about my day in peace, if you don't mind. I can't very well do my shopping if there is a crowd of well wishers surrounding me."
"Certainly ... young sir," He said, revealing a toothless mouth, "I'll start you up a tab, you'll be staying in room eleven." He took a brass key from a hook and handed it to Harry. "If you'll follow me, I'll open the alley for you."
Tom led him back to the courtyard behind the pub and tapped the bricks of a certain wall with his wand. Harry paid close attention so as to remember the pattern, noting that the bricks to tap each had obvious wear marks from the millions upon millions of times they had been struck. As the archway swelled into existence, Tom inclined his head to Harry and spoke in a low murmur.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, and Mr. Potter, may I be the first to say, welcome home."
{O.o}
There would always be things, events, moments in life that you cannot prepare for. Despite everything his parents had told him, none of it could compare to the simple awesomeness of the sight before him. The sun shone down from what appeared to be a cloudless sky, illuminating store signs for what seemed like miles in front of him:
"Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible!"
Moving into the alley he passed an apothecary, the whole place smelling quite horrible, a mixture of bad eggs and rotten cabbage. A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign that read:
"Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy."
Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before. Windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, and globes of the moon… and then, partway down Diagon Alley, near an intersection with another lane called Knockturn Alley, stood an imposing snow-white marble building: Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a goblin. He stood about a head shorter than Harry, had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as Harry walked inside. Now he was facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there."
A pair of goblins bowed him through the silver doors and he was in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Harry walked up to the goblin at the counter and cleared his throat, "My name is Harry Potter and I would like to talk to someone about my finances."