Professor McGonagall had Apparated them both to the Leaky Cauldron, and after a brief conversation with Tom the landlord about making sure everyone left Harry alone while he was in London, booked them two rooms. Harry was grateful for not being accosted by the Leaky Cauldron's customers like he had been last time, and grateful that he got to sleep somewhere warm, dry and comfortable for the night. He hoped Dudley's night in the shack would not be too hard on him. He'd shown Harry some really uncharacteristic kindness by offering to share the sofa. Maybe there was hope for his cousin yet.
He had breakfast together with Professor McGonagall the next morning, and made sure to pelt her with as many questions he thought a wide-eyed muggleborn would have when first being introduced to the wizarding world. She looked a bit exasperated at his questioning, but answered all of them in detail, and Harry was sure he'd seen one of the corners of her mouth quirk up in a smile a couple of times. He fell quiet as he was sopping up the remains of his egg with his last piece of toast, thinking back about yesterday's unexpected revelation.
"Professor McGonagall," said Harry, "I don't think it's right that my aunt has stopped my cousin from being magical."
Professor McGonagall looked at him steadily, but he got the impression she was feeling very uncomfortable.
"I think whatever she had done to Dudley should be reversed," continued Harry. "I mean – I'm so happy that I get to be a wizard, it's not fair that he can't."
"Why are you so sure that this is what happened, Mr. Potter?" inquired Professor McGonagall, dabbing her lips with her napkin and setting it aside. "Your cousin could simply be a muggle, without a shred of magical talent."
"But doesn't he deserve the chance to find out?" said Harry, fidgeting with the copy of the Daily Prophet that had been included in their breakfast tray. "What if he is a wizard? Should he just keep living like a normal boy while I get the chance to go to Hogwarts and learn magic?"
Professor McGonagall didn't say anything, but Harry could tell she was very disturbed by the thought of any young witch or wizard being denied their education.
Harry decided to give her a bit of a push in the right direction. "I'm sure the paper would be really interested to hear about a boy not being allowed to go to Hogwarts just because his mum doesn't want him to and someone took away his magic," he said, regarding the Daily Prophet with interest and leafing through its pages. He had to stop himself from wincing when he felt the full force of Professor McGonagall's stare on him.
"Are you trying to –" she started, then hesitated. She'd obviously realised that Harry had no way of knowing it had been Dumbledore who had made the deal with Aunt Petunia. Besides, an eleven-year-old trying to blackmail anyoneseemed a bit of a stretch.
Harry tried to give Professor McGonagall his most innocent look. He wasn't entirely sure it was working. "I just want someone to help him. If they took away his magic, they can give it back again, right?"
"Well, you can't exactly take away someone's magic, Mr. Potter, you can only lock it away, stop them from accessing it," said Professor McGonagall, now looking decidedly flustered.
"Then could Dudley's magic be unlocked again? Could you do it?" Harry sat up eagerly, like he was projecting all his hopes and dreams on the Transfiguration professor. She hesitated, then nodded.
"I believe I could, Mr. Potter. I will have to discuss it with… someone, but I will try to argue the case as eloquentlyas you just have." She gave him a wry smile, and Harry was sure that when she discussed the matter with Dumbledore, she'd tell him about Harry's not-quite threat to go to the papers. "Just keep in mind that your cousin might just be an ordinary muggle after all," said Professor McGonagall, and Harry shrugged, smiling at her.
"At least we'll have the chance to find out."
Harry made sure to act as if he hadn't been in Diagon Alley at least a dozen times before as he walked down the Alley at Professor McGonagall's side.
"What's that building?" Harry asked, pointing at the gleaming white façade of what he knew very well to be Gringotts.
"That's Gringotts, the Goblin-run Wizarding Bank," answered Professor McGonagall. "We'll be going there first so you can access your vault."
"Goblins are real?" said Harry, looking at the burnished bronze doors and remembering the last time he'd visited the bank.
"As real as you and I," replied Professor McGonagall, steering him towards the bank and leading him inside. "They're a very old race, slow to befriend and quick to offend. Treat them with the utmost respect, as they're fiercely intelligent, can be vicious when provoked." Harry grinned as he read the inscription on the silver inner doors and thought back to when Hermione, Ron and he had broken into the bank and flown out again on the back of a dragon.
Thief, you have been warned, beware of finding more than treasure here. Hah! They'd found something more than treasure, alright.
Professor McGonagall moved over to one of the available tellers, and greeted him formally. They engaged in some polite chitchat while Harry pretended to look around in wonder, until the goblin asked for Harry's key. He quickly moved over to the counter, and watched Professor McGonagall produce his little golden key as well as a thick parchment envelope. The goblin nodded at the key and accepted the envelope, and Harry realised it must contain Dumbledore's request to have the Philosopher's Stone moved from its vault to Hogwarts.
Relocating a magical artefact that even non-dark wizards would kill for to possess to a school filled with children. Surely some of the Hogwarts staff must have protested at that?
Professor McGonagall handed the key over to Harry when the goblin had finished inspecting it, and made him swear that he would take every care not to lose it.
When they arrived at his vault, Harry piled quite a bit more galleons in his bag than last time, while Professor McGonagall explained the wizarding world's monetary system and the current exchange rate for the British Pound.
"This vault gives access to your trust fund, Mr. Potter, and it will automatically replenish itself each new school year. You will be able to access the main vault once you come of age at seventeen." Professor McGonagall eyed his bulging moneybag, and added: "I do not recommend spending all of it at the start of the school year, however."
Harry grinned apologetically, but Professor McGonagall didn't tell him to put anything back, so they got back into the cart and travelled to the surface. Maybe she pitied him because he'd never had anything of his own ever since he'd been landed with the Dursleys, Harry reflected, while the cart made a particularly sharp turn and Professor McGonagall clutched at her hat. He felt a surge of fondness for his Head of House. He also made a mental note to find out exactly what his parents had left him. He hadn't been aware that his vault was only a trust fund, and that he'd come into his full inheritance when he was seventeen.
"Alright, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall when they exited Gringotts, "why don't you get fitted for your school robes, while I pick up your cauldron and potions ingredients?"
Harry nodded and handed her the hefty bag that contained all his money. Professor McGonagall looked a bit taken aback, but accepted the bag and inclined her head towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
"If I have not returned when you are done, wait for me in the shop, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, and set out towards the Apothecary.
Harry entered Madam Malkin's, and was greeted by the squat, smiling proprietor of the shop.
"Hogwarts, dear?" said Madam Malkin, before Harry had the chance to say anything. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Harry stared. He'd forgotten this was the first time he'd ever met Draco Malfoy. Harry felt rather conflicted about the blond-haired boy. On the one hand, he'd been an utter pillock ever since Harry had ever met him, been his arch enemy for his entire time at Hogwarts, and had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, the one place Harry had always thought of as safe.
On the other hand, Voldemort had forced Malfoy to cooperate, threatening to kill him and harm his parents. It had been obvious that once Malfoy was confronted with the reality of being a follower of Voldemort, he'd wanted nothing more than to get out of the whole mess, and he'd switched sides during the Battle for Hogwarts, even attempting to keep Harry alive when Crabbe wanted to murder him.
He also looked so young. It was hard to think of any eleven-year-old kid as evil, especially if you had seen that kid sobbing his heart out in a bathroom when he got a bit older.
Madam Malkin had to nudge Harry a couple of times before he turned his attention back on her. She made him stand on a stool next to Malfoy, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.
"Hello," said Malfoy, "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," said Harry, while privately wondering at how civil Malfoy sounded. Back in the future, it had been all sneering and snide remarks.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said Malfoy. That sounded more like the Slytherin Harry remembered, and he relaxed slightly. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"
"No," said Harry, thinking wistfully about soaring through the skies on his Firebolt. It was odd to think that the broom wasn't even in production yet.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"Yeah, Seeker," said Harry, still lost in his flying fantasy, before realising what he'd just said. He had the urge to clap his hands in front of his mouth, but Madam Malkin had him standing with his arms out, pinning the sleeves back. I was raised by muggles – I shouldn't even know what Quidditch is yet! Harry silently cursed himself as Malfoy looked up at him, pleasantly surprised.
"So do I!" said Malfoy happily. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house. You know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No one knows until they get there," replied Harry, still angry at himself for his slip-up. He wondered if the Sorting Hat could be talked into putting him in Gryffindor this time as well. Or what if it could tell that Harry had somehow travelled back in time into his eleven-year-old body? Would it tell Dumbledore? Would it refuse to Sort him at all? Harry bit his lip.
"Well, of course not, but I bet I'll be in Slytherin. All my family have been since ever," said Malfoy, oblivious of Harry's inner turmoil. "Imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
Harry shrugged, which earned him a disapproving tssk from Madam Malkin and a sharp jab with one of the pins.
"Anyway, I believe I haven't introduced myself yet. Draco Malfoy," said Malfoy, looking rather self-important and puffed up, as if his name was something in itself to be proud of. Of course, for him it probably was.
Harry glanced out of the window, looking for Professor McGonagall. He didn't remember his first conversation with Draco Malfoy ever including his name, and wasn't sure if he wanted Malfoy to know who he was just yet. The other boy was looking at him expectantly, and Harry hesitated. Maybe if they hadn't started out on the wrong foot, maybe if Malfoy had had someone to talk all the Pureblood nonsense out of his head, someone to tell him that becoming a Junior Death Eater really wasn't a great idea…
"Harry Potter," said Harry, bracing himself for being stabbed by another pin as Madam Malkin gasped.
Malfoy's eyes bulged, and Harry knew he'd caught him in one of those rare moments when the 'Draco, Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy' façade had fallen away.
"The Harry Potter?"
Harry lifted his hair to show Malfoy his scar, fearing another jab as he moved without permission, but Madam Malkin was simply staring at him, slightly slack-jawed.
"That's – I mean – wow."
Harry, by now extremely uncomfortable at the way Malfoy was gazing at him in astonishment, gave another shrug and a lopsided grin.
"I didn't even know I was until yesterday," said Harry, unsure how to hold a normal conversation with Draco Malfoy, his mouth running on autopilot now. "I mean, I knew I was me, but I didn't know the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing or anything."
"You didn't? How come?" said Malfoy. With a visible effort of will, he tore his eyes away from Harry's scar and looked him in the eyes, disbelief plain on his face.
"I grew up with my aunt and uncle. They're muggles, and they never told me any of it. They said my mum and dad died in a – in a car crash."
"A car crash? That's horrible!" said Malfoy, frowning. "I can't imagine growing up without knowing who my family was or what happened to them. Trust a pair of muggles not to let you know." Malfoy shot him a sympathetic glance, and Harry was once again struck by how weird this whole situation was. The boy who had taken any opportunity to try and bring Harry down in the other timeline hadn't even insulted him once.He was quite relieved when Professor McGonagall showed up, cutting the conversation short, and Madam Malkin hastily turned back to finishing up his fitting.
"See you at Hogwarts then, Potter!" Malfoy called after him as they left the shop, and Professor McGonagall handed the moneybag back to Harry.
"See you, Malfoy!" Harry called back, giving Malfoy a little wave, feeling oddly traitorous.