A/N This is less of an action chapter and more of a "lets see how many connections I can give Harry before Hogwarts" type of thing. Originally it was supposed to be a shorter trip, but I got too deep into the explanations on different parts of the magical world and I didn't have the heart to delete it so... More action next time.
As for updating, I'll probably stick to a schedule of one new chapter a week.
I don't have a beta, I'm sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors that I didn't catch while scanning this at 3 am and using a slightly unreliable google document check.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter or Supernatural, or anything belonging to J.K. Rowling or Eric Kripke, I'm just using the characters for fun. I receive not money off of this story. Don't sue me.
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Chapter Two: Magic and Machinations
John Winchester was not a normal person. His life had been screwed up since he had been a kid. His Dad left him, and that just pain hurt. He'd been bullied, looked down on, and pitied. He had met Mary, and she was a beautiful flower in a garden of weeds. Then, she had been taken from him by a demon. Burned alive. So no, he would not consider himself particularly acquainted with the concept of normal. But some things were just too much, even for him. He could absolutely say, without a doubt, that Harry Potter was not normal, not in the slightest. Who lets their kids hunt at such an early age? Dean knew how to handle a gun, he could protect himself and Sam, but John would never consider bringing his child to hunt monsters. Not yet at least.
He had never heard of a witch who was born with her powers. But Harry seemed alright, and so he had put the gun down. He gave her the benefit of the doubt. It helped that she was slightly terrifying, and definitely a little crazy. He couldn't help but think that Dean would think Harry Potter was awesome.
He pulled into the dingy motel parking lot, putting the Impala in park and shutting off the soothing rumble of her engine. He grabbed his duffel from the trunk, shouldering it and striding to his room where Sammy and Dean were holed up. Opening the door with his key, John found himself accosted by a blur as soon as he stepped through the door.
"Dad!"
"Hey Dean-O." John ruffled Dean's locks, walking over to set down his duffel on the table.
"Did you get the monster?" he asked, his voice lowered to a whisper. John nodded, his expression serious. John looked at Dean almost sadly when he also nodded, and turned away. Ever since that night, he had been rough on his children. He didn't love the way he was raising them, with bullets and buckshot, but it was necessary. He stared at the wall in thought and blurted out his thoughts.
"I had help. The monster was taking people's souls. I saw this girl at the first guy's house. She seemed like she knew him, and I questioned her. Nothing came up. Only, when I went back to the house to summon whatever killed the guy, she was there. We both thought the other was a demon. Then the real demon showed up, and pinned us to the wall."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing! The girl, Harry, used magic to draw a demon trap over its head." Dean scrunched his face at that.
"I thought magic was bad?"
"Turns out, there might be some witches who are born with it. I don't think she made a deal. She took out her knife, and threatened the demon, and it worked! The demon let go of all her contracts, and a lot of people were saved. Then she even healed the poor woman the demon was possessing."
"That's so cool!" Dean scrunched his eyebrow for a moment. "Wait, you said girl?"
"She was a kid Dean."
"Really? How? Are you sure she's not a monster?"
"No, Dean," John scowled. "I thought that too, but she touched salt and handled a silver knife. She's just a kid, which is if possible even more worrying. She shouldn't be hunting at all, Harry is only seven. But she was good at it, which means she's had some kind of training." John trailed off, obviously in thought, and Dean waited impatiently. Suddenly, John was broken from his stupor, and he stood from the old motel bed.
"Go get Sammy and pack up."
"Yessir." he ran out of the entrance way to the room, jumping onto the bed to wake his younger brother. John lumbered to the bathroom, wanting to freshen up before they hit the road again. He wanted out of this town.
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Harry ripped up a third sheet of notebook paper. This was too frustrating. She put another piece down on the table of the library, her notebook lying next to her, open to a list of names. She leaned over the table, scribbling furiously.
Dear Intended Victim,
You most likely have no idea, but you were almost the victim of a demon. Yes, a demon, you should know what those are considering you made a deal with this particular nasty sometime in 1978. If you did know the consequences of the deal, you can stop hiding behind salt lines because said demon has dissolved your deal.
It had been exorcised, so it's back down under roasting marshmallows with Satan. You are officially free from death-by-hellhound, so do enjoy that. Please don't make any more deals, one crossroads demon is enough to handle for me, thank you.
Sincerely,
-H.R.P.
Harry folded the paper up after duplicating it a couple times. She stared at the names, and a whoosh was heard and the papers were gone. Hopefully to the owners of the names.
She flipped open her journal to the page she had recently been writing on. At the top of the page in bold letters were the words "Diagon Alley, Leaky Cauldron, London. Tap bricks?" Harry pulled the computer keyboard towards her, pulling up the library catalogue and typing in Leaky Cauldron, London. Nothing came up. Maybe it was hidden? She deleted her search and filled in its place "Street map of London". A ding came up, and Harry swiveled the chair, jumping out of it to find the right shelf.
The library shelves were set up three quarters of the way to the ceiling, crammed with books. The library opened up to a dome in the middle with comfy chairs on the carpet beneath the skylights. She slipped into an information aisle and picked out a book detailing London streets and shops, thinking it was sort of weird that they had that kind of thing. After checking out, she left the library with her things, hastily heading back to her home.
Once inside the silk-walled house, she pulled her extended bag forward. Her entire arm could fit in the messenger bag, as she had magically expanded it. Harry threw clothes and a couple books, as well as all her pickpocket money inside the bag. She slipped a 3-inch dagger into her boot, a larger one on her wrist holster, and her handgun was placed disassembled in the bag. She pulled the photo of London from her pocket, staring at it and concentrating, wishing to be there as she had done over a year ago when she showed up in Georgia. A slight pop was heard, and Harry appeared in a dingy alleyway with dirty dumpsters and derelict street grates spewing smoke from the bellows of the city.
Straightening, she tugged at the strap of her bag, slung carefully over her shoulder, and pulled out the street map. Taking a look at the closest street sign, Harry took off in a random direction, keeping an eye out for The Leaky Cauldron.
The demon could have lied, as demons are so well known to do, but Harry had a strong feeling the one she had cornered hadn't. Harry needed to find out what Girl-Who-Lived meant, and what a Death Eater was. Sounded pleasant.
Harry almost passed by the pub. The door was faded and ancient looking. No one else in the street gave it a glance, causing suspicion to rear its sneaky head. She narrowed her eyes, and pushed through the door with the sign hanging over it, "The Leaky Cauldron" scrawled on it.
The pub was dark and empty. A couple people sat at tables nursing drinks. Harry's eyes swept the room, and she did a double take when what looked like a hag shuffled away from the bar. Harry walked up to the bar, on guard and aware. She looked up at a man wiping out glasses with a rag.
"Excuse me, this might sound like a weird question, but do you know what "tap the bricks" means? Someone I know mentioned it when they told me to come here," she explained, slipping into an english accent. It had morphed into an American one during her time in the country, but different accents stood out. She wanted to blend in.
The man looked up from his polishing, smiling and nodding a little as he waved his hand in a "follow me" gesture. Harry cautiously followed the man, hiding her alertness under a polite smile. He exited the pub through a back door, leading her into an empty alleyway. Feeling uneasy, Harry subtly gripped the handle of the blade tucked against her wrist. Tom turned to her, holding out a long stick.
"Are your parents here?" he asked, as if suddenly thinking about it. Harry shook her head, the hood of her sweatshirt drawn up and falling over her forehead.
"They're around the block, shopping. Said they needed to get some stuff. I've been here before, I just don't know what to do." Harry lied.
"Okay." Tom turned back to the dead end brick wall, bringing the stick to the red stone and tapping in a strange pattern. Harry's eyes widened as the bricks folded away, revealing a bright and colorful street crowded with people. Multicolored buildings stacked haphazardly on each other leaned out over the cobbled path. Steam poured from great cauldrons in windows and smoke billowed from the multiple chimneys. People were bustling everywhere, wearing sweeping robes colored with darks. Harry stepped forward in awe, then realised her cover and turned back to Tom sheepishly.
"It's cool every time I see it." He chuckled and nodded, then went back to the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Harry to stare in wonder. She navigated through people, not attracting any states due to the notice-me-not she applied. She wandered up to a shop window where a cauldron sat bubbling, thick green sludge splashing over the edge. She noticed a man inside the store at the counter. He was pushing large gold coins towards the shop worker. Harry didn't recognize the currency, and she thought maybe she had to get hers exchanged. A large marble building at the end of the street caught her attention. It towered over the others, gleaming a brilliant white in the afternoon sunshine. Gold lettering across the front of it read Gringotts Bank.
Smiling, she ducked through the crowd to get to the bank. Standing to the side of large double doors was a short, angry looking man. No, wait, a Goblin. Of course there were Goblins here. She gave a respectful nod to the Goblin as she entered the building, missing the look of shock she received. Harry walked up to the counter at the back of the room. A Goblin teller sat behind it, weighing rubies. She waited patiently until he (was it a he?) looked up.
"Business?" He grunted, his voice a low growl.
"I'm here to ask about exchanging some money, maybe starting an account here?" Harry already knew she'd be coming back here, and really, she shouldn't keep all her money inside a hollow in her tree.
"Name?" Harry figured they would need her real name to be official. Although she was still a little wary of whatever Death Eaters are.
"Harriet Potter," she said slowly, and the Goblin looked back at her sharply, the ruby slipping between his fingers to clatter onto his desk.
"Harriet Potter? Harriet Rose Potter?"
"Um, yes? Do I know you?" she asked, the earlier unease pecking at her. Why did he know her name?
"Follow me," he replied curtly, jumping from his chair to the floor and hobbling to a door at the side of the room. Harry followed him, gripping the dagger hidden by her sleeve unconsciously. He led her through the door to a long hallway. They stopped outside a door labeled "Griphook'' and entered. Slipping into a chair, he motioned for her to do the same. She sat down in an elegant red chair on one side of a large mahogany desk.
"Miss Potter, I would like to perform a blood test to verify your identity." At her alarmed look he continued, misinterpreting the cause of her apprehension. "I only require a drop, it will not hurt."
"Blood can be used in several dark rituals, can it not?" She asked. The Goblin raised his eyebrows, surprised if not slightly offended at her insinuation.
"Rest assured, the spell burns the blood used. I just need to be sure of your lineage."
"Alright." She still didn't see what the big deal was, but consented, holding out her left arm, which bore no weapon. The Goblin produced a sheet of old paper. She thought it might be parchment. He gave her a funny looking quill which held the point but no feather. Harry took it, looking expectantly to the Goblin.
"Just sign your name, the magic will do the rest."
"I'm not signing any kind of contract, right?"
"No, miss." Harry shrugged, retracting her left arm and switching the quill to her right before she signed her name in red ink. A slight itch from the back of her hand caused her to look down at the quill in disbelief.
"We use blood quills for official documents, it won't do any harm," assured the Goblin, who rolled up the parchment and waved his gnarled hand over it. The scroll glowed blue for a moment before the aura faded away, and he placed it back on the desk before unrolling it. His eyebrows scrunched together as his eyes narrowed.
"It appears you are indeed Harriet Rose Potter."
"How did you know my name?" she asked, a little frustrated at his strangeness.
"You do not know?" he asked, staring up at her. Now she was annoyed.
"I swear if one more person asks me that…"
"I can tell you the story." he continued when she nodded assent. "A couple years ago, there was a dark wizard. He believed in an old system that valued some lives above others because of their supposed 'purity of blood'. He valued purebloods, those who have magical ancestors only, over halfbloods and muggleborns, who had some magical family and none, respectively. He called himself Lord Voldemort." Harry felt a shiver at the name, not sure why.
"He began amassing followers, those who believed in the same doctrine as himself. They called themselves Death Eaters." Now she was interested. "They began a war with the side of the light, headed by a man named Albus Dumbledore, who is revered by many as the greatest wizard of our age." The Goblin snorted at that.
"The two sides fought for a while, magical and muggle casualties rising. Then one day a little girl was born to parents on the side of the light. Exactly fifteen months later, Voldemort showed up at the girls house. He killed her parents, then attempted to kill the little girl using an unforgivable, the Killing Curse. But he couldn't. For whatever reason, he could not kill that little girl, and the spell rebounded, killing him and scarring the girl. Her name is Harriet Potter."
Harry gave a sharp intake of breath, her eyes widening. Her parents had fought in a war? They had died at the hands of a madman, not due to their drunkenness while driving like she had been told? The same man who murdered her parents tried to kill her.
"The war ended, and the dark forces withdrew, all because of a baby. Miss Potter, you are famous. Every child in the wizarding world knows your name. You also hold the claim to your family's fortune and are the heir to the Potter's. Apparently, you are also the heir to several other families. Surprising families." He scratched his head, mumbling as he once again looked at the parchment in front of him.
"Fortune? What fortune?" She asked, gripping onto one thought because her head was whirling with thousands of others making it difficult to think clearly.
"Your parents left you their fortune. Your family was extremely rich. It also appears that you are the magical or inherited heir of a couple other vaults. The spell on this parchment allows an account holder to see all the vaults and titles they control. Here." he handed the parchment to her. Red ink stained the parchment in a vertical column.
Harriet Rose Potter
Heir to The Potter Estate: 985,408 Galleons
Heir to The Peverell Estate: 11,416,607 Galleons
Heir to The Gryffindor Estate: 820,357,686 Galleons
Magical Heir to Slytherin Estate: 659,211,467 Galleons
Harry looked up in shock. That seemed like a lot of money. "What's the exchange rate for Galleons to American Dollars?"
Looking a little confused, he replied, "Well, it's not an exact exchange, I'd have to say that one galleon is five American Dollars." Her eyes bugged out of her head. And she had been pickpocketing.
"That's cool," she mumbled. Her mask of blank politeness was officially gone.
"Unfortunately, you cannot access all of it until you become of age. You do have a small trust with a fraction of your family's money in it."
"How small?"
"Oh, two hundred thousand galleons or so." She almost reached forward to slap the Goblin.
"I've just realised, you haven't introduced yourself." His face dropped in confusion, probably wondering how he'd forgotten that. She felt a bit smug at that. Small, psh.
"My name is Griphook, pleased to meet you." And he was pleased. He watched over her vaults, he would be receiving a good commission.
"Well thank you Griphook. I'd like to know, is there any way I can get money from my vault without coming back here every time? I don't want to carry all my money around though."
Griphook nodded and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a plastic card from a row of identical plastic cards. The black card looked remarkably like a debit card.
"This will allow you to draw from your account at any time. It works the same way as a muggle, non magical, debit card. You can use this in wizarding or mugge shops, in any country." Harry nodded thanks as she took the card, jumping a bit when it burned in her hand.
"That is the magic recognising your blood, and therefore connecting you to your vault. It will only draw money from your trust, when you are 17 and of age, it will be readjusted." Ten years then. She had two million dollars for ten years. Huh.
"I must warn you, when you turn eleven, you will be invited to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and a significant amount of the trust will be needed for your seven years there, so plan accordingly. Of course, you should have more than enough to complete your schooling as your guardians are unaware of it and raise you with their own wages." Harry almost snorted, but covered it up as a sneeze. Her "guardians" hadn't spent near enough what it costs to take care of a child. Then they dropped her in the woods in front of a crazed Wendigo. Maybe if she had left it, the monster would have gotten them.
Harry batted away the thought. Just because the Dursleys are the scum of the Earth didn't mean they deserved that. If Griphook was wondering about her age, he didn't show it, so Harry didn't mention it. She did have one question.
"Griphook, do you know why I was sent to the Dursleys?" His face tightened, and his lips were pressed together in a scowl.
"A certain leader of the light made sure your parents' will was sealed. He then took you to your guardians with no one the wiser, claiming the wizarding world should not know where you ended up, in case dark forces felt the need for revenge." This time she did laugh. Loudly.
Waving away his inquisitive look, she got herself under control and thanked him. "I appreciate the help, Griphook, but I must be going. Things to do," she joked, standing from the chair. Putting her bank card in her pocket, Harry bowed to Griphook as the Goblin out front had to her, then left the office and exited the bank.
She was teeming with excitement. A whole street filled with wizarding shops and things to buy and it was amazing! She rushed straight into the first shop she saw, a faded front with the words Ollivander's in peeling letters displayed on a sign.
The door floated open, giving way to a dusty room with the air of an antique book store. Sunbeams filtering through the clouded windows illuminated the dust settled in the air. The smell of pages and polish met Harry's nose, and she breathed in, feeling out of place yet comfortable.
"Miss Potter, you are early. That has never happened before." An excited, airy voice drifted from in between rows of shelving holding long boxes that were stacked precariously on top of each other.
"Does everyone know who I am?" she huffed, annoyed that yet another person seemed to recognize her immediately.
"It is a hazard of being famous," the voice replied. An old man with shocking white hair and protuberant eyes appeared behind the desk. "Ollivander, maker of fine wands."
"Harry Potter, but you already knew that." he chuckled, then went back to his curious yet excited state.
"You shouldn't be here. This isn't how it happens, you aren't eleven," he mumbled distractedly.
"What's the big deal?"
"Nothing. Miss Potter, I'm afraid I cannot sell you a wand. You must be eleven, as that's when your core develops enough to actively use magic." She stared at him, not understanding.
"What, like this?" She held up a hand, a ball of light hovering over it. Ollivander's eyes widened even more, if that was possible.
"This is most peculiar. Curious. Very curious," he mumbled walking closer to the light and bending over, tilting his head as he studied it.
"Yes curiouser and curiouser, down the rabbit hole we go, blah blah. Is this not a regular thing?" she asked.
"Most children cannot actively call upon their magic, much less control it, until they receive a wand. It helps restrict their magic, therefore reducing the possibility of accidental magic during an emotional high, and acts as a conduit."
"But if magic acts the same as electricity in that aspect, having a wand would harm more than help, right? If an electrical current is sent down a wire, the shorter the wire the stronger the current. It's the same with a conduit. There is more material for the magic to be channeled through, therefore decreasing the strength of the magic. This is all well and good if accidental magic bursts are as bad as you say, but wouldn't the person using the wand eventually rely on it, decreasing the strength of the magic?" Ollivander stared at her with his mouth slightly open. He quickly closed it, and looked thoughtful.
"I should think you will grow up to be a very interesting witch, Miss Potter. You are very curious."
"Remind me to bring you a book called Alice in Wonderland. I think you and Lewis Carroll would have been besties."
"There is also the fact that with a wand, you become eligible for the Trace, and younger children do not have as much restraint needed."
"Sorry, the Trace?"
"Yes, when you receive a wand for the first time, your magic is recognized by the Trace enchantment, which makes sure that young witches and wizards who haven't yet reached their majority are not practising magic outside of school or their private tutors. Our world does not interact with the muggle one for a reason."
"Ok, I suppose I can understand that, what with the witch hunts and everything, but the government tracking your every move? Do people not protest this sort of thing?"
"Well, that was actually one of the points in He-who-must-not-be-named's platform. The learning of magic at a young age was a very traditional practice, and one his followers during the war were very supportive of."
"I think I just barfed in my mouth a little. But I guess even the bad guys can have good points. The trace still seems sketchy to me, though. But if you wanted to track everyone, why not make it happen at birth so that they could more easily find muggleborns, and people who never received a wand?"
"If they took wands too early, and exposed themselves to the Trace before their cores were ready, the Accidental Magic office would be flooded with incidents all over England. The age restriction helps give our government a break."
"Well, at least some things don't change." With that, Harry said her goodbyes and exited the shop. She looked around the alley for a while, darting into a store when she saw something she liked. A couple hours later saw her sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour eating a chocolate sundae while looking over her purchases.
She had bought a collapsible cauldron, several ingredients for potions, and brown dragonhide boots. She spent an entire hour in Flourish and Blotts drooling over all the different books inside. She now owned a copy of the first through third year books that were assigned at Hogwarts for every main subject, books on several different magical languages, including one that detailed a snake language that she had never heard of, but she swore it sounded familiar. There were books regarding wizarding history, and some new lore books that talked about magical creatures and how they differed from muggle ones. She had bought an interesting shrinkable telescope for her treehouse. A messenger bag inside the trunk shop had caught her eye, and she bought it. It was only a foot long and 8 inches wide on the outside, but inside had more space than her treehouse. All of her purchases so far were dumped in there.
Harry decided it was a good idea to hide the scar, as that seemed to be her only identifiable feature, so it was placed under a strong glamour charm she read about in one of the books. She finished her ice cream and got up to look around more. Harry really wanted to buy a broomstick, but it would stick out too much in muggle America. Turns out, America did not have the trace, and it would not have registered her anyway as she had been born in England and did not yet own a wand.
A dark alleyway caught her eye. She glanced up at the sign pointing down the dark pathway. Knockturn Alley. Really though, these wizards need to come up with better street names that puns. She started down the street carefully, gripping the dagger again.
The alleyway expanded into a street, and that's how she found herself in the darkest shopping street in England. It was so cool.
She entered a shop called Borgin and Burkes, ignoring the speculative stares sent her way. Seven year olds probably didn't belong in the place. Whatever. She strolled past the display cases, looking at the dusty relics beneath the dirty glass. A withered hand sat on a cushion on a nearby shelf, listed as the Hand of Glory, best friend of the thief. She smiled at that.
Apparently seven year olds were allowed in the store, because she stumbled upon one staring at a tea set painted with pagan designs. He had slicked back white blond hair, his nose and hands pressed up against the glass. He looked up at her noise of surprise.
"Hello," he squeaked.
"Hello."
"What are you doing?" He asked, trying to regain his composure. His chin jutted up into the air, sticking out his chest to make himself seem more important. It was adorable, really. He looked like he was about to go into battle with his stuffed animals, and was trying very hard to be the general they needed.
"Looking around. This place is cool, I might get something." It was cool, well mostly cool. She could do without the mocking notes describing how certain items claimed muggle lives.
"Your parents are going to buy you something?" he asked, eyes widening in surprise and maybe a bit of longing.
"No. I'm here alone, I can get what I want."
"That's amazing! I'm here with my Father, he wouldn't let me come in alone. He's got some selling to do, but I wanted to get a new broom in Diagon Alley so he brought me. What's your name?"
"Harry," she replied, not trusting enough to give her full name. Besides, she didn't want this boy staring at her. Fame was kind of stupid sometimes.
"I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy." She took his hand and shook. "Isn't Harry a boy's name?"
"Probably. So, what did you want to buy?" she asked him.
"Oh! They've got this really brilliant magic item, one of a kind. It's called the Rock of Gravity Detection. You're supposed to hold it out and let go, and if it drops to the ground gravity is working. I'm not exactly sure what gravity is, but the label said it was pretty important." Harry looked at him, then looked at him again, then a third time. Then she burst out laughing, falling to the floor and rolling around a bit.
"What's so funny?" he asked, partially offended.
"Gravity detection! Oh, you poor sweet summer child. Gravity can be 'detected' by anything."
"Huh?"
"Think of the Earth. It's a big ball of ocean and land, floating in orbit around the sun. Gravity is the force that holds it in place. It holds your feet on the ground, holds everything to the Earth. If you jumped up, gravity is what brings you back down. Get it?"
"Yes," he mumbled, looking a bit sheepish. She didn't believe him, but Harry didn't really have time to explain astrophysics to this kid. She also didn't think he would appreciate such Muggle terminology once he figured out she was teaching him non magical things. The store did have the vibe that entertained shoppers who went by the title "Death Eater".
"Hey, don't worry about it. You know what, why don't we get this guy back. I mean, he's deliberately trying to scam someone."Draco nodded, and Harry gave him a mischievous smile.
"Follow me. Stay back out of the line of sight, and keep quiet."
Draco followed her as she walked up to the front desk, conjuring a plain wooden ring as she went. With the wood gripped in her hand, she motioned for Draco to hide behind a shelf. She stopped in front of the desk, tapping the bell once with her pointer finger. As soon as she saw the man in the doorway, she cast a light confusion spell. Not enough to be noticed, but enough to make sure he couldn't think clearly.
"What do you want?" he asked gruffly, clearly not happy about the kid in front of him. She put her acting talents to use again.
"Sorry sir, it's just, my Father sent me with something to sell. He couldn't come, tied up in deals in some other shops. But he told me I have to sell my favourite protection ring, all because I ate dinner with my salad fork instead of my main fork." She heard Draco lightly giggle from a couple shelves over.
"Alright Miss…"
"Watson."
"Alright Miss Watson, what does your ring do." Harry set the wooden ring on the counter in front of her.
"It's a protection ring. When you wear it, it gives you protection against anything, even Unforgivables." He raised his eyebrows at her.
"How?"
"Well, it's foolproof really. When you wear it in combat, it will use your body to shield itself from harm."
"I fail to see how that would work."
"Well, obviously, if your body is shielded, then it is safe." She struggled to keep a straight face as the man nodded contemplatively while rubbing his chin. The wonder of spells.
"That seems right. You say it guards against anything?"
"And everything. Even muggle weapons." Seriously, she had to get control of her silent laughter, now shaking her body. Luckily the confusion spell threw him off.
"How much do you want for it?"
"What about an in-store coupon? I get two items of similar value, and you get the ring."
"Deal." He shook her hand, and she left with the ring to scour the met up with a laughing Draco.
"That was brilliant." He wiped tears from his eyes.
"Indeed," drawled a new voice. Harry spun around, just managing to keep her hand from flying to her knives. "Lucius Malfoy," he continued, putting a hand out. Harry took it.
"Harriet." His eyes swept her hairline, and his eyebrows scrunched when he found no sign of scarring.
"Well, Harriet, I do believe you would make an excellent saleswoman when you grow up." She lightly smirked.
"Not really my area of expertise, but thank you. I merely discovered that a false item had been on display, ready to scam anyone. I don't appreciate people trying to fool me." Ironic really, she lied for living. Well, she didn't get paid. "That brings me to this. Here, Draco, this is yours. She deposited one of slips of paper detailing restrictions for her "free" item into his baffled grasp. "Seeing as it was you he tried to swindle."
Harry nodded politely, and walked away to the front with the item she wanted in her hands. She set the ring and the coupon on the counter for the owner. He picked up her item and examined it, then nodded and handed it back to her, wishing her a good day. She laughed as she heard Draco ask in the background what gravity was, and the resulting splutter from his Father as if he had said a swear word.
Harry slid the sheath-and-dagger combo into her messenger bag, glad to be away from the slimy-seeming man. It was a magical sheath that would allow her to access the dagger with a flick of her hand. The knife itself was small and elegant. The edge was not serrated, and it had runes for strength etched into it. She really was collecting a rather large assortment of weapons, wasn't she?
Harry walked out of Knockturn Alley and back through its brighter counterpart to reach the Leaky Cauldron. After eating a brief dinner paid for by her new card, she left to find an empty alley. Harry focused on the landscape where her treehouse was. A couple seconds later and a pop announced her arrival back home. She smiled as she covered herself in blankets, a book on hexes in her lap. It had been a good day.
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Miles away in a dusty shop dealing with dark and neutral artifacts, a blond little boy smiled as he traded in his coupon for a legitimate item while the owner tried to figure out why he received a paper cut when he wore a ring that protected him against everything.