Chapter Two: Crosswise from Diagon
Everything he had ever known about himself was a complete lie.
Harry Potter had never had any idea of who he was. His relatives had never allowed him to ask questions, had never told him what either his mother or father were named. There had never been any pictures of them. If his aunt and uncle hadn't complained about his parents and how their abrupt deaths had burdened them with his worthless presence – Harry might well have thought that they'd never existed.
Then, without warning, the strangest man had shown up under impossible circumstances and shared more about his parents and himself than Harry had ever known in his life.
He supposed that he should have been happy.
The strange man – Hagrid, he'd introduced himself as – had taken him from the Dursleys and been rough and rude with them, standing up for Harry in a way that was rare, if ever. In the process of being removed from his awful relatives, if it was only for a little while, he had also learned that he was a wizard, a very special wizard. Those letters had been real; they had been for him, absolutely. The invite to the famous magical school was not a mistake and Hagrid had come to search him out to tell him this, despite his uncle's mad attempt to keep Harry inaccessible.
A week ago, Harry would have given everything for this.
He wouldn't have thought twice about his eleventh birthday becoming the most impossible reality. He would have just been happy to get away from his miserable life, his awful relatives, even if only for a little while.
Instead, all that he had learned since last night was not settling right with him, at all.
Harry had been deliberately lied to by everyone about everything, maybe even by Hagrid, his strange rescuer.
The journey into London was less dazzling than it could have been, as this burrowing, stinging thought kept nagging at him and refusing to leave his mind.
He was half-suspicious that Hagrid was lying, as well, somehow a part of an elaborate and cruel prank against him. He so desperately wanted to get away from his relatives; he was sure that his aunt and her husband knew this was his greatest wish. He wouldn't be surprised if they knew and wanted to use it to bully him, hold it against him that he still had many years to go until he was able to get close to being away from them. Harry was sure that all three of them would take a lot of joy and satisfaction from seeing him go through this whole vivid day of things he could never imagined, with a promise of leaving –
Except, he was also sure that his aunt and uncle would never make this much effort to do something to him, when all they wanted was for him to not exist.
Harry had little choice but to trust his enormous, unusual guide through the perfectly ordinary Charing Cross Road and into a pub.
He was shocked and unsettled when a crowd of people swarmed him, pushing Hagrid and his considerable bulk aside in their exuberance and surprise. The sudden rush of attention and praise and excitement – it confirmed that the most outrageous part of Hagrid's tales were indeed true.
He was famous.
All the oddly dressed people who'd ever come up to him in life, shaking his hand, praising him, seeming to think coming across him was a great honor – they'd been wizards and witches. They had not been random or mistaken. They had all come across him, the legend and hero he didn't know he was. And, they had been as excited then as they were now.
Harry was becoming overwhelmed, wondering why Hagrid was just allowing people to crush into him and grab him –
His scar hurt for the first time in his life he could remember.
The professor that was shaking his hand didn't seem to have noticed that he was hurting. The pale, clammy man looked to be frail and sickly, but the steady, high voice that came from him didn't match his appearance at all. Harry tried to focus on the professor's confident prediction that because of his fame and his legendary survival as a baby, he'd be a great wizard. Particularly in his own class, the Dark Arts or something –
His scar ached with an odd, cold pain that stopped the moment that the crowd jostled him up again and the professor couldn't talk to him anymore.
Harry pressed a hand to his scar and held his other hand against him, not allowing anyone else to touch him. Uncaring if it was rude or not, Harry pushed back against the group of overeager witches and wizards, leading Hagrid to finally use his intimidating heft and booming voice to clear the crowd. Harry didn't know if he was relieved or annoyed. Hagrid seemed to think that it was great fun to have people shouting and going mad over a sighting of him; Harry didn't think so, at all.
Harry's scar didn't stop aching until they were outside of the dreaded pub and in the fresh air again. The summer heat was suddenly a relief, compared to the unusual coldness that had accompanied the pain in his scar. Harry leaned against the dusty brick wall and breathed deeply, waiting to see if the pain would come back.
It didn't.
Harry stood up straighter, brushing off Hagrid's concern about whether or not he was feeling well. He insisted that he was well enough for them to still keep going into Diagon Alley. Hagrid eyed him closely one last time, then nodded. He'd just taken his pink umbrella out, muttering to himself and preparing to cast a spell or something –
"Excuse me, sir. Can I trouble you to allow me to passage into Diagon Alley, as well?"
Something made the wizarding crowd inside The Leaky Cauldron rowdy, when she never remembered it being like this the other handful of times that she'd visited Diagon Alley.
Hermione Granger pushed through the excitable crowd, begging pardons that were never heard.
Nobody looked twice at her this time.
Not for being eleven years old nor for being dressed like a Muggle. There wasn't a single person who'd glanced over at her entering through the non-magical entrance from Charing Cross Road. Hermione was bumped into by an excited woman, crowing about how their hero remembered her specifically, but otherwise, she might have been invisible. She took the oblivious atmosphere as the opportunity to go into her very Muggle cross-body bag and retrieve her Wizarding cloak, swinging it on before someone could notice her non-magical outfit.
The rich, navy blue material was the only magical piece of clothing she could sneak into London without her parents knowing but would also give her the discretion she was looking for.
The first couple of times that she had come to Diagon Alley, she had been with her parents and a representative of the magical government. Their small group had drawn attention but not as much attention as they had gotten when she had come with only her parents. Hermione had quickly, uncomfortably picked up on how undesirable it was that she did not come from magic, made obvious by how she entered the Wizarding World through The Leaky Cauldron.
She had immediately become determined to visit Diagon Alley all on her own, without her parents or someone from the Ministry for Magic.
It had taken two or three times, but finally, finally, her parents had allowed her to come to Diagon Alley by herself while they shopped on Charing Cross Road.
She had promptly chosen today to make her appointment at The Symposium.
There was a very limited amount of time that she had to get into Diagon Alley, then turn down Crosswise Alley, so that she could find the address on the appointment card. If she didn't meet her parents when they expected, especially considering that they could not come into the Wizarding World to fetch her themselves – Hermione might not be allowed to go to Hogwarts at all in September. She would have to hope that there was someone willing to open up the alley on her behalf, without asking too many questions.
Hermione considered it a very lucky break, as she exited the pub, that there was already someone there, waiting to pass from across the border between the Wizarding and non-Wizarding Worlds.
"If I'm imposing, I apologize – but, I am in a bit of a hurry."
The girl was obviously his own age, but Harry was surprised with how she spoke like very deliberately like an adult.
Harry had never met or seen a magical child before. This girl-witch made him wonder if all magical children were this formal and stiff. Certainly, the hooded, deep blue cloak that she was dressed in looked very much like what Harry expected a witch to look like; if the pale beige, slender piece of wood that was stick out of her sleeve was a magical wand like he though, then she was absolutely what he expected a witch to be.
Harry was instantly intrigued with the girl-witch standing before him.
Hagrid was unsure and seemed to be entirely taken aback by this serious girl-witch
"Er, well – I'm sure yer wanting to wait for your parents to catch up. They can't be too much behind yeh and I'm sure they don't want yer talkin' to strangers."
"My parents aren't magical, sir," the girl-witch shared, quietly. "They won't accompany me to Diagon Alley, but it is really important that I do so, Please, sir If it is truly too much of a bother, I can wait for the next adult – but, I only have a short amount of time. My parents won't bring me back here before Hogwarts starts, I'm sure of it."
Hagrid didn't seem to need furthering convincing. Harry was sure that hearing about difficult, magic-resistant Muggles only fueled his quick decision, especially after their ordeal with the Dursleys. Hagrid began tapping at the bricks without another word, a rush of magic building in the alley.
Harry wanted to be fascinated with seeing a portal to the magical world open up. He was instead trying not to stare at the girl-witch standing beside him. – but he couldn't quite stop staring at the girl-witch who waited to walk with them into Diagon Alley. Nervously, taking a risk when he had never spoken or known a magical child before now, Harry turned to the girl-witch and held his hand out. The dull roar of the bricks transforming themselves nearly drowned out his words.
"Hello. I'm Harry."
He deliberately didn't give her his last name, not wanting to experience the same excitement from the pub.
The girl-witch seemed surprised; when she looked at him, her eyes were slightly wide in her face. Her handshake was quick, soft to the touch, and made his hand tingle differently than even the encounter with the professor, a few minutes previously.
"Hello, Harry. I'm – my name is Hermione."
Hermione the girl-witch let go of his hand before he could say anything else.
The brick arch settled as if it had never been a solid wall.
Politely, Hemione thanked Hagrid for his help and then disappeared as if she had never been beside Harry.
Her blue cloak was instantly lost in the bustling, thriving crowds of the hidden, magical district of London.
Hermione doubted her appointment at The Symposium for the first time, when she arrived at the intended address in Crosswise Alley.
There were a lot less people here. The buildings here were plainer, quieter, and the people here didn't linger, seeming to be coming and going with purpose no matter if it were a shop or other place they were visiting. Hermione had never been here before, but she could tell the difference between Crosswise Alley and Diagon Alley. This was a place she would expect to be with an adult. There was a chance that because there was no adult to have with her, the appointment would be denied.
Hermione was not so worried about it being a waste of her rare solo outing to Diagon Alley, as much as she feared never having this chance again.
She was the only person to be magical in her family, as far as she knew. As far as she could tell, her lack of magical parents, family, or anything else connected to this world was a detriment. There was nothing that she could change about who she had been born to but there was a lot she could to do control the person she became.
The witch that she could become depended on this appointment and Hermione needed this to be successful.
The dark iron handle of the door to The Symposium was cold to the touch despite the heat of summer.
"The next appointment to be seen shall be Granger, initial H."
Hermione stood up, pulling her witch's cloak around her tighter. The magical cloak concealed her non-magical clothing as she walked through the chilly, elegant lobby, avoiding the possible looks of the other, quietly chatting people who were similarly waiting for appointments.
The gray-haired wizard stared at her hard but did not immediately send her away.
Hermione waited, politely, as he seemed to size her up.
"You are the Granger appointment, child?"
"I am."
"Is there an adult to accompany you or represent you upon entering The Symposium?" The wizard still did not turn her away, stoic and unreadable. "You are a child, seeking the masters and guardians of The Symposium and the magic within. Are you certain you understand what you will be welcomed into, should you enter The Symposium?"
This was the moment that mattered.
Hermione inhaled calmly, feeling steady despite feeling very young and very alone. Her response was recommended, among the scarce information she'd been able to find about The Symposium in the thin, aged book that she had purchased from the secondhand bin at Flourish and Blotts. The words had seemed strange to her, the many times she had practiced it over the past couple of months. Now that she was here, speaking these practiced words aloud within The Symposium, Hermione suddenly didn't feel nervous anymore.
"Yes, I do understand. I am a witch of no magical origin, who has no family, no name, and no representative in the Wizarding World. I have come to The Symposium to find my place in the Wizarding World. I'd like to be welcomed, please."
Hermione hoped that she didn't sound too much like the child she was. Her voice sounded rather young to her own ears, as the gray-haired wizard eyed her, thoughtfully.
"You speak the proper words, along with displaying the proper manners. It shan't be ignored, young lady." The gray-haired wizard beckoned to the plain wooden door behind him with the same dark iron handle. "Please, come with me. I am Master Goshawk."
Hermione used all her might to remain serious and collected. Master Goshawk was the person she had been corresponding with, the person whom she had to convince that she was good enough for him to be her sponsor to The Symposium Clearly, the wizard hadn't realized she was a young girl – nearly twelve, but still not a Hogwarts student yet – but he wasn't upset about it, either.
Master Goshawk led her down a corridor with a high ceiling and so cold that her breath started frosting on the air. By the time they reached a dark wood door, which Master Goshawk rapped upon smartly before opening, Hermione was glad for the witch's cloak she wore snugly around her. She was freezing, as if it were winter instead of late July.
When she entered the room, Hermione was met with a very small handful of people, who stopped speaking and looked at her.
"Miss Granger, allow me to introduce you to the winning sponsor of your petition to The Symposium, the family Carrow. The Symposium is proud to include the Carrows among our number, especially as represented by the newest generation in Alecto Carrow."