~An Emerald amongst a Sea of Stone~
Chapter Two
Harry stabbed the sole piece of bacon which occupied his otherwise empty plate with his fork. If the Dursleys had paid him any mind, they would have seen the contained rage swirling behind his brilliantly green irises.
His glance, not for the first time this morning, wandered over towards the cream-coloured clock hanging above the kitchen door in company of the perfectly white walls of the house.
7.50, it showed. Ten more minutes.
His eyes trailed downwards and settled on his relatives once again. They briefly shut, as he felt ice tighten around his throat. He allowed a deep breath to escape his nose.
Ten more minutes, he repeated inside his head. They're not worth it. The Professor was right. I am destined for something greater.
He smiled faintly. Magic was real. He finally had an explanation for all the supernatural things that had happened to him. Pride swelled in his chest. He wasn't a freak.
He was special.
He couldn't wait to get his hands on a wand. With how effortlessly the Professor had changed the carpet's colour, Harry was all but certain that one would bring him to levels previously unreachable.
He wondered if people even did magic without their wands.
He could imagine they would, at least for smaller, easier feats of magic. But for now all he could do was speculate. And that, he would. After all, there was much to read inbetween the lines of Mr. Flitwick's explanations.
He spoke of a collective. We.
Do wizards have their own administration? he wondered. Perhaps they were organised in a secret society of some sort. It seemed like the likeliest scenario. Diagon Alley - the place Professor Flitwick had mentioned - sounded like a shopping street in the truest sense. There was also a hospital, if he had interpreted the man's words about his mother correctly.
His mother…
He couldn't believe she was… alive. There were no words capable of describing what he felt.
Anger, of course - but only towards his aunt and the people who were responsible for her fate. But what he felt towards his mother? He wasn't sure.
Grateful, certainly - for she had protected him with her own life, the same as his father. Yet at the same time…
I wish she'd been strong enough to resist that curse.
The thought felt wrong - like he was trying to blame her for something she'd had no control over.
Professor Flitwick had said it himself - nearly half an hour of the worst torture known to man. What would suggest anyone had a chance to come out of that unscathed?
There is no cure that has been discovered, the Professor's words echoed inside his mind. I'm sorry.
Did that mean there was no cure at all? Perhaps the torture curse was a rather recent invention and not very well researched. Maybe people had simply taken the wrong approach - not tried hard enough.
He shook his head. He knew too little about this new, mysterious world that had just been presented to himself, to make any worthwhile assessments. But he would learn.
His eyes flickered towards the clock above the doorway once more.
Five minutes. How quickly the time goes.
He chose that moment to speak up. His voice was even, entirely levelled. He didn't allow any of the sinister emotions that lurked in the back of his mind to bleed into his speech.
'I'm leaving,' he said simply, rising from his chair.
For a moment he thought no one had paid him any mind - which wouldn't have been much of a surprise - but then Vernon coughed, turning around from his conversation with Petunia.
'What did you say, boy?' the walrus, as Harry had taken to calling him, asked. The man's moustache moved at the growl that escaped his puffy lips.
Harry allowed a thin smile that could have been mistaken for a grimace to appear on his lips. 'I'm leaving,' he repeated in the same nonchalant tone as before.
Vernon let out a bark of laughter. 'Hah, you're leaving, boy, are you? And where are you going?'
'London,' he answered.
Another laugh. 'And what will a freak like you do in London?'
Harry shrugged. 'I was told I'd find some kinship there.'
He knew the Dursleys - or at least Petunia and Vernon - feared magic to an extent. It seemed rather obvious, now that he knew of his heritage. Their erratic behaviour after his incidents had never really stemmed from anger. Rather, it had been the fear he would one day find out about the nature of these incidents.
'What did you just say?' Aunt Petunia asked in a whisper. She tried to disguise the shock in her voice as danger, but Harry merely gave her an inconsiderate glance.
'I said that I'd be going to London. I received an offer to join a boarding school come the end of summer and I accepted. I'll be departing in a few.'
His answer didn't elicit a single response. Dudley's eyes morphed into small, confused marbles, and his aunt and uncle… They simply stared at him, seemingly not sure whether to be angry or afraid.
The sight made a smile slip onto Harry's lips. 'Little Whinging was always too small for someone like me. I'm destined for something greater.'
Silence. His eyes flickered towards the clock again. Three minutes.
'When?' Petunia asked, pale.
Harry allowed a long yawn to escape his open mouth. 'Yesterday. When you were out at the Restaurant,' he answered. 'Professor Flitwick extends his dearest regards.'
'You- You will-'
'Be on my way to London in two minutes,' he finished her sentence. 'The Professor is picking me up at eight o' clock sharp. And you can do nothing to stop me from leaving.'
He could see Vernon's face slowly but surely turn an infamous shade of purple, but before the man could raise his fist, Harry uttered a threat of his own.
'You should be glad the Professor promised I could finally leave this place behind for good - that I'd never have to come back, if I didn't want to. Otherwise…' he said in a whisper. 'I would have made sure that there was nothing to return to myself.'
His eyes focussed on Petunia, and he allowed a fraction of the malevolence he held in his chest to drip into his gaze.
'That you have never even told me my mother was alive…' he said breathlessly. 'I cannot find words for how miserable and lonely a death I wish you. Were it not for my future, I would have torn you apart with my bare hands.'
The bell rang.
'Good riddance.'
'This is it?' Harry asked, as Professor and student stopped in front of a large, antique building that looked just like any other.
They were in downtown London, a few streets away from the alley Flitwick had apparated them to. They had spoken little on the way here, but he had already learned something new - what the feat of teleportation was called in their world.
The Professor nodded. 'Yes. Diagon Alley, the shopping street where we are going later, did not have a building large enough to accommodate for all of the necessary facilities. People considered building the hospital underground - similar to our ministry - but that would've been a rather expensive endeavour. When someone got hold of a building in the area, it was decided the hospital would be built here.'
So there is a ministry, Harry noted.
'How old is it?' he asked.
'Over four hundred years,' Flitwick answered. 'It was founded by Mungo Bonham, a British healer, in the early 1600. The personnel's knowledge is unmatched in the majority of Europe.'
So it's rather unlikely they don't know what they're doing.
'Wow,' Harry said, acting impressed. He frowned. 'If I may ask though, how exactly will we get inside? I don't see an entrance anywhere,' he pointed out.
The only thing in sight was an empty storefront above which hung a rotten sign that read Purge and Dowse, Ltd. There were a couple of undressed mannequins staring at them from across the glass, and the door to the side was barricaded. The place was abandoned.
Or at least it looks that way…
The Professor gave Harry a warm smile. 'To enter St. Mungo's, one must simply step through the storefront of this shop. It is a magical gateway of sorts. You will encounter a similar pathway when you board the train to Hogwarts later this summer.'
'Interesting.'
A curt nod came from the man, as his features morphed into a forced smile. 'Shall we?' he asked.
Harry nodded.
Together, they stepped through the storefront, the raven-haired teenager shivering at the tingling sensation that ran over his skin. It was much more pleasant than apparition, he found, though seeing the colours of his environment blend together in a murky sludge certainly messed with one's head.
He pushed down the wave of nausea that rose inside of him, and allowed his gaze to pass through the lobby which they had arrived in.
A large chandelier hung under the ceiling, glowing in a comforting, goldish hue. The walls were painted in a familiar creme-beige, and neat wooden chairs littered his left and right. A wide range of people sat both on, and… in front of them?
Most of the people lying on the ground seemed to be in some kind of pain. Perhaps this place doubled as both a visitor's entrance and an emergency room waiting area.
Eventually, his eyes landed on a large sign in the middle of the room. Our Welcome Witch will be happy to assist you, it read. An arrow on the sign pointed towards his right, where a small reception was set up at the side of the hall.
Behind the counter stood a rather unenthusiastic-looking woman. She had brown hair, and wore a white outfit consisting of robes and completed by a small hat. The sign of a wand crossed over a bone rested on her chest.
The logo of St. Mungo's, Harry supposed.
He followed the Professor, as the small man made his way over towards the counter.
'Good morning,' he greeted. 'We are here to visit a patient in the Permanent Spell Damage Ward.'
The woman - witch, rather - looked up from the counter, and shot them a bored glance.
'Names?' she asked absentmindedly.
'Filius Flitwick, and-'
'Harry Potter,' Harry answered for himself. 'Here to see my mother.'
That made the witch look up from her current occupation. She gave him a long glance, looking up and down, before nodding to herself.
'Harry Potter and Filius Flitwick, here to visit Lily Jasmine Potter,' she said to herself, writing down their names. 'You know where to go, I assume?' she asked Flitwick.
The Professor nodded. 'I do.'
'All objects of magical nature will have to be confiscated before entering the ward.'
Flitwick handed her his wand. She put it in one of the countless drawers behind her back. Harry wasn't so sure Flitwick would ever see the stick of wood again.
'Enjoy your stay,' she wished.
Without a word, Harry and the Professor moved away from the counter and towards the large wooden door which read Main Staircase. Together they stepped through.
'Fourth floor,' Flitwick said quietly. 'Janus Thickey Ward for permanent spell damage.' He paused. 'If you ever want to visit her on your own,' he added. The smile on his lips was a pained one.
'Thank you,' Harry responded.
The knot in his throat made it hard to speak. They headed up the staircase, Harry a bit surprised by the Professor's rather brisk pace, and made their way into the fourth floor corridor. Flitwick gestured for Harry to follow him until they stopped in front of a plain, brown door that looked just like any of the others in the hallway.
'Personnel won't come in until ten,' Flitwick told him. 'She's usually asleep. I assume you'd like to be alone.'
Harry nodded.
The Professor smiled again. 'I'll wait here. Take however long you need.'
Thank you.
He felt his cold hand wrap tightly around the golden handle, and with a deep breath, he pushed the door open.
Immediately, a floral scent entered his nose. Directly on the wall to his left, stood a small drawer with a vase of flowers on top. Right behind it was a hospital bed, freshly made with white, linen sheets.
Under them, laid a woman with thick, full, auburn-red hair and a beautiful face. A mild frown formed on Harry's forehead.
She looks nothing like in the pictures I stole from the attic.
Ignoring the cold clump of ice in his chest, he carefully stepped forward. His mother's chest rose - slowly but reliably. For a moment he just stood there, not knowing what to say.
He shook his head. Supposedly she can't even understand me.
He remembered Flitwick's words. Some would consider it a fate worse than death.
Was it? Harry had grown up thinking both of his parents were dead. James was. Lily on the other hand? She was stuck here, in an otherwise rather empty wing of St. Mungo's, waiting for… what, exactly?
What good was being alive when you couldn't do anything? When you weren't even aware that time was passing around you, and the world slowly left you behind in its wake?
To Harry, the answer was simple. There was none.
If the healers of St. Mungo had truly given up on finding a cure for her condition, which was what he could safely assume, it would have been kinder to just let her pass.
There was only one reason why she was currently still alive. People's selfish desires to not let go. And to Harry, that wasn't a valid reason. Not in his book.
She gave everything to protect me. And now she's forced to waste away in this wing without a purpose. And no one is trying to help.
Even Professor Flitwick seemed to have accepted that there was no way to better Lily Potter's state, and seemed content with simply visiting his once beloved student.
Harry wouldn't be. He couldn't accept that there was no solution. Because if there was no hope…
A tear - warm and salty - slithered down his cheek. I could as well just kill you on the spot.
'I'll make it right,' he whispered, finally breaking the silence he'd kept for what had felt like an eternity. 'I'll heal you.'
He didn't know how, when, or why, but he would. To him it didn't matter if the most renovated healers of the country had tried and failed. It didn't matter that he had no idea how this world even worked in its most rudimentary ways.
He wouldn't stop trying until he had exploited any and all options he had to cure his mother - even if he had to fight the entire world on his own for it.
'I love you,' he whispered.
It was the first time he spoke those words. He had never believed Petunia's lies - had refused to. Back when he was young, he had secretly hoped that his parents weren't gone and that they would come to save him from the Dursleys one day.
Back then he had loved his parents too - in a way, at least. But now… now he actually had a chance of finally being loved back.
It seems we're all a bit selfish, after all, he thought with a pained smile. But maybe a little bit of selfishness isn't so bad.
Because revenge, after all, was a form of selfishness as well. And even though it hadn't been Harry who'd been tortured into insanity that night, it would be him to seek retribution.
Not just for his mother, but for himself. For the future that could've been. For his father and twelve years of misery at Privet Drive.
'I'll be great. For you. And for me.'
'Everything alright, Harry?' Professor Flitwick asked.
They were wandering through the streets of London, on their way to Charing Cross, where - apparently - the entrance to Diagon Alley was located.
It had been Harry who had suggested they walk. He had rarely ever gotten to see the city, and that aside - it gave him an opportunity to chat with the wizened Professor and ask some more questions.
Books will only explain so much, after all.
Flitwick had cheerfully accepted his suggestion. Now that they had run out of immediate things to talk about though, Harry's gaze was trained on the ground once more.
Was everything alright? It was a loaded question. In the literal sense, he would have answered it with an obvious no. But despite the circumstances, things could have been worse.
He put on a smile and glanced up at the Professor.
'I think so. It was nice… seeing my mother.' He hadn't spoken a word about her ever since exiting that room. 'When can I visit her again?'
The Professor smiled back. 'Well, after we get you a room in the Leaky Cauldron, you will be able to see her every day, if you like. During the school year things will not be that easy though, I'm afraid.' He grimaced, explaining further. 'Students are only allowed to leave the faculties during a few select times during the year, including Samhain and Yule, what would be Halloween and Christmas to you. Assuming you will stay in the castle during those times, I'd be glad to take you to visit her though.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'It's nothing, Harry,' Flitwick waved him off. 'Now… Do you have any other questions you would like to ask? I'm sure there are still many answers that evade you.'
Harry nodded slowly. 'I suppose there is...' He paused, considering whether to ask the question he had in mind or not. 'Perhaps you cannot answer me, but why did I have to live with the Dursleys for the last twelve years?' he asked.
Of course Petunia was his closest blood-relative alive, par his mother, but that explained surprisingly little. After all, Flitwick had been visibly displeased and regretful that Harry had been left to live with his aunt. For some reason, he believed there was more behind the Professor's reaction.
'It is a fair question,' Flitwick acknowledged quietly. 'But one I would like to answer in a different setting if possible.'
Harry frowned, but allowed the Professor to finish.
'It is not that I do not wish to answer your question, Harry, but rather that there are so many things tying into your fate - so many questions even I do not know the answers to, that I think this matter would best be discussed over a chilled mug of Butterbeer. We can sit down once we arrive in the pub, if you'd like, and I would be glad to tell you all I know.'
'Of course, Professor,' Harry gave him a grateful nod. 'I'm sorry if I overstepped.'
Flitwick shook his head. 'No, Harry, you certainly have a right to know. I just wish…' he trailed off.
'That you were not the one that has to tell me,' Harry finished, giving the Professor a sincere smile. 'Whatever you say, Professor; I won't hold it against you. I promise.'
That seemed reason enough for the Professor to relax. 'Thank you, Harry.' His eyes sought out something in the distance.
'Just another question, Professor,' Harry said. Flitwick looked at him. 'What exactly is a Butterbeer? I did not think wizards condoned the intoxication of minors.'
The question elicited a mirthful laugh from the Professor's lips.
The sight was… magical. Dancing teacups, floating spoons, autonomous brooms, and all sorts of other wondrous things caught his eye. Without them, it would've been just another regular, old pub. But with them…
If even the most casual of magic users is capable of this with a wand, where even lie the limits? he wondered.
As the clock would suggest, the inn was still rather empty at this time of the day. His eyes trailed over towards the counter, where an older, slightly pudgy gentleman with calloused hands was cleaning a handful of mugs.
'Filius!' the man called out, as the Professor stepped inside. 'It's good to see you.'
Flitwick smiled. 'And you, Tom. Will you spare us a moment of your time?' he asked.
The man laughed. 'Course, Filius. Who's your escort today? Another Muggleborn, I suspect?' the man gave Harry a glance.
Harry put on a polite smile. 'Harry Potter, nice to meet you, sir,' he offered.
Tom's eyes widened. 'Blimey. You look just like James… Well, nice to meet you, Harry - I'm Tom, none o' that sir business. So, how can I help ya both?'
'Well…' Flitwick began. 'We were wondering if you had a room for the rest of the summer. Harry here would like to get a feel for the wizarding world, and I thought you might be able to accommodate him with a room until he has to leave for Hogwarts in a few weeks time,' he explained.
Tom nodded. 'O' course, Filius. Bring the money whenever you can. 30 Galleons. I'll have the room ready by tonight.'
The Professor smiled, and Harry gave the bartender a thankful nod.
'Thank you, Tom.'
Tom waved them off. 'Ah, not for tha'. Anythin' else I can help you with?'
Flitwick nodded, his usually rather squeaky voice evening. 'Two mugs of Butterbeer, if you will.'
The Professor handed the bartender four silver coins.
'Sickles,' he explained to Harry. 'They are used as currency in our world.' Flitwick took the two mugs of foamed up beverage from the counter, and gave Tom a quick nod. 'Come.'
They sat down in a far corner of the pub, where - hopefully - no one would overhear them. Judging by the Professor's long face, Harry was in for one hell of a conversation. The raven-haired boy took a sip of his drink, wiping the foam on his lips.
Creamy and sweet. I like it.
'Thank you for the drink, sir,' Harry said with a half-hearted cheer.
Flitwick chuckled. 'Not for that, Harry. Now… where to begin?' he murmured.
Harry brought the cold mug to his lips once more. At the beginning, preferably.
'How about the war?' he suggested. 'You've told me about that man trying to revolutionise the country.'
French style from what I understand.
'How did he even get into a position of power over these Death-Eaters? Is he still alive?'
The Professor blinked. It seemed like he hadn't expected the question. Hopefully I haven't put him off.
'Well… it is a place to start, I suppose, if a dark one,' Flitwick agreed tiredly, his left hand softly prattling on the desk. 'But in the end, everything about this is rather grim.'
He paused.
'The Dark Lord, as we call him, seemingly emerged out of nothing during the early seventies. His championed ideologies were radical, and violent, but nevertheless, he quickly began to catch footing.'
'Why?' Harry asked.
The Professor sighed. 'During the Great War - the muggles call it World War Two, I believe - Wizarding Britain was in a difficult spot. The ideologies of Grindelwald, the wizard working with Adolf Hitler, had all but split the country in half on most matters. Some agreed with him. Some didn't. The falling out inside of our society was always inevitable,' Flitwick began.
'So when the war ended… the political state of the country was most volatile. You must know Harry, in our world, a thing that matters to many is the purity of one's blood - a system which differentiates between three types of people: Purebloods, Halfbloods, and Muggleborns.'
Flitwick grimaced.
'In which of those categories a person fits, is solely dependent on the lineage they origin from. A pureblood is a person, all of whose grandparents are magical. A half-blood is a person that does not fulfil these requirements, but possesses at least one magical parent. And a Muggleborn is someone that is… born of muggles, non-magical folk.' Flitwick explained.
'There is no scientific evidence to suggest that any of these parameters influence your magical talent, or intelligence. But nevertheless, some people like to believe so anyway. More than you might think, in fact.'
Harry leaned forward. 'This Dark Lord being one of them, I assume.'
To his surprise, the Professor shook his head. 'That, I am not so sure of. The Great War had polarised our society on the issue of blood purity more than ever, and this man… he capitalised on it, no doubt. But if you want my opinion… I think it was a championship of convenience. His objective wasn't to change society… but to gain power. And championing the milieu of wealthy blood purists? It would give him that.'
'What about these Death Eaters then? Were they purists that flocked to the man?'
Flitwick nodded. 'Largely. Of course there were also some other minorities, like werewolves, which were so unhappy with the ministry that they found joining the Dark Lord a better option than continuing on with their life in what - to them - felt like oppression. Eventually, the movement grew so powerful that things escalated into a full-blown civil war.'
His gaze darkened.
'I have lived through a few wars. And let me tell you, that the one with the Dark Lord… It was by far the worst. Fear, distrust, and death were commonplace. The Dark Lord knew how to manipulate the populace of Wizarding Britain - knew how to make them crumble from the inside. No one felt safe from anyone. For nearly five years, the country was drowning in darkness.'
The Professor paused.
'Of course there were people that stood against the Dark Lord and his followers. The ministry, with its force of Aurors and Hit-Wizards, and many other individuals chose to stand against the tyranny and terrorsim of the purists - amongst them also your parents.'
Harry leaned back in his chair.
'But despite everything we tried to stop this man… the truth was that we were losing. The summer of eighty-one, the war seemed all but over. The Dark Lord had infiltrated the ministry, people had succumbed to their fear, and the only safe haven in the country that remained was Hogwarts. Until something wondrous happened.'
'During an attack at Longbottom Manor - the ancestral home of an old family which stood against the purists - the Dark Lord was vanquished. And without their leader… the Death-Eaters quickly lost power. This is why Halloween is celebrated in Magical Britain to this day. It was the day the Dark Lord died and a new era of prosperity began,' Flitwick finished.
The Professor looked at him, as if to ask if Harry had any more questions. He did, of course.
'How exactly did the Dark Lord just… die? I thought he was one of the most powerful people in the country at the time,' he questioned.
Flitwick nodded. 'He was,' he agreed. 'And to this day we are still not quite sure what exactly it was that caused his downfall. There are assumptions of course. You see, that night at Longbottom Manor, the Dark Lord tried to kill the family's babe - Neville - but when he raised his wand to murder the child, the curse he cast was reflected, and took the Dark Lord down.'
'So people think this kid - Neville, is responsible?'
The Professor nodded. 'Most do. Neville Longbottom is regarded as the saviour of our world for this exact same reason - vanquishing the Dark Lord. But how or why things came to pass this way, no one can guess.'
Sounds a bit ridiculous, really. Glorifying someone over a feat they 'achieved' when they were a year old or something.
Harry paused the thought.
Halloween 1981. That's… the same day, isn't it? The day my father died. The day my rightful future was robbed from me.
'Halloween…' he whispered. 'That's the same day my parents were attacked, isn't it?' he asked.
It explains why no help arrived until it was too late. People must have been busy fighting against the Dark Lord. For some reason, Harry felt a clump of ice tighten deep inside his chest. Anger. But he knew it was unjustified. The Longbottoms aren't responsible.
The Professor nodded, a heavy sigh spilling from his lips. 'It was. Some of the Dark Lord's favoured were chosen to attack your family that night. It was a diversion raid for the one spearheaded by the Dark Lord at Longbottom Manor.'
But no one came anyway… Not until it was too late.
Harry was quiet, hiding his thoughts behind his brilliantly green eyes. Professor Flitwick eyed him sadly, trying to gift a comforting smile. Neither of them spoke for a minute.
'How did I end up with Petunia then?' he asked, finally breaking the silence.
The smile slid right off the Professor's face. 'That is something I am not quite sure of either.' He paused. 'I know that in case something ever happened to you, your parents had two… contingencies in place. Your godfather Sirius, and your godmother Alice. Unfortunately, they both died that Halloween night while trying to defend Longbottom Manor.'
Harry looked up from the table. How many people did die that night?
'It is safe to assume that your guardianship was passed onto Alice's husband, Frank, after her death. Frank is the current Lord Longbottom, and the father of Neville,' Flitwick continued.
'Why am I not living with him then?' Harry asked, feeling mild irritation rise in his chest.
'That…' the Professor sighed. 'I cannot answer. Frank was in a very bad state after losing his friends and wife that night. Adding onto that, his son had just been pronounced the saviour of Wizarding Britain. I'd assume he didn't trust himself to even take care of Neville, let alone you.'
Oh, a cold, sinister voice commented inside Harry's head. The teenager didn't show as much as a mere twitch of his eye. So he didn't care enough…
'And he placed me with the Dursleys,' Harry said quietly. 'With Petunia - since she was my last remaining blood-relative par Lily. I think I understand, sir.'
It was hard to keep the anger out of his voice. The Professor seemed to notice. A pained expression came over Flitwick's face.
'Harry-'
The boy shook his head. 'It's quite alright, Professor. I understand why he did it. It must've been a lot… losing his wife.'
I lost both of my parents that night. But that didn't matter to him, did it? He could have easily placed me with another wizarding family. I'm sure there was someone who would have taken me. Perhaps even an orphanage. But instead, this man condemned me to twelve years of cream-coloured hell.
'Harry, I'm not sure of the exact circumstances surrounding your placement with Petunia, but I can offer to speak with Frank, if you want. I-'
'I appreciate it, Professor. But no thanks,' Harry shook his head. 'We can't change the past.' He paused. 'Shall we collect my supplies now?' he asked with an insincere cheer.
Professor Flitwick's lips thinned. 'Of course, Harry.'
'Good book, Harry?' Professor Flitwick's voice suddenly protruded Harry's lecture.
The boy in question looked up from the tome in his hand - right into the eyes of the smiling Professor. He nodded.
He was rather spent after the countless hours of shopping they'd already completed, and thus had been quite happy when the Professor had suggested a short break in the bookshop.
'I've taken the liberty to ask for a first-year set downstairs.' His eyes glode downward, eyeing the shopping basket which stood next to Harry. It was filled to the brim with books. 'I assume this one will join the others?' he asked amusedly.
Harry gave a reserved nod and stood up from the bench he'd sat on. He placed the book into the basket with a smile. My arse bloody hurts.
'Thank you, Professor. Shall we head downstairs then?'
Flitwick nodded. 'After you, Harry.'
Student and teacher strode down the staircase, and not before long, Harry placed the basket with his purchases on the counter. He reached into the enchanted dragon leather bag he'd acquired at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment a few hours ago.
The eyes of the woman behind the counter widened at the sheer amount of tomes in front of her. She stacked a set of first-year books next to Harry's basket.
'I like to read,' Harry offered dryly.
The woman snorted. 'I'm sure you do.' She paused, counting and the books on the table. 'That'll be… twelve galleons and seven sickles.'
Three hundred quid. Harry blinked. But it's not like money's an issue anymore. He pulled forth the pouch which he'd received at Gringotts and allowed the coins to clatter onto the counter.
It's quite handy - just having to think about the number. Still… paying by muggle card is probably more efficient.
Slowly but surely, all of the books on the counter vanished inside Harry's bag. Good thing I bought the one with the extra-large library compartment. He really hadn't saved on his spendings today.
He called a short goodbye, as the Professor and him moved to exit the store. Flourish & Blotts was a place he would return to. That, he was sure of.
'Only your wand left then…' Professor Flitwick murmured as they strode down the shop's doorstep. 'Let's pay Mr. Ollivander a visit.'
Harry sunk back into thought. My wand…
He was a bit… anxious to see how he would react to one. From what he'd been able to understand from the book on magical theory he'd read just now, children his age weren't supposed to consciously wield their magic at all.
Had he stunted his magical growth by doing so? That didn't seem right… According to the book, it was rather rare that wizards or witches older than thirteen ever harnessed guided, wandless magic. Perhaps he was just one of those exceptionally gifted individuals mentioned?
I promised I'd be great, didn't I?
All he could do was see and wait, he supposed. He followed the Professor, as he led them a couple hundred yards away from the bookstore and came to a halt in front of a large, crooked, building painted in a dark fir.
The shop had two store windows, with one sun-bleached, black door parting them in the middle. Behind the glass, Harry could make out an unruly tower of boxes, and a few pieces of leather.
'The matching of a wand is a deeply personal affair,' Professor Flitwick told him. 'Go inside. Mr. Ollivander will be expecting you.'
Harry followed the Professor's advice, stepping over the creaking doorstep, and entering the shop. The loud ring of a bell echoed in his ears as he stepped through the door.
Mr. Ollivander was nowhere to be seen. Harry allowed his eyes to wander a bit.
Just like he had seen from the storefront, long, black boxes could be seen all over the place, some piled up in high stacks, others thrown onto the ground in unruly piles, but most neatly kept in the shelves that filled the walls of the entire room.
For a store with that much glass in the front, it was rather dark, Harry thought. Has a mysterious atmosphere to it…
'Mr. Potter,' a voice startled him. 'I'm glad to welcome you to my shop. In search of a wand, I assume?'
'Yes, sir,' Harry answered evenly.
Ollivander smiled. 'I still remember the day I sold both of your parents their wands. James Potter. Mahogany, eleven inches with the tail-feather of a particularly prideful Hippogriff. Excellent for transfiguration.' He paused. 'And Lily… Willow, ten and a quarter inches. A swishy wand, quite handy for charmswork if I remember correctly, with the core of a Unicorn Hair. Two exceptional wands. I wonder… What will yours be?' he murmured.
Mr. Ollivander searched through a handful of boxes, before pulling one forward from the shelf and placing it onto the counter. His delicate, long fingers opened the cover.
'Twelve and a quarter inches. Yew. A quite rigid wand, containing the spike of an exceptionally vicious Graphorn. I made it recently. after receiving the core as a gift from a friend participating in a hunt. A most unyielding fellow. Go on, give it a wave.'
Harry took the wand out of the casket. He slashed it, and promptly burned a small hole into the box he had taken it from. He quickly placed it back on the counter.
'Perhaps not,' he told Ollivander.
The man nodded - more to himself than Harry, it felt like. 'I wonder…' his eyes snapped up. 'You have had a… difficult childhood, haven't you Mr. Potter?'
Harry's eyes flared. The man shook his head.
'I meant no offence, Mr. Potter. No one will ever learn of anything shared between us here. It is important for the choice of your wand.'
Slowly, Harry nodded. But how did he know?
Ollivander rummaged through another shelf of black wand-boxes, seemingly searching for something specific. A few seconds later, another casket laid in front of Harry. It was a lot dustier than the last had been. Probably an older wand.
Almost as if the man could read Harry's thoughts, Ollivander nodded. 'One of my first creations. It has a sibling which I gave a child similar to you quite some time ago. The one I sold was made of Yew. Thirteen and a half inches with the feather of a rather cheerful phoenix. It was a wand capable of… great things. Perhaps its brother will suit you. 'He opened the box. 'Holly, eleven inches, nice and supple.'
Harry frowned. Great things? Perhaps this one was it. He clasped his hand around the handle - and sure enough, he felt the barest, comforting warmth in his palm. He gave it a wave….
But nothing happened. He had to stop himself from scowling at the stick… that much build-up for nothing? He placed the wand back in the casket.
'I suppose not… I had thought…' Ollivander paused. 'Ah, of course. This one…' The man vanished into the back of the shop.
Harry stared at the Holly and Yew wands still lying on the counter. What if there isn't a wand for me in this shop? He snorted at the thought. As if… there's thousands of them in here. It took Ollivander quite some time to return.
When he eventually did, it was a brown box he carried in his hands. It was similarly dusty to the last one. Maybe third time's the charm?
'One of a kind,' Ollivander said brightly, sliding the lid open. He exposed a dark, nearly black piece of wood, adorned by neat ornaments. 'Ebony, twelve inches,' he explained. 'It was the last wand my father made before he retired. The core was a gift as well - from Newt Scamander, in fact. The feather of a male Occamy from Pakistan - a creature as beautiful as it is dangerous. They are called feathered serpents in some parts of the world.'
Tentatively, Harry reached for the wand…
A burning, passionate warmth seeped into his palm. He closed his eyes, giving it a wave.
Harry opened them at the sound of Ollivander's soft, quiet gasp.
Shimmering, deep-purple and glistening, dark-green lights snaked into a graceful play of lights. It was a beautiful sight - a soothing glow in the gloomy darkness of the shop… almost like the auroras he'd seen on TV once.
He smiled. 'This is the one.'
Ollivander nodded vigorously. 'Oh it definitely is, Mr. Potter,' he whispered. 'A singularly unique wand… for what I suspect is a singularly unique wizard. With this wand, Mr. Potter, if you only want it enough - the world… will lay at your feet. It was an honour to witness the stepping stones of such a deep bond between wand and wizard,' the man said sincerely. 'Nourish it, and you might just be capable of things considered impossible.'
Like curing my mother… Harry thought breathlessly.
'Thank, you sir,' he murmured. 'What do I owe you for it?' he asked.
Ollivander smiled. 'All of Ollivander's wands cost seven galleons, Mr. Potter. No more, no less. It was a pleasure.'
Harry nodded, letting seven golden coins fall onto the counter. 'It was,' he smiled. 'Bye, Mr. Ollivander.'
'Bye, Mr Potter.'
Harry left the shop, the smile still in place.
Hello dear readers,
done with Chapter Two. I feel like I was rather quick all things considered. It's a little less than 8k words, but I managed to cover quite a lot of ground.
It's a very loaded Chapter, but I wanted to escape the trap of waiting too long until actually heading to Hogwarts. I feel like I still did a pretty good shop of showcasing Harry's reaction to this world he's been thrust into.
Also, let me know what you thought about the Lily scene in the reviews. Those were some of the most difficult paragraphs I ever wrote. Hopefully I did them well.
My offer for additional betas to join this project still stands, so if you're interested, click on the Discord link in my profile, and send me a message.
And as always, big thanks to all of you for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing.
I'll see you in the reviews, on Discord, or in the next Chapter. Hopefully you enjoyed it.
Adios,
Redd
Edited: 16.09.2023