DISCLAIMER: I don't own shit. This is pure, unadulterated fanfiction.
AN: Second prologue time! I figure some of you might hate me right now, but that's fine. Given how AU this is I needed the extra time to set up, and after all, no fic truly starts until Harry gets to Hogwarts, or some equivalent. Therefore, I split the prologue in two to give you all a good taste of what's to come, and normal chapters will start after this, when Harry finally heads to the castle. Cheerio!
Prologue - An Invitation for Instruction
Darkness. Rainbow colored lights. A squeezing sensation as if being pulled through a tube and watching the world spin madly outside of it. A feeling of weightlessness that made Harry's head dizzy.
His stomach jumped and the ground came rushing up at him. He fell to the ground, Asphalt? His stomach revolted at the sensations and he got to his knees. He couldn't control himself, and he began throwing up as his head still spun.
"Ah yes, it does take some getting used to. I admit it's not often I get to apparate someone else side-along, many adults do it themselves or use the Floo, so I may be out of practice."
Harry finished heaving and stood up, before being hit with a tiny beam from the professor's wand. A cooling sensation ran through his mouth and throat. Fantastic. That makes up for it. He glared at the headmaster, "What was that? Where are we?" He looked around and noticed nothing out of the ordinary about the alley they were in. Cars drove by on the street outside of it and the street was bustling with activity.
Dumbledore chuckled, "Well that was a standard mouth cleaning charm, you'll learn it later this year. Apparation is what took us here. The feeling is much more tolerable for the one doing it I assure you and its an invaluable skill to master, albeit difficult. Where we are? Well, London of course! The entrance to one of our most popular settlements is hidden here."
The nervousness left Harry, replaced by excitement, before embarrassment overtook it. "Uh sir, I'm still in my school uniform." The dull grey pants and shirt were almost pajama-like in their appearance, and the large logo and title of the facility made Harry self-conscious whenever he took the bus home, let alone walk about in the middle of London.
Dumbledore gave him a once over before doing a few more wand movements. Harry looked down to watch as his clothes shifted until he was wearing a simple shirt and pair of trousers. A black cloak fell upon his shoulders from the air. "Apologies Harry, I had forgotten about that. I hope you don't mind I kept it rather basic, I'm not up to snuff with the latest muggle fashion and my own tastes tend to be rather different than most."
Is he mental? Harry thought as he followed the man out of the alley they had appeared in, amazed at the possibilities running through his mind. No more old clothes from Dudley for starters. They exited and immediately turned into the building on the right, a dingy pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron'. An old bartender looked up from the counter, and gave a nod their direction despite the busyness. He did a minor double take when he spotted Harry, and his eyes drifted up to the scar, before he quickly turned away blushing. Harry felt a little uneasy, but said nothing of it. Heads turned and people called out to the professor, and he nodded back to them genially. They crossed the room and went through a back door, only to be faced with a dead end, a brick wall in front of them.
"Now pay attention Harry, once you get your wand you'll have to open the alley the same way."
He tapped his wand on several bricks around chest height, the sequence forming a circle around one missing spot, before it happened. An outline glowed and the brick wall began cascading back, each row clattering against each other they rotated off into nowhere, and the hidden world was revealed.
"Welcome Harry, to Diagon Alley!"
A cobbled stone road continued where there had been none before, sounds and lights sprung forth as a street lined with shops and buildings of all manner wound its way off into the distance. Signs and names that Harry had no clue to their meaning adorned the storefronts. Aunt Griselda's Apothecary, Broomstix, Ollivander's. People were combing the streets as their packages trailed behind them in the air, talking into mirrors and to tenets that were leaning out of their flats that craned over the alley in parts. There were people selling trinkets at stalls on the sides, kids racing up and down the street, a few of them on flying broomsticks were being chased by a man in a red robe. Harry felt his face light up with a grin. So this is the magical world huh?
"Keep up Harry! First stop is at the end of the main road so we have a bit of a walk ahead of us."
He had paid no notice to the professor as he gawked, and the man was now far in front of him and walking with a brisk gait. He ran to catch up before peppering the man with the questions running through his mind. "How do muggles not know about this place? Where is all this space coming from? What all do I need for school?"
He continued on, as Harry spun his head, taking in the sights, many of which were similar to the muggle ones he knew, just with an oddness about them. "All of our places are covered with powerful spells called wards, you might learn about them someday should you pursue advanced charmwork, they hide us from detection and generate the space we need to hide ourselves away. Very versatile and dreadfully complicated. As for what you need, why don't you finally open that letter and see for yourself?"
Harry blushed and tore it open, having forgot about it in the midst of their conversation. Sifting through the contents he found a welcome letter and sheet of required supplies were written in a flowing script on parchment of all things.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT & WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, A.,D.,T., Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted and enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September, and the train will depart no later than 11am from platform 9¾. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry put it back into the envelope and looked at what he would be buying. He hoped that whatever his parents had left him would be enough to cover the supplies, try as he might to have some sort of pocket money free from the Dursleys no job hired him when they saw what school he went to, or heard what they said about him.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
Five sets of buttoned shirts (white, any standard style)
Five sets of either trousers or skirts (black)
One pair of dress shoes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black)
One winter cloak (black)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags or identity charms.
COURSE BOOKS
The following books are required for the first-year curriculum:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)
by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic
by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory
by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions
by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
by Quentin Trimble
Seeing the Sky (third ed. or earlier)
by Chiron
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 set of purified potion tools
1 set of scales
1 telescope (standard magnification or better)
1 pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
Students may also bring, if they desire, an animal familiar, or post-owl (no house-elves)
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK ON CAMPUS
Harry tore his head up from the list as started looking at all the shops. Everything was alien, wondrous, and demanding his attention. Buildings stretched as far as the eye could see down many off-shooting roads and each one seemed to be different, some defying what Harry thought possible. Entire sections arched into the sky while others went down as if a city was molded into a crevice. They eventually came to a clear intersection, a dark and thin pathway off to one side and a larger one opposite. An enormous marble building stood impressively in the middle. Crooked columns supported the building's many stories and golden inlays decorated the exterior.
"Here we are, Gringotts Bank, the one and only, come along now."
They entered the massive entryway, doors twice the height of normal ones and four times as wide were open, golden inlaid text covering their fronts.
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed.
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"It would be wise to take that warning to heart Harry, the goblins have never allowed a thief out of their bank, alive or otherwise. It is also essential to show them the utmost respect, they have suffered far too much for what little grievances we had with them. Pay attention to how I converse with them, eyes locked and direct to business, they're very different in what they deem polite."
Harry nodded and stayed quiet, and soon saw what a goblin was. Short beings, with long ears and noses occupied the banks stalls. Pointed teeth clicked as they snarled in an unfamiliar language and some sported thick gray hair. Desks lined the path to the tellers and more of them were busy doing bank work, or helping clients seated in front of them. Several caught Harry looking and glared at him. They proceeded up to an open booth, a small plaque naming the teller 'Griphook'.
"Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Two withdrawals and one bottomless pouch." Dumbledore spoke loudly and clearly, meeting the goblin in the eyes.
"Keys," Griphook said, his voice gravelly as he handed a plain sack to Dumbledore, returning the gaze.
The headmaster handed a small key over to Griphook and looked towards Harry. He dug his own key out and followed suit. I've got a bank vault?
"Follow me," Griphook said as he stepped down from the stand behind the booth. A long hallways ran horizontally behind the counter and they followed him to the left where a series of railway platforms lay, most having a small cart resting at the end. They walked up to one and Griphook motioned for them to get in.
"Do not exit the cart until we have arrived at the vault. No assistance will be given to those who fall and all bodies remaining on the premises are claimed for the Goblin Nation," Griphook said as he stepped to the front, where a small clay plate lay on a panel. The goblin stuck one of the keys into it and twisted.
The cart lurched into action, far quicker than Harry expected, and Dumbledore raised a hand to his hat as they sped off down the rails. Countless twists and turns took them through a network of tunnels, offshoots branching illogically in all manners, each with their own rail. They moved sideways and backwards and went through an odd intersection where a waterfall doused them, only for them to come out dry. With one last grinding turn at an impossible angle they jerked to a stop in front of a worn metal door, sitting in a small alcove. They stepped out of the cart, Harry's head still spinning from the ride, and the goblin handed the key back to Dumbledore.
"Vault 713."
Dumbledore walked forward, "This will take only a moment Harry, then onto yours."
Dumbledore inserted the key into a small lock, and the sound of mechanical whirring came from behind it. Golden lines lit up the door, and it opened. The inside was brightly lit, and the vast whiteness of the empty chamber stretched far in every direction. Harry was unable to tell how big the vault was, and he felt a headache begin to grow as he contemplated it. A tiny, lumpy object was wrapped in brown paper and string, appearing to sit in what he assumed was the middle of the room. There was nothing else in sight. The headmaster walked off towards it, and promptly picked it up and tucked it into his robes. His face was less cheery than when he entered, but he shook himself and smiled confidently at Harry. Just like that, they were off again.
They went further downwards until the light from above had long since vanished, strange glowing torches of every color now lit the way and illuminated the vast chasms that lay beneath them. When they stopped next, it was at a much larger alcove. Ornate markings detailed the doors, and the same crest that was on Harry's key sat in the center. The triangle-shaped icon bore the image of a clay urn, arcane markings glowing around the image of a beast engraved on the pot. A creature bearing the front half of an eagle, with wings, and the rear of a lion.
"Vault 687. Potter."
They stepped out, and Griphook handed the key over to Harry. He cautiously walked forward, not knowing where to put it, before a sensation came over him, a voice coming directly into his head as if a thousand whispers coalesced into one, Go through the door, bearer of the Potter key… and as if guided by someone else, he stepped up and through the great metal barrier, as if it wasn't there at all.
The sight was staggering, his eyes widened for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Mountains of large gold coins towered over hills of silver ones. Rivers of tiny copper bits wove their way around the chamber that was far bigger than the Dursley's house. Harry was ogling it all, oblivious to Griphook and Dumbledore, who entered behind him, the door now opened. The professor started talking about conversion rates and such, but Harry was transfixed. Thoughts of all the neglect he faced over the years that could've been solved with such wealth ran through his mind, he smiled. He was rich. He was rich, rich. If only Uncle Vernon could see this, I bet he'd start being nicer to me. At least for a little while. The toothy grin never left his face as he piled coins into the pouch Dumbledore tossed at him, which never grew much bigger or heavier than his fist. A short while later he stepped out of the vault with the others, the door closing behind them, after making a sizable chunk in one of the stacks.
Dumbledore was chuckling, "Yes, I think that ought to last you quite a long time Harry."
Harry felt heat rise to his cheeks, feeling a tad sheepish, "Er, yeah, I suppose I went a bit overboard. I just, I never had any money of my own before. What were the rates again?"
They stepped back into the cart and it was Griphook who answered him, annoyance laced in his speech, "Thirteen bronze knuts to a silver sickle, seven silver sickles to a gold galleon. We currently exchange that awful muggle paper at a rate of £50 to the galleon."
Harry filed the information away as they sped up towards the ground level. The ride up was noticeably faster than the ride down, and soon he was departing the bank, excited and ready to shop with the headmaster in tow.
Dumbledore led the way as he spoke, "There are many things on your list and I shall take the liberty of showing you some of the better choices in procurement and selection. If I might make a suggestion however, a wizard's wand is one the most unique, personal, and important treasures ever acquired in life and I loathe to depart you of it much longer. Perhaps there first?"
"You read my mind professor," Harry said smiling. The tool that would allow him to really do magic. The thought of his own wand had been lingering ever since he saw Dumbledore use his to change the chair, he could hardly wait.
They wove their way through the sparse crowd, and Harry felt eyes drawn to them First people would glance at the headmaster and beam, perhaps say a greeting or two, but then they'd flick to him and do a double take. Their eyes darted to his scar and they either began shouting thanks and praise, which made him wholly uncomfortable and just a little bit angry, or they got dark and wary looks and bounced between him and the headmaster, full of whispers to their companions. Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and they kept going.
They stopped at one of the stores Harry had noticed earlier, an old place with a plain wooden sign reading: Ollivander's. Even after his years of attempted practice there was nothing concrete and controlled to show, but that all was about to change. I'll be able to do better. I can't be the laughingstock and outcast of another school. Never again.
Pushing aside the discomfort form the walk there, he entered the shop excitedly, startling the family who was already in there. Admonished by their looks he took a seat on the bench near the window, Dumbledore joined him as the parents turned back to their daughter, who was holding a wand in her hand. Harry looked around the shop, piles of dusty boxes were everywhere, rows of shelves seemed to stretch off indefinitely into the back.
"There we have it Miss Bones! A classic combination if I do say so myself."
The young girl beamed at the man who was clearly the wandsmith. Ancient and nimble, he had a mane of wiry white hair and eyes that matched, only the barest hint of pupils to be seen. Harry found him eerie.
The family nodded to Dumbledore as they left, a chorus of "professors" filling the shop.
The girl looked back as she left, eyes flicking up and zeroing in his scar. Harry noticed it.
"Mum! Was that him?"
"Hush Susan, don't be rude. He was with Professor Dumbledore."
"But Mum! Did you see the scar? It's Harry—" the door closed, cutting off the rest.
Harry scowled and tried to ignore it. It seemed his once favorite feature was steadily becoming his least. The wandmaker pivoted on his heel and gave Harry his full attention.
"Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. I've been wondering when you would come into my shop," Ollivander said, before spinning around and going off to rummage through the stacked shelves. "The memory of when each of your parents came into my shop is as clear as its ever been. Your father, mahogany, eleven inches and pliable with a dragon heartstring, arrived with his parents early in the morning and was impatient as they come. I do believe he had been stealing Charlus and Dorea's wands for years the way he started waving them about. I was fully prepared to lose an appendage that day, thankfully he was a quick find."
He was in the back now, raising his voice from far down the aisle. Harry saw him reach his hand out for a particular box, and then jerk it away as if an invisible beast had snapped at him. Ollivander continued, "Your mother's wand however, ten and a quarter inch, willow, and the hair from a Teumessian fox, was a tricky find. The process went smoothly despite that fact, and her parents were delighted to be a part of the process. Hmm, yes they handled it rather better than most of their kind do."
He stopped what he was doing and brought an armful of boxes to the counter where he set them down. He stared at Harry, who felt like he would be breaking an unspoken rule if he were to say anything. Ollivander swished his own wand and a measuring tape flew from his sleeve and began measuring Harry all over. It ran down his arms, between his nostrils, and around his head. "Yes, I can see it in you now. You're going to be a tricky customer. More patient than either of your parents and undoubtedly more difficult. This will be fun." The man smiled, a somewhat unsettling sight on his features. Harry returned it nonetheless, the tape still dashing about the oddest places. Ollivander turned to Dumbledore now, as if seeing him for the first time. He frowned and did a motion with his wand, the sign on the door flipped to 'closed' and the room darkened as the windows took on a tint.
"Albus Dumbledore. Cherry with a hair from a sphinx, twelve inches, bendy. You don't use it though correct? I seem to recall you losing it after—"
"No need to dredge up ancient history Garrick," Dumbledore interjected, "I fear young Harry's patience might yet be tested with his own wand's choosing."
Ollivander frowned and bobbed his head a few times, "Too right, too right, of course. Keep old Garrick in the dark a little longer. Mr. Potter, which hand is dominant?"
"My left."
"Have you used a wand before?"
"No."
"Take this one, give it a nice big wave now." The measuring tape fell to the floor and rolled it way back up Ollivander's pants and shirt until it disappeared back where it came from. The wand he had handed Harry was rather plain.
He waved it. He felt, something, different from before and not quite comfortable. A potted plant in the corner blew up with a bang. Clay shards and dirt went flying across the shop floor. Dumbledore chuckled and wiped the uprooted flower off his knee.
"Evidently not, how about this one? Wait! No! Not that one, This one." He tossed the wand he was about to hand Harry over his shoulder where it floated gracefully back to its box before a knobby one was handed over instead.
Nothing happened, nothing at all.
And so it went. The beginning of a long process that lasted well over two hours. Dozens of wands and dozens of different feelings, each one different, each one not right. Ollivander explained while he worked, talking about how each wand had a core comprised of a magical component, usually a beast of some kind but not always. Then there was the casing, which had to be wood for some reason, and how length and temper were important factors, how no two wands were alike. Even ones made exactly the same way with exactly the same materials would result in differences to the trained eye.
Dumbledore stepped out at one point, only to return a short time later. True to his word, Ollivander seemed to relish the challenge, having fun and growing more and more excited with each failure. Harry was marveling at all the different combinations, often asking what a particular beast was, or what magical thing produced a specific core. He couldn't make rhyme or reason out of it, but it was interesting nonetheless.
Silence interrupted Harry's racing thoughts at the last wand, which had singed his eyebrows after he waved it. The ambient noise of the shop had stilled and Ollivander was unmoving before him. There was a box in his hands, a box well worn from age but with an absence of dust, as if handled often. His eyes flicked to Dumbledore's before settling on Harry's.
"There is a chance, Mr. Potter, a chance that this might be your wand. I'll admit to a certain curiosity if it is, an old wandmaker's superstition, I've often wondered about the implications... But no, I can't say I expect this to be a good fit for you, certainly not expected…" Ollivander dwindled off, voice softening to a whisper. His hands ran over the box fervently before opening it. A polished wand lay before him. Dark, with the rough makings of a handle carved on one end. Certainly others had looked more interesting than this one. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Dumbledore lean forwards expectantly. A moment passed. Ollivander held the box in his hands, not moving, or presenting it.
"Er, Mr. Ollivander, do you want me to try that one?"
The man jumped, coming out of whatever stupor occupied his mind. "What? Oh yes, yes, try it. It's the wand that chooses the wizard after all Mr. Potter, never forget that. The wand chooses the wizard, never the opposite. Here you go, take a swing."
The moment Harry grasped it he knew it would be the last wand he tried. Warmth spread up his arm and he felt the magic inside him swell and surge throughout like a dam, broken. How did I ever live before? He felt alive, complete. Waves of power filled him and radiated. This is what I've been waiting for. His magic sung and he waved the wand in a graceful arc, producing a shower of golden sparks that erupted from the wand, spinning and twirling into the air before they formed a brilliant sparkling bird, a faint song wafting through the air that sparked hope within him. Then it was over. He was breathing heavily. The sensation dulled, but didn't fade, as if his magic were a fire settling after a new log.
Ollivander whispered, "We have a match, Mr. Potter."
Harry beamed at him, "That felt, that felt perfect! Brilliant even! How do you do it? What's mine made of? What was that bird?"
"A very peculiar combination if I do say so myself. Holly, eleven inches."
Harry frowned, "Er, what's the core sir? The bird?"
Ollivander had turned his back to Harry, and was running his hands over the box as if he couldn't believe it was empty now, "The core, yes, the core. A rather innovative decision of mine. Experiment really, can't say I was prepared for it." He was mumbling and Harry had to strain to hear him. "Phoenix! A phoenix tail feather, one of two from the same bird in fact. Rather insistent it gave two."
A phoenix! So that was the bird in the sparks. I wonder if all wands show their core when they find their owners. "Phoenixes are real? Oh of course they are, thank you sir!" Harry couldn't help but grin and stare at his new wand, giddy with excitement.
"Of course, of course, you're very welcome. That is your wand now and you, its master. I think we can expect great things from you Mr. Potter, great things indeed."
He paid Ollivander seven galleons for the wand, who assured him he would never need another, and they exited the shop. Dumbledore's face was a mask of stone as they walked.
Harry spoke up, "Er sir, is there something wrong about my wand? You both seem a little, well, odd about it."
The man's face relaxed, going back to its more joyful nature. "No, not at all Harry. It's as Garrick said, the wand chooses the wizard. Nothing more than that. I just happen to know the phoenix who donated the feathers as well as the other owner, a former pupil of mine."
"You know a phoenix? Can I meet it?"
Dumbledore gave Harry a sidelong glance with a smirk and looked at a watch he pulled out his robe, "If you take after your father in any capacity I'm sure you will be meeting him before long, but for now, why don't we get some supper? My treat."
They headed back into the Leaky Cauldron, which was now much more densely populated with others in the same pursuit. Dumbledore and Harry managed to snag a booth in the back, and truthfully Harry was glad for it. People were whispering and pointing at him as they either dined or passed through the pub, their eyes always doing a telltale glance to his forehead. It had been some time before they ended up eating, as one of the servers had dropped their orders the first time when she saw Harry. Now, his stomach was filled and for the first time he felt a semblance of deep contentment. Things were getting better, and the faintest traces of hope were present.
"I might have downplayed how significant your fame and circumstances truly are Harry, but there is little to be done about it. I hope you can take some comfort in knowing that they might be gawking at me as well," the professor said with a cheery smile.
Harry scowled, "I wish they'd stop." Every stare is like a reminder.
"Hm. I shall fix that for the rest of the evening, but for now there are a few things we should go over while our food settles."
Harry was currently sipping the last remnants of pumpkin juice, the apparent drink of choice for most magicals. While unusual, it had an odd familiarity about it. "Like what, professor?"
"For starters, some of the cornerstones of our society that you will be unaware of. We make a point to send a representative to all those rejoining us to help with the transition. The most important one is the Statute of Secrecy, the key to our survival."
"That's how magic stays hidden?"
Dumbledore nodded, "While there are a great among of spells and whatnot guarding us the most important part is to never do magic in front of muggles, in all but the direst of circumstances. Your immediate family gets an exception of course, but otherwise it is forbidden. As you may have noticed during your youth, magic does not stay in the minds of the mundane long, and our Ministry works hard to keep it that way. Repeated use around muggles will, however, rekindle their awareness for the arcane, driving them to believe in magic as they once did. Individually it would not be an issue, but we are outnumbered far too much, and history has proven quite repeatedly that we cannot live peacefully together. It is one of the great sorrows of life."
If more muggles knew about magic maybe I wouldn't have been considered a freak. Harry didn't really see what was so bad about it, but held his thoughts. "You've mentioned that before, that we don't get along, is it about the witch hunts? Those weren't really big thing right?"
The headmaster sipped on his drink before responding, "Much of what you know about history will be tainted, or missing the parts vital to our side of things. Persecution against magic goes back all throughout history. The Witch Hunts were real, and far more deadly and long-lasting than indicated by what you've learned. There's also our bloody wars with the Goblins and other races of magic, but again, you shall learn more in class. Perhaps when we pick up your textbooks I'll point out some of the more detailed volumes for you to digest until September?"
"That would be excellent," Harry said. I've missed so much, but I'll catch up. Things will be different. I can try again, be myself again.
"Additionally, as someone underage you should do well to know that you are restricted from using magic at home. The first few offenses are just warnings, but more serious measures are taken once for repeat offenders."
"What! How am I suppose to practice? To catch up?" Harry exclaimed, shocked that his plans for the rest of summer were being dashed. Also means I can't scare off Dudley and his gang. I can't protect myself.
"It is, I'll admit, a safety precaution that those with wizarding families have an advantage, as usage is permitted under supervision of an adult wizard." Dumbledore waved to a passing family who had called out to him, "But once you pass your O.W.L.s you'll be able to cast freely at home."
"O.W.L.s?"
"Ordinary Wizarding Levels, a series of exams you'll take fifth year for the classes you so choose. Now, those are the two most important things you'll have to remember and I'm sure everything else will fall into place."
There was a comfortable silence between them for a moment.
"Professor," Harry said, "could you tell me about my parents? About what they were like?"
Dumbledore smiled, "I was Headmaster when they were at school, and I daresay they were some of my favorite students. Both Gryffindors, class of '78. Lily was the first magical in her family, and one of the brightest witches I've ever met. She never lost the sense of wonder that came from entering our world, and brightened the lives of many others, making friends with just about everyone. She took to charms and potions particularly well, even working on her masteries in the subjects before her untimely passing. I daresay she had quite the temper as well, and a strong sense of identity." He chuckled to himself, "Your father, however, was a notorious troublemaker, and spent more time in my office than anyone else but me. Him and his friends were the height of popularity, your father being a quidditch star—"
"Quidditch, sir?" Harry interrupted at the unfamiliar word.
"Our national sport, magical Britain's that is. A supremely exciting and brutal game played on broomsticks, you'll no doubt enjoy it in some capacity once you get to Hogwarts," the man continued, not bothered. "He wasn't quite good enough to go professional, although other factors certainly stopped his dedication to the sport so who's to say, but nonetheless his school days were filled with glory. James was a natural when it came to most magics, often achieving much without any effort along with…" The professor trailed off, his face falling somewhat.
"Along with?"
"Ah, my memory fades, you'll have to forgive me, at one hundred and forty-eight the mind tends to wander, even with our longevity. Now, back to your father, he favored transfiguration of course, no doubt his parents influence being strong proponents of it themselves, and I had the pleasure of showing him some of the finer points in it, being a Master myself. I considered them to be very close, they invited me over for Sunday dinners often."
Harry leaned back, smiling. They were talented. I'll have to live up to them.
Dumbledore was nodding softly to himself, "Yes, your parents were certainly special, I and many others still grieve for them personally. I am sorry we could not do more to stop it from happening."
Harry looked away, his eyes watering a bit at finally hearing something about them. His emotions were running haywire, and we tried using his magic to focus subconsciously. "I understand. I… I just wish I knew them."
"I can reach out to some of their friends and ask them to write to you about them, if you'd like."
Harry nodded, "I'd appreciate that professor."
Dumbledore smiled, "Onto another topic, as you might've noticed your family's vault was rather deep, and prestigious."
"Uh yeah, I was a little distracted by all the gold though too be honest, I never had much before with the Dursleys."
A pained look was on the headmasters face as he responded, "I am aware, and I shall endeavor to fix that."
Harry scowled, "Fix that? How? Can you make it so I never lived there? Never endured what they put me through?"
"No Harry, no I cannot. I can, however, make moves to ensure that you do not have to stay there for the entire summer, or perhaps not at all. Regardless of that, I shall impress upon them how they should treat you, it is not acceptable for children," He winced at Harry's look, "or yes, a young man to be treated that way."
Harry paused, "Are you serious?"
Dumbledore nodded, "It will take a bit of time for me to sort through the legal work that is required, given that you are underage and lacking a magical adult to represent you, but I am hopeful."
Harry stilled, "You'd do that for me?"
"I have seen firsthand the damage it has done, and not in just you alone. I don't expect it to be an easy task, perhaps not even legal given the strict conditions surrounding your fame and placement, but I won't fail you in this. You've had enough."
Harry nodded, his anger dissipating, "I can live with that."
"Back to what I was saying, your family, the Potters, are what is known as an Ancient and Noble House. Your roots trace far back, deep into the annals of history—"
Harry interrupted, "Sorry professor, it's just whenever you mention history you always seem to imply what I know isn't well, all of it. What do you mean exactly?"
Dumbledore smiled, at ease as he fell into being an instructor, "Well, I shall give you the short of it and perhaps later in the year you will learn more on your own. Essentially, much of what you think of when it comes to mythology or legend, all across the world mind you not just here in Britain, are fragments of the time before, when the world was still wild and magic roamed free. The magical world existed far before the mundane one, and indeed there are entire eras where humanity was merely a footnote, and it is from that time that these myths and legends stem from. Eventually it all came to a head of course and collapsed, spurring us into the humanity-centric world of today. The most prominent case of this that you would recognize is classical Arthurian legend, which while heavily bastardized, reflects the ending of one of eras shortly before the common era began some 2000 years ago."
Harry was floored, "But, why don't we, or I guess muggles, know more then? Surely there's be records, or signs, or, or—"
"Magic Harry, magic. The world is a far bigger, far older, and far more mysterious place than you realize just yet. I have only dabbled with specific periods myself, but many are enraptured by studying our past and how we came to be."
"What does my family have to do with it?"
"Ah, yes. Well, as I was saying the Potters are an Ancient House, meaning that they've existed and been a part of our society ever since Avalon fell and Classical Magical history rose from the ashes. They didn't come into prominence until some later centuries, around the time our Ministry was formed I believe. They're also Noble, having contributed enough acclaim and accomplishments throughout the ages to earn that prestige. It means, sincerely, that you will have shoes to fill and a role to play when you come of age."
Harry grimaced. "You mean politics." How Uncle Vernon speaks about politicians is probably the only worthwhile things to have come out of his mouth.
The headmaster chuckled, "Yes I see you already grasp it. In the wizarding world we come of age at 21, so there is more than enough time for you to distract yourself with other things. It is not as daunting a task as you might believe, much of it can be done without ever stepping foot in the Wizengamot chambers. However it would be remiss of me to not mention it, and I will gladly point you in the right direction should you wish to look into it further earlier than you are required."
"I'd like that headmaster, I already feel as if I'm so far behind, like I'm being overwhelmed with things I should know, things I should've done, any help I can get I'll take."
"Hm, I don't think you'll find that to be the case but I can understand your concern. Rest assured should you ever feel like that you can call on me for help." He rose, tossing some coins onto the table where they flashed and disappeared with a tiny shower of sparks. "Let us be off to finish the shopping."
Harry rose and joined him as they headed back into the Alley. As they closed the door to the pub, Dumbledore rapped Harry on the head with his wand, and a feeling of wetness slowly crept its way down over him, as if an egg was just cracked atop his head. The professor strode on as if nothing happened.
"What did you just do?" Harry asked, following him.
"Take a look for yourself, I see you becoming very fond of this particular spell in the future. Although I caution you from trying to learn it too early, human transfiguration is a very dangerous subject."
They had stopped in front of a bookstore, Florish and Blotts, and Harry turned to look at himself in the reflection off the window. He didn't recognize himself. His face was rounder, cheekbones less prominent and long brown hair dangled down, hiding his scar, which was still present. He put his hands to his face feeling the changes.
"That's amazing. Human transfiguration you said?" Harry said as Dumbledore held the door open for him and they headed into the shop.
"Sixth year, at the earliest. Professor McGonagall is very strict on the matter. If you manage to stay advanced in your studies I'm sure you'll make it."
They wandered the aisles, the headmaster handing book after book down to Harry, who diligently looked over the titles and held them. Occasionally the man would make a remark about someone he knew who had authored a book, or which ones Harry might enjoy perusing in his free time. Eager to learn and not repeat his mistakes, he accepted all the professor's recommendations, including a book on wizarding culture entitled 'Heir to the Ancients: A Guide'.
They were about to check out when Dumbledore glanced down at Harry, or rather the wand still tucked into his pocket. Harry noticed and looked up to the man. Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly and then nodded to himself. "Hold on a moment Harry, I think one more ought to be added."
He disappeared into the shelves and came back with a rather basic book. It had a leather cover, and nothing besides the title was present. The First Art.
"What's that one for professor?" Harry asked as he handed the correct amount over to the cashier, a young witch with bright green hair.
"Oh just something that might challenge you a little. Feel free to ignore it, but it is a book that captivated me back in my youth. Should you make sense of it feel free to call upon me for discussion." Dumbledore took the books and shrunk them with his wand, giving them to Harry who tucked them into his pocket. They exited the shop and the professor looked down to Harry, "Why don't you go into Madam Malkin's right down there to get your robes, while I go procure your potions supplies? I dare say the apothecary looked dreadfully busy when we passed it."
"Ok professor," Harry said, nodding his head.
"Excellent, oh and I do suggest getting some normal attire as well. She has the most elegant orange robes that I highly recommend for the upcoming autumn months."
Shaking his head at the fashion-challenged man Harry left the professor to go get his clothes. The shop was nearby, the prominent sign proudly hanging over wide glass windows displaying enchanted mannequins that moved and modeled the wares, and he headed in. A soft chime sounded as he did so. Fitting stands took up the middle of the store, surrounded by tall mirrors, while rows, racks and shelves of all manner of clothes and fabrics framed the edges of the shop. Bright lights and a scent of lavender were in the air. It was mostly empty, save for another boy being fitted by the seamstress.
Madam Malkin turned around as he came in and gestured to the open stand next to her, "Yes, yes I hear you! Go take a place on that stand and I'll be with you in a moment."
Harry got up on the small stool next to the other boy, waiting his turn.
"Alright, you sit tight there and I'll go adjust your things and be right back." She said as she turned and bustled off into the back of the shop.
The other boy turned to face Harry, a rather tall and bulky individual with brown hair and a wide smile.
"Look pretty scrawny there, first year of Hogwarts?"
Harry shrugged off the comment and nodded, "Yeah, you?"
"Second, can't wait to be back., especially now that I can bring my broom."
Harry hummed, internally he was looking forward to learning to fly on a broomstick, the kids on the street had made it seem fun. And my dad also did it.
The other extended his hand, "Cormac McLaggen by the way, Gryffindor and future quidditch all-star."
Harry shook his hand, "Harry Potter."
Cormac's eyes widened, going up to Harry's scar as his grip tightened. "Yeah you bloody are. Wicked."
Harry didn't like how he was starting at him. He pulled his hand free. "Gryffindor?" he asked, not understanding what the boy meant.
Cormac shook himself and did a double take, gazing at the scar again. "Yup! Looks like we'll be housemates if you're like your parents, can't believe we're going to get you! Everybody's been talking about you coming this year!" He shifted suddenly, looking a bit wary, "Say you aren't, you know, like him are you?"
Great, talking about me before they even know me. Harry frowned, "Him?" Who is he talking about? He can't possibly mean who I think he does, right? "You don't mean Vol-"
Cormac slapped his hand over Harry's mouth, "Whoa whoa whoa what are you doing? You were actually going to say You-Know-Who's name? Are you crazy?" He looked astonished and withdrew his hand "Well, no offense but after what you did as a baby people have been talking, I mean, you can't do something like that by accident. Also kind of suspicious your family disappeared just as he was about to win, but eh guess you're alright! Anyways, if you're coming to Gryffindor then there's no need to worry about you being a budding Dark Lord haha!"
Harry was about to respond, with what he didn't know but he was already tired of being treated like this, when the seamstress came back. "Here you go McLaggen, your robes are properly tailored and ready. Do try to not impair the charms again this year, they're supposed to last much longer."
He hopped off the stool and draped the robes over his arm, "Thanks, I'll be sure to try!" He shot a grin and nod to Harry as well, "See you there Potter!"
The rest of his time there went smoothly, the matron not seeming to care about who she was fitting. Harry got his school robes, and took the professors advice of selecting a few casual choices so that he wouldn't be forced to wear Dudley's hand me downs on the weekends. Exiting the shop with bags full of his new wares, Harry headed towards the apothecary just as Dumbledore was leaving.
"Harry! Perfect timing, I took the liberty of adjusting your equipment to some more optimal choices. I hope you don't mind but the subject can be ever so finicky, especially for beginners."
He shook his head, "Not at all professor."
"Splendid!" Dumbledore said as he shrunk the newly acquired packages and bags for Harry. "Now, let's finish up and get you a nice trunk to put all those things in."
And so it went. He got a very nice trunk that, despite it normal appearance, had the space of several more that they put his things in. Then they settled into a routine for the rest of the items. They would bustle off to a shop, gathering all the required supplies on the list, with Dumbledore imparting various bits of knowledge and mannerisms along the way. Every so often he would make an addition to the list, suggesting in an offhand manner that it might be something interesting. Harry couldn't agree more, his mind demanding more and more with each new wonder and tidbit he learned. The day flew by, and by the end of it the list was fully marked off, and Dumbledore was leading Harry into the pet shop.
"While most wizards don't ever have a true familiar, it is always nice to have an animal companion. As we use owls for our post, it would be a fine choice, if you so desire," Dumbledore said as they looked at the cats near the front.
"What is a familiar? The letter said Hogwarts only allows post-owls other than them," Harry said, passing on to look at the rodents.
Dumbledore chuckled, "That Harry, is mostly nonsense. While technically true, thanks to our wonderful Ministry's protection of the old rites we can't legally check if an animal is your familiar or not. Naturally, as headmaster I cannot condone you buying something other than a post-owl to accompany you to the castle, but I think I shall wait outside and let you find something for yourself." The man left with a wink, waving to the shopkeep, and Harry was left alone to peruse the shop.
He wandered over to where the snakes were. Their hissing made sense to him, cries of "Choose me!", "Go away!", "Iss it feeding time?" making him smile. Then he remembered the last snake he tried to befriend. That would be pushing Vernon too far. One day, when I can protect it better I'll get one. Maybe when I can use magic at home.
He went up to the owner, "Excuse me, what kind of post-owl do you think I should get?"
The man eyed Harry, seeing someone else of course, and grunted, "All my owls are the same lad, just pick whichever suits your fancy."
There were all types, some large, some small, and many with colors Harry was sure weren't natural. Eventually, he settled on a beautiful snowy owl, the only one of her kind in stock. He paid for her, along with some basic supplies for owl care, and met back up with Dumbledore, the man beaming, "A wonderful choice!"
They walked back into the alley outside the pub on the muggle side of things, Dumbledore reversing the magic on Harry as they left the public eye. Harry sighed, content to be back to himself, now with a very nice trunk stuffed to the brim and his owl in its cage.
"Ready to go home Harry?"
"Not really professor, but I suppose I must."
Dumbledore chuckled, "I'll try to keep it gentle this time, but just in case…" He turned Harry away from himself and the owl. They apparated.
The rainbow lights, the prismatic visage. The tightness gripping his body. A lurch. Harry fell to the ground, managing to keep the contents of his now full stomach, but wobbled as he stood. They were in the Dursley's backyard.
"You took it remarkably better this time Harry."
"I think I'd still prefer to take the bus next time." Harry said, gathering his things and approaching the back door of the house that lead into the garage.
Dumbledore chuckled, "And I will very much look forward to hearing about that experience, but for now, I think its time for a conversation with your relatives."
Harry wasn't comfortable with the idea, it'll probably just make things worse. "It's fine professor, really, I don't think they'll ever change. They've come as far as they can…"
The headmaster shook his head and walked right up to the back door and rapped it with his wand. There was a click and he strode in. Harry followed carrying his trunk in one hand, thanks to the professor's handily applied featherweight charm, and his owl's cage in the other.
"Boy! Is that you? Where the devil have you been—"
Uncle Vernon's rage was cut off as Harry and the professor entered the living room where Vernon and Petunia were sitting on the couch, watching the television. Their faces were blanched, pale as a ghost, and Petunia was shaking.
She began clinging to Vernon, "Y-you! Why are you here?! You said we'd never hear from your kind again!"
"I am here, Petunia, to remind you that you cannot deny Harry what he is owed. What he is."
Harry moved off to the side, watching the interaction while his stomach acted up. This could go poorly. His relatives cowered, but didn't seem to notice him however, their eyes transfixed on the headmaster.
"I explained to you the conditions that forced him to come here, the tragedies and the bureaucracy, you welcomed him in and promised that he was family. I see now that you had but a fool's dream of hoping he was a squib." Dumbledore shook his head, his face still full of anger, "You have done something unforgivable and done so for the pettiest of reasons. What do you think Lily would say if she saw this? Do you think she would treat your own son the way you have Harry?"
"Dudley is normal! He-he isn't some freak that goes about, causing problems and blowing people up!"
"And neither is Harry!" Dumbledore shouted. The room stilled, and Harry felt what he was sure was only a fraction of what his guardians were feeling. A weight, a pressure, a presence. "I had been all but forbidden from interacting with you and Harry, the price for ensuring he remained here and not in far worse hands. Your own actions have given me leave to act, to visit, and let me assure you, we take things such as denying school letters very seriously. You should know that already."
Petunia broke out into sobs, Vernon was now beet red, but silent.
"You will treat Harry as he deserves to be treated, or if you cannot bring yourselves to do that you will leave him to his own devices, or I swear I shall return here, and I won't be alone. My attitude towards you is far better than that of the Ministry, or do you not remember even that Petunia?" He gave her a look and she closed her eyes, whimpering.
Dumbledore nodded to himself and turned to Harry, "Post-owls are highly intelligent beings, far more than their mundane counterparts as they have been bred to be our couriers. Should you ever need to reach me, or anyone else in our world for that matter, simply address your letter to my person. The more accurate your label the quicker she will be able to find me."
"She?"
Dumbledore smiled, "Your owl, do find a good name for her soon."
Harry nodded mutely, he hadn't expected that much vitriol form the man. He hoped his message would stick, or that it had been genuine.
Dumbledore gave one last glance towards the Dursleys, who were now looking back and forth between the two. "I will see you on September 1st Harry, one way or another." Then, with a loud and sudden bang, he was gone.
Vernon and Petunia screamed as he left. He made it that loud on purpose, Harry smiled, he liked the man. He ignored the sounds his family was making as he carried his trunk and owl up to his room.
Soon, Harry was in bed, browsing his books for spells and a name for his owl. His supplies and clothes were scattered about as he had looked them over once again, his books piled along his bedding in stacks of interest. A soft glow emanated from a floating candle he had bought, which now hung above him. The First Art lay on his bedside table, he had set it aside after leafing through it and getting confused, as all the pages were blank. Meanwhile Heir to the Ancients was propped open beside the one he was currently reading. Alternating aback and forth between them he realized that the magical world was far more deeply in touch with traditions and formalities than the muggle one, something he'd have to adapt to quickly.
So far none of the names in either the history books or the culture book had seemed appealing for his owl, but he was content to just absorb it all. I'll find a perfect name for her, they say post-owls usually live as long as their owner does, so I have to treat her right. As if reading his mind the owl began to coo softly, fluttering over from her open cage to land beside Harry. She nipped his hand gently and he smiled, stroking her feathers and returning the affection that, for the first time, he believed would last.
AN: Aaand we're done with the prologue and off to the real stuff! Given that NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow I'll probably try to have weekly releases, although my life is pretty hectic so it might fall to every other so I have time for responsibilities, editing, etc. Once I publish Chapter I I'll let you know when you can expect future releases, I'm so excited for what's to come and hope you are too.