AN: First I want thank everyone for their follows and favorites. Also, thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I appreciate it a lot. To those curious about what happens next, I hope you continue reading whether your predictions do or do not come true. Please enjoy.
TW: Blood and violence.
—
The cab out of London was agony. Normally Hermione would have enjoyed an hour long drive, but today all that meant was that she was going to be late coming home. Her parents were going to notice and the questions would come. Or worse, they wouldn't even bother to ask any questions because being out meant she had a life outside the house. Maybe that was true now, but they wouldn't know that without first having a conversation. One that would lead to them discussing her new friend, which could trigger some uncomfortable teasing about him being a boy and all.
Whether or not that was a possibility, she didn't know what she could even say about Harry. He was small, meek, and he wasn't afraid to open a book. Should she mention how afraid he was to go home, to the point that he didn't want the police to know where he was?
No. That would only make him sound like he potentially did something wrong. They wouldn't understand until they saw the look in Harry's eyes. In any case, it might not be the right time to talk about him. Or maybe it was the only time.
She growled out her frustration as the driver turned onto her block.
Her parents always said friends made things easier, but that was not the feeling she was getting. How was she supposed to figure out this problem? Books never talked about things like this.
She said her thanks to the driver as she paid him and grabbed her bags. The trek up the path to the door was not as long as she needed to gain any idea of what she was going to do. Less so when she saw her mother standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and a stern look on her face.
"Where have you been?" her mother asked.
"I went to buy some books with my allowance," Hermione said, knowing her mother would be exasperated by it all. Only because her mother wanted her to make friends, and supposedly books were an antisocial hobby. The fact that her father was part of a book club almost never made a difference to her mother's worries.
"And the bookstore just around the block wasn't good enough for you? I hope you didn't go all the way to London. You know I don't like you going to London all by yourself." She stepped aside and put her hand on Hermione's shoulder as they walked in together. "There are a lot of sickos in the world who like to prey on little girls. I just want you to be safe."
She gave Hermione a hug and they went into the den. Hermione set down the bag she got at Flourish and Blotts, the name very clearly emblazoned on the side. She had asked specifically for the non-animated version to help her avoid any unwanted attention.
"Mom, you know it's statistically more likely to be killed by someone I know. By that logic, going to London for books is much safer."
"Statistics only become real when someone puts themself in dangerous situations," her mother said. "Someone could very easily follow you all the way to London, or maybe they just happened to be there by coincidence. Point is that if no one is looking out for you, then there's no one to stop you from becoming a statistic."
Hermione knew her mother had a point and she looked down with a frown on her face. She was ashamed to think what her mother would feel like if she knew Hermione had gone to London.
If Hermione wanted to do this again, either she had to be careful not to give away her actions, or she would have to trust her mother with the knowledge of the magical world. She would have to if she wanted to hold out hope for this new world, and for her friend.
"I have to tell you something," Hermione said. "I did go to London for the books."
"Excuse me, young lady." Her mother said, rising from the couch.
"Please let me explain," she pleaded. "I got a letter from a school saying I was accepted as a student, only I don't remember having ever put my name in for the school. I thought you or dad had done it all in secret, so I wanted to go learn a bit about the school. There was nothing at the local library, no mention of the school at all and I kept getting very peculiar looks when I asked others about it. I had to do the only other thing I could, and I sought the information in the place the letter mentioned."
"Hermione!" Her mother yelled. "You can't just chase after every invitation sent your way. That's definitely how you get kidnapped."
"Mom! Listen, please." Hermione paused for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. "The letter was special. I mean, it was quite literally magic. Here," she said and reached into the bag and grabbed the letter and showed her mother. "At first it was just the one page and I went immediately to the library, which was no help. I couldn't figure it out and I almost asked you and dad about it at dinner last night, but I wanted to solve the problem myself. I kept staring at the letter all last night, trying to figure out what to do. Just as I was falling asleep, I was so exhausted that I just whispered what I had been asking myself all day. Where was I meant to find all those strange books and supplies."
Her mother read the letter and reached down to the bag and rifled through Hermione's new books. Each book title she read brought about a new look, and when she saw the book entitled The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, her mother's eye widened with fear.
"You can't be serious," her mother scoffed. "You get an invite to be a witch and your first instinct is to run straight towards it? I thought we raised you better than to just chase after such ridiculousness."
"It's real mom," Hermione said. "I saw them levitate plates and conjure things out of thin air. I already want to go to this school, but I just had to get these books to convince you it was real. Six books written by five different people all about the same world, and events that occurred. I thought that if I could highlight all instances where the books talked about the same things, then I would be able to convince you and dad that it was real."
"I don't know, Hermione," her mother said. "This all sounds so incredibly unbelievable."
This was getting nowhere fast. Nothing she said seemed to help sway her mother into realizing that this was all true. It was. The letter itself was proof. If only her mother had seen it before the new page appeared. Maybe it was too much to hope for. Even if she did decide she wanted to go to Hogwarts, how was she meant to get there? She didn't know where it was yet.
Wait.
None of the books she got today were on the list. All were just to do her own research. But not everyone would look for these books like she did, so there had to be a way for less logical kids and parents to find the place. That, and she knew this letter had some magical properties that seemed to provide her the information she needed. This wasn't any different. She grabbed the letter from her mother and took a gamble.
"How do I get to Hogwarts?"
She could feel the paper tingling in between her hands, like static being released. Hermione flipped through the pages and found that a new one had formed. It had some simple instructions on it.
A train will depart from platform nine and three quarters at eleven in the morning on the first of September. To access the magically hidden platform, you must run straight at the wall between platforms nine and ten. The ticket to ride is attached below.
Indeed there was a ticket attached with all the information for the train on it. It was firmly attached with no perforations. She thought she would have to cut it off, but as soon as she grabbed the page, the ticket simply detached from the rest of the paper.
When she looked up, her mother was staring with wide eyes.
"That paper was not there before," her mother uttered quietly. "I read the whole thing, checked it all front and back. There was no third page, and certainly no ticket."
"Do you believe me now?" Hermione asked.
Her mom sat there studying this new sheet of paper and how it was ever so slightly a different type of parchment, hue of white, and that it was cut a little differently than the other two pages. She was mouthing the word, "how?" all while she was no doubt trying to solve the problem.
"It would explain some things," her mother said. "I remember the time the entire flowerbed bloomed in the middle of winter because you were sad that the cold was killing them. Did you do that?"
"I don't know," Hermione said. "What I remember is you and dad trying to tell me that they were special flowers that lived in arctic climates."
"Then you promptly recited the exact name and habitat of each flower," her mother laughed. "It was hard enough to explain to ourselves, we had to think of something to tell you. Unfortunately for us, you're such a smart kid."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Hermione said with a smirk.
"Of course it is, sweetie. This is all a bit bizarre though. If I hadn't seen it right in front of my eyes, this conversation would be going a lot differently. I'll have to talk to your father and it won't be easy to convince him, but I think I can do it."
"We could always take him to get my school supplies," Hermione suggested. "There's no way he could deny magic if he saw what I did today."
"That reminds me," her mother said, hands folded once more. "I still haven't forgotten that you went to London against my wishes."
"I had good reason to. You always say that when I want something, I have to make sure I really want it before I ask. I can't very well do that without finding out more about the school that wants me to attend. Would you have believed me otherwise?"
"Unlikely." Her mother let her arms down, but her eyes were still very serious. "You're still grounded. No books after eight or before we leave for work. No more leaving the house, not even to read in the garden. And absolutely no more going to London alone. I mean it. If you give me a reason to believe you broke the rules, that's it. There will be no more conversation about this magic school. Is that clear?"
"Yes, mother." Hermione was actually quite sad. Her mother knew just how much she enjoyed reading in the grass by the flowers. She was so disappointed, she almost forgot about her new friend. Maybe telling her mother would help her escape her punishment, but Harry had been so scared of what might happen if the authorities knew. She had to broach the subject delicately. "Can I ask you a hypothetical question?"
Her mother's eyebrows shot up at that and she smirked. "Go ahead."
"What would you do if you knew someone who was terrified to go home?"
"I suppose that depends on the person," her mother said. "Without knowing any more, there's not much I can do. I would probably tell them that it's okay to be scared, and that sometimes we exaggerate our fears in our mind. It probably wouldn't be as bad to go home as it would be to live on the street."
"What if he's clearly been starving?" Hermione asked, unable to sate her curiosity.
"I thought you said this was hypothetical?" her mother said exasperatedly. "That's a very serious thing to claim, sweetie. Is there something you want to tell me?"
Hermione sighed. "I made a friend in the bookstore I went to," she said. "He was looking for information on the same school as me. I bought the book he was looking at, so I let him read it while I read An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe. That's why I was out later than I had planned. We lost track of time.
"I only realized how late it had got because his stomach growled. It wasn't just a normal growl, mom. It lasted like half a minute. In the moment I thought it was just funny, but I could tell he was embarrassed by it so I said we should get some food together."
"So you're telling me that not only have you made a friend, but you skipped straight to dating?" her mother said, obviously teasing.
"It wasn't a date, mom. I thought he could use a meal, the looks of him. He looked like he'd never had a proper meal ever in his life. When he stood up, he was going to fall over if I hadn't grabbed his arm."
The look her mother gave her only increased the heat in Hermione's cheeks at the thought of what she had done. She didn't think anything of it in the moment, but it did sound different in retrospect.
"Mom, I'm worried about him. He showed all the signs that he was starving, and his arm felt like I was touching the bone itself. When I offered to take him home, he literally screamed and was about to run away before I changed the subject. I got him a meal and paid for a room for him to stay in. All my allowance is gone, but I couldn't stand to leave him there without doing something."
"How did you get to be so kind?" her mother asked, reaching down to hug her. "That was a very admirable thing to do. Also a very brash thing. You have to be careful about just giving out money. Sometimes that's all they want, and people will say anything to get what they want."
"It's not like that," Hermione said. "He kept trying to get me to leave without getting him any food and I didn't even mention the room to him. I just sorta told the manager to tell Harry about the room and gave him a letter and left. It was stupid, but I swear if I saw him again, I was going to cry."
"It's all right, sweetie. I'll admit this is not quite how I thought you would make your first friend, and the circumstances are all a bit cloudy. By what you're telling me, I would amend my earlier statement. I can't make a judgment on what kind of home he grew up in, but his actions do warrant looking into. What we should do is call the police immediately. But you would know that, so why haven't you suggested it yet?"
"He didn't like the idea," Hermione uttered quietly. "I was going to just bring him here, but when I mentioned the authorities, he refused. He said they only ever took him home. It's obvious he wanted to avoid that."
"So it's a delicate matter," her mother mused. "A puzzle of sorts. Maybe not a matter for the police, but someone has to be told. Otherwise, if we took him in, we could get charged with kidnapping, no matter if the child wanted it or not. I'll have to think about it tonight. You should go read, but leave the book about education in Europe. I'll have your father take a look at it while I make some calls."
Hermione hugged her mother once more and grabbed the rest of her new books, eager to read them. If anyone could help Harry, her mother would know them. She was a dentist after all, and she tended many important people's teeth.
—
Harry got up as soon as the sun peeked into the window of his room. It was later than he planned, but the bed had been so comfortable that he couldn't help himself. He had a short conversation with the man at the bar of the restaurant about the floo. His name was Tom.
At first it was apparent that the man was suspicious of Harry, but once he showed him the money, Tom relented and told him all about how to use it. It cost a single knut to use, which was only a tiny fraction of each of the coins Hermione had given him.
Once he'd figured it all out in his mind, he got change for one of the sickles and went straight to pay his due at the dish and to the floo beyond. There was no line as it was sometime between breakfast and lunch.
As the manager had said, he threw the powder in and the fire bloomed a great vivid color of green that sent a shock shivering through his body. He spoke the words, "Ministry of Magic," very carefully before he stepped into the flames.
He didn't feel the heat at all. All there was to feel was a tugging sensation pulling him in every which direction. It was like he was spinning in a swirl of dust and ash, different visions flew before him as he was sucked along. Tom told him to step out when he saw his destination. A simple thing if he had ever been to the ministry before. Luck has it, he hadn't. That left him with waiting until the floo just spat him out, which it did very abruptly. He was chucked out of the fire like his uncle had chucked him down the hall the night he ran away, stumbling into a heap of ash.
"That was decidedly unpleasant," Ciara said.
"I'm sorry." Harry said. His whole body was aching and sore, and he reached up to hold a new bump on his head. "Didn't realize it was going to be like that. Would have been nice if Tom had warned me."
As he looked around, there was a moment where he felt very out of place. Witches and wizards walked determinedly in every which direction, some leaving out of about a dozen different fireplaces made of a pure black stone while others were arriving just the same. None of them seemed to give it any thought to how peculiar it all was. This was just a normal day for them.
Harry walked up to a desk that was designated for checking in.
"Wotcher," the stumpy man said. He was wearing all black and a blank, vacant stare. "Where's your parents, kid? This isn't a day care."
"I'm not here for any day care," Harry said impatiently. "I need to apply for funds for Hogwarts school supplies."
"Ah, you'll be needing the DME. That's on level eight. Is that all you need today?"
"Actually," Harry said. This was it. He either had to find the grit to stand up for himself, or he would be abused by everyone his whole life. "I need help dealing with the goblins. They took my…"
The man waved his hand and Harry quit talking, not of his own accord. "DCRMC is on level four, look for the Goblin Liaison Office. Anything else?" The man was getting more annoyed by each question. Like he had any right to be.
Harry tried to speak but nothing came out still. How was he supposed to talk to all these people without his voice, and where did it even go? Harry rubbed his throat, seeing if he could feel any vibration at all. It was like his vocal cords were gone altogether!
"If that's all," the man said with a wicked grin, "you best be moving along. Can't be holding up the queue now. Lots of people got places to be."
Harry glared. The man probably had something to do with his lost voice, but what else was there to do? Maybe the person at the DME could help. The man, whoever he was, was not very good at his job. Who uses acronyms to explain where things are. Some people need to know what it all means. Hopefully not everyone would just assume he knows everything.
He saw a bunch of elevators across the atrium and he slowly made his way over. Level eight was his first stop. If the goblin thing hit a dead end, at least he could buy his school stuff. He was going to go to Hogwarts, after all. Not much else to think about doing. No way would he go to a public school and have them find out about his relatives.
One of the lifts opened and a small group of people got in, so he scampered to join them before it closed up.
"Level six," one of them said.
No one else spoke so they must be going to the same place. The doors closed and off they went, pulling this way and that with sharp jerking motions.
"What is with these magic people?" Ciara hissed, wrapping tight around Harry's arm. "Do they not have stomachs?"
Harry would have replied if he could, but his voice still didn't work. It didn't stop the other people in the lift from grimacing at him. Harry rolled his eyes. It was really wide-spread, the fear of speaking to snakes. Just a hissing noise had made them uncomfortable.
"Are you okay?" Ciara continued. "You feel tense."
Harry just pursed his lips and ground his teeth. He was so helpless and all this was just making him more and more frustrated. The whole damnable world couldn't be this bloody hateful. Ciara poked her head out of his shirt and looked him in the eye. The girl amongst them let out a scared peep and the others two tensed and reached into their cloaks. Their hands remained there, and their eyes focused on Harry.
"Be calm," Ciara said. "I do not know what has you bothered. Did I do something wrong?"
Harry let out a silent breath and the tension in his body relaxed. He shook his head and looked at his first ever friend. He mouthed his apologies, hoping she would understand. She began hissing angrily, without actually saying anything and slithered as close to the other occupants as she could without leaving his body. Her threat did not go unnoticed and the two boys drew their wands while the girl shrieked.
"Does anybody remember where the boy came from?" one of the guys asked. He was a lad with black robes that were lined with blue and a shield with an eagle on it stitched onto the chest.
The girl shook her head fiercely.
Only the other guy spoke in response. "I was too busy thinking about the three d's," he said. This one had grey robes with a green lining and dusty-brown hair. "As you well know, Amare. I only stopped when I heard a snake. Thought it was You-Know-Who for a moment."
"Thank the Lord it wasn't the boy who spoke," Amare said. "Could you imagine? In the same year that Harry Potter is supposed to come to school, a bloody parselmouth shows up. That's like a nightmare."
"For you, maybe," the other guy said.
"Shut it, Michael. You know it wouldn't be all daisies and sunshine."
"Would you two quit arguing and address the situation," the girl said. "There's a creepy little boy dressed in rags, and he's staring right at us alongside a very dangerous looking snake."
"Tsstsstss, the girl one is right to be scared," Ciara said. "If you could speak now, I would ask if you want me to bite them. Maybe I should do it anyway."
Harry shook his head. These people were stupid, yes, but they didn't automatically deserve to die for it.
"He's not even speaking," she whimpered. "Why isn't he talking?"
"I think the better question is why is he shaking his head at the snake?" Michael said. "It's like he understands what it's saying. Doesn't explain why he isn't just talking back to it."
Harry frowned and eyed the guy named Michael with a hopeful glance. He tapped his throat lightly and pointed at the guy's wand.
"Are you serious?" Michael asked. "Some dolt must have cursed him and now he can't speak."
Harry nodded frantically and just then the lift doors opened wide. The girl rushed out to leave the two boys behind.
Amare began walking out. "Just leave him," he said. "It'll teach him not to freak people out. These things don't move without a command, so he'll have to wait until the curse wears out or someone in the atrium calls for it."
"Just go on," Michael said, his eyes gleaming and lips curled in a menacing smile. "I'll be right there."
Harry got an uneasy feeling as the doors closed once more, leaving him alone with Michael. It now dawned on Harry that the lad was much larger than he was, and his face suggested he had some undesirable thoughts racing through his mind. He pointed his wand at Harry.
"Finite," Michael said. "Can you talk now?"
Harry tried but it still didn't work.
"Must be something darker then," the boy said. He tried a few more things before anything happened. In the end it was dimixus that finally helped Harry. "Well that was a tricky thing. Whoever did this was into some dark stuff. It's a good thing that I am too. Can't very well fight dark magic if you don't know anything about it. The name's Michael Travers."
He jerked his hand forward and Harry flinched. Ciara snapped her mouth and the boy retreated.
"Careful there," Michael said. "I wasn't going to hurt you. What's with the snake, anyway? Can you actually understand it?"
Harry fixed the boy with a piercing glare. "I can. Does that scare you?"
"Nah. I think it's bloody wicked." Michael smirked and watched Ciara cautiously as he held out his hand, much slower this time. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamt about being able to speak to snakes myself. So what's your name?"
"Harry Potter," he said, still not taking Michael's hand. It was a bit funny that they had been talking about him earlier, because the boy's face paled as soon as Harry had said it. If Ciara hadn't scared him, apparently just being himself was scary enough.
"This is a joke, right?" Michael was shifting. "I just saved a bloody Potter. My mum would have my hide if she knew. You're the reason my dad and my uncle are in Azkaban."
"You didn't save me," Harry said. The older boy was becoming more agitated as the time went on. It made Harry nervous. "You just helped me out a bit. And I don't know what an Azkaban is, but I didn't put anyone in it. Get ready to scare him." Harry watched Ciara poise herself, rearing back for another strike. "I think it's time for you to leave now. Level six."
The doors opened and Ciara lunged at the boy who staggered and fell backward out of the elevator.
"It was a pleasure to meet you," Harry said victoriously. "Level eight."
The doors closed and the lift began jerking this way and that once more. Ciara was right. These witches and wizards or whatever they called themselves were all stupid. Surely if they could organize well enough to establish a whole ministry, they could at least make a lift that was smooth to ride.
Soon enough he had arrived. It wasn't difficult to find the proper line. There was a very distinct section of the office made just for Hogwarts. There were other names listed throughout the office, but Harry had to focus. No point changing things up before he even knew what he was getting into.
Behind the counter was a witch who was asleep with her chin resting in her hands. Harry knocked on the counter and she perked up.
"A student?" she asked. "Must be that time of the year already, splendid. How can I help you?"
"I need to apply for student aid for Hogwarts supplies."
"You sure look the part of a destitute orphan," the woman said. "You'll have to fill out the Student Assistance Program application. Seeing as you are the first to arrive this year, I can't imagine it will take long for your application to be reviewed."
"How long will it take to know?"
"It has to be reviewed by one of our associates and approved by the headmaster of Hogwarts. He's a very busy man with many titles and jobs. You may get lucky, but chances are it will take up to a month." With a flick of her wand, a thick parchment appeared on the desk in between them. "Take this and fill it out. There are quills over there."
Harry filled out the main application quickly, but the essay took him a bit. The ink was messy and he kept making blotches all over the paper. He was also quite sure there were spelling errors, and it probably had horrendous grammar, but he just wanted there to be no reason for anyone to deny this of him. He included it all, except for one thing he would never, ever speak of.
When he was finished he went back to the desk to hand over his application.
"Very expedient indeed," she said as she grabbed the application from him. "Especially for having written in the essay portion. I really doubt it was necessary, Mr. P- Hang on, there seems to be a mistake on the name. You put Harry Potter as your name, but that can't be. Harry Potter is not poor. I've heard he lives on a secluded island in the South Pacific."
"Well you heard wrong," Harry said. "Can I have a copy of the application, for my own records?"
"Really?" She asked. Harry noticed a blue beetle with odd markings flying about and watched it land on the lady's shoulder. "You're really Harry Potter? The saviour of all wizarding Britain?"
"I'm just Harry Potter, okay. I haven't done anything great, and I haven't been hiding away. It's all in my essay. My copy please."
She sat there and stared slack-jawed at him. "Geminio." The paper duplicated itself right before his eyes and he took the copy when she proffered it. Magic was so convenient. He was excited about everything he might learn in the future.
"They'll never believe me," she muttered to herself as Harry walked away and back to the lift.
His next stop was the Goblin Liaison Office. That was a whole lot more difficult to find. How was he supposed to know they were beings and not beasts. Vicious as they were, it could really go either way. When he finally found it, he was a little disheartened at how small and shabby the space was. The Goblin Liaison Office was just one tiny room not much bigger than Dudley's bedroom.
Harry knocked on the door frame as he entered. There wasn't really any sort of reception, so his only option was to talk to the one and only person in the office. The wizard was shocked out from his paperwork, and looked up through thick glasses that made his eyes look too small for his face.
"Who's there?" the man asked.
Harry had not had a whole lot of luck using his name, but the man would have to know it sooner or later, if he was going to help. Best to be as polite as he possibly could.
"Harry Potter, sir. Who are you?"
"Mockridge. Cuthbert if you will. Are you really Harry Potter? You've been missing for nearly ten years. Not been on vacation I see. What can I do for you?"
"The goblins took my vault key and keep saying I can't have access to what's inside."
"I'd ask the normal question, 'Have you had a recent death in the family?', but we all know the answer to that." Harry was shocked by that information. It had been made clear that people knew who he was, but did they really know everything that had happened? All the things his relatives refused to tell the truth about were so well known to an entire culture of people. All these thing he would love for someone to tell him, even if it hurt to hear. "Well, let's see. Have you been able to access your vault at all since the death of your parents?"
Harry shook his head. "I didn't even know it existed."
"Not off to a great start," Cuthbert tutted. "And the wills of your parents? Has either of them been read?"
"I don't think so. I mean, not that I know of."
"We'll have to dig deep to make sure. Lots of things have happened in tens years and we're going to have to search for their wills. The trouble is that this needs to be done very quickly once the process is started. There is no wiggle room. The goblins send a notice directly after a will is read. If there is no attempt to respond within a day, then anyone can pay to become the owner of the vault. The contents will remain yours by the law of the ministry, but if someone else buys it, by goblin law they can quite literally hold your money hostage."
Harry's head was spinning. This was far too complicated for something that should have been so easy. "What do I have to do next?"
"Find a solicitor. A good one will be able to find who documented your parents' wills. But whatever you do, you should not open or read them right away. If this has been sitting for ten years and you are only now learning of it, then I suspect there is some foul play involved. You must be very careful, because if you do not answer the goblins in the correct manner, they will take it as refusal and move on to auction the vault to the highest bidder."
Harry said his thanks and left the office. This was far too frustrating. How he was even going to find a solicitor was troubling enough. He'd heard that many of them charged obscene amounts of money. It might just be cheaper and simpler to do the work himself. He was already poor enough as it was.
Besides, the vault was safe right now, in a manner of speaking. It's not like he'd ever really had money before. He could survive without it.
—
Harry still wasn't hungry. At least not as hungry as he had been the day before. He learned that the cheapest meals at the leaky cauldron were three sickles each. That meant he would be able to buy only five with what he had. At that rate, he would only last about a month if he timed each meal as far apart as he could. With less than three months to go until school started, he had to find other options. Plus, he still had to send his reply to the school.
It cost him a handful of knuts for access to the paper and ink. The owl service was something he couldn't avoid, and that cost him five sickles. Each knut and sickle he spent sent a bolt of worry running through his veins.
He looked down at his small fortune. Eleven sickles and twenty-three knuts left. Already so much of it was spent, so he had to make sure he would be able to last a month. One day into his homelessness and already he had lost a meal to the necessity of a ruddy letter.
If he was going to survive this, he had to find some way to occupy his mind. He went back into the book shop and found another copy of Hogwarts, A History, but before he could even think about reading it, the manager came rounding the corner and cast him some dirty looks. Harry bounded out of there, not risking the chance of having an uncomfortable chat with the man.
Harry bored himself by walking up and down the alley as many times as he could. Only when he knew all the shops and where to find them did he begin exploring beyond the main road. There were small alleys piled with extraneous clutter: broken scales, cauldrons riddled with holes, discarded books of which were burnt beyond use or otherwise written in indecipherable languages, and a bunch of dirty, old, and ragged cloaks that were in worse shape than Dudley's hand-me-downs.
Even so, he found a decent cloak just out the side of a shop called Madam Malkins. Only a few holes and some wear on the elbows. It made him feel a lot safer somehow, like he would be able to fit in, even as shabby and over-sized as it looked. For every book that was in a decent condition he made note of its location. One behind the apothecary seemed like it was just a bunch of dots on paper, but otherwise the book was intact. There were a couple more down the alley behind Gringotts.
Diagon Alley itself looped around the bank, and there was only one place he hadn't yet gone. Harry had a bad feeling about it, an alley that had a sign letting him know it was called Knockturn Alley.
Just looking down the alley, the sun seemed to avoid it, leaving it in a state of perpetual night. There were a bunch of shady looking individuals coming in and out. It had an air of danger that loomed over its entrance.
On the other hand. All the shops he passed had their prices listed, and they were all in numbers beyond his capability. If he got the assistance fund, he would have to make sure he was getting the absolute best deals.
He gathered the cloak around him, put its tattered hood on his head, and ducked into the dark alleyway. Witches and wizards alike were muttering to themselves all along the the path. There were many new shops, but he had little time to spend memorizing their prices or their names as he didn't feel like tarrying very long here.
A few names did stick out like Borgin and Burkes, Moribund's, and Mullpepper's Apothecary. Near the back of the alley was another cauldron shop just like the one on Diagon Alley. No real difference other than location.
He was just about to head back to the main shopping street when he heard a sickeningly familiar voice.
"I can't believe it, Thor. Audrey actually splinched herself during her apparating test. She's pretty, but stupid."
Harry peered around the corner and saw his suspicions were validated. Michael Travers was here in Knockturn Alley with another boy that he had called Thor.
"That is the rude boy from earlier," Ciara said. "We should get out of here. There are no nice people nearby."
Harry nodded, but he lingered, too curious what the conversation was going to be about. What did wizards talk about on a regular basis?
"Makes you wonder how she even got into Ravenclaw," Thor said. "Supposed to be the smart house, aren't they?"
"You know the hat makes mistakes," Michael said. "Like that mudblood it let into Slytherin."
Harry leaned in closer and slipped on one of the cobblestones, making a fuss as he fell onto the pavement. The hood fell off as he stood up.
"Oi! What are you doing?" Michael said. A bolt of silvery light jetted from his wand and hit Harry square in the chest. Just like that, he was unable to move as the two boys approached. As Michael's face got closer, Harry was pushed unwillingly into a dim light from a lamppost outside of a shop named Cobb & Webb's. "No way. You're not gonna believe this, but you know the boy I told you about from the ministry. This is him."
"Harry Potter?" Thor asked skeptically.
"The one and only. Last of dying breed."
"Stay back!" Ciara hissed, slithering out of Harry's clothes and readying herself to strike.
The boys reeled, but Michael smacked Thor on the arm. "Take care of the snake, will you?"
Thor nodded and pointed his wand at Harry's longest lasting friend. She pounced just as the large boy said his spell. "Corripsis," Thor said. Ciara froze in mid-air. Following the pointing of his wand, she rose into the air, squirming to get away. Thor laughed. "You won't be speaking to this snake anymore. Sectum."
Ciara let out a wailing cry that only Harry could hear. He had little choice but to watch as she was cut to pieces right in front of his eyes. Blood seeped from her wounds, dripping onto the cobblestones and splashing onto Harry's face. Eventually her struggle died out and she became still. Tears trickled out of Harry's eyes, mixing with his friend's blood.
"That'll teach you to trick me into helping you," Michael snickered. "Good one Thor. That was fun to watch. Would have done it myself if I wasn't making sure the brat couldn't move."
"What do you want to do now, kill him?" Thor said.
"Nah. Too public a place for something like that," Michael said. "Probably shouldn't take him with us, either. I don't rightly feel like going to Azkaban before I get to graduate. I think I'll just leave him exactly how I found him in the ministry. Perpexi."
They both walked off, high-fiving each other and laughing about it, leaving Harry to wallow in his grief. Alone. Unable to help himself in any way. He let out a silent moan that refused to make any noise at all.
—
"This is the place?" Her mother frowned. "Looks rather dumpy to be in downtown London."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione shrugged. "It looks perfectly respectable to me. Let's go inside. This is where I left Harry. I just hope he's still here."
Today, her mother and father were with her. This was going to be a different experience altogether. She was going to get her books and school supplies and send an owl, however you did such a thing. Not only that, but she was looking forward to seeing her friend again. This time she would have the strength and courage of her parents to back her up. They walked inside, and she had the pleasure of watching her parents' reactions to the magic within.
It was around dinner time, as they had to come after her parents had got off of work. The dinner crowds were just now settling in. Waiters were walking from table to table, serving the food in a spectacular fashion.
"Incredible," her father uttered. He took his glasses off and wiped them on his handkerchief.
"The owner is over here," Hermione said, tugging at the hands of her mom and dad over to a bar near the back. "Hi Tom!"
"Hello, little miss. How are you today?" the old man said.
"Very well, thank you." Hermione said. She was too distracted looking around for Harry to check after Tom.
"Are these your parents?" he asked.
"Yes," her mother said. "My name is Vanessa, and this is my husband."
"Keegan." Her father reached out his hand and the men greeted each other in the most tiresome way. "Our daughter has mentioned that you did her a favor yesterday."
"Was nothing. The little one just paid for a room for her friend. A bit of a troublemaker he was, but I think she's got a good influence on him."
"Do you know where he is?" Hermione asked, still not looking at the man or her parents now. Her father placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back towards them.
"Don't forget your manners, sweetie," her mother said.
"Sorry." Hermione looked down, embarrassed by her actions. "I'm just worried about him is all. Thank you for helping me last night. Truly."
Tom smiled brightly and wiped off a glass before placing it on one of the shelves behind him. "It was just past the lunch rush last I saw the boy. He went out the Diagon Alley entrance and hasn't been back since."
Hermione frowned. Where could he have gone?
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the help. Now where was that entrance you spoke of?"
"No, dad. You have to see the special entrance first. Then we can use the normal one."
"That important, eh?" he asked.
"It's imperative." Hermione said with a smile.
"Well if that's so," Tom said. "I'll lead the way."
They all followed him and as the bricks twisted and turned, her father and mother gasped almost at the same exact moment. Hermione laughed, trying to imagine how she looked yesterday when she saw it for the first time.
"Thanks again, mister." Hermione waved back to Tom as the family made their way onto the busy street.
"My pleasure, little miss."
Hermione was ecstatic. She could hardly contain her energy and her excitement at each new shop. When she got her wand, Ollivander asked her what kind of accidental magic she had done. After she told the story of the flowers he muttered something about charms and transfiguration.
She waited as time and again he would disappear and come back with a different box in his hands. It was the fourth try when his whole face lit up at the reaction that came from the wand.
"Aha!" Ollivander exclaimed. "I should have known. It's carvings are indicative of the type of magic you have already used. The vines along the handle should be a reminder of that moment in your past. Also appropriate that it is made of vinewood and dragon heartstring. Strong core with a strong connection to many different aspects of magic. It will serve you very well, I think."
Hermione was so in love with her new wand that when she had to put it back in the case, she felt a twinge of sadness. She said her thanks and they moved on to the next thing.
After that moment, everything else was a little less exciting. She couldn't help but think about her friend. Where had he gone? He was nowhere in sight. Not in the wand store or the robe shop, not even in the bookstore. Had he just used her like her mother had said he would?
When they bought her last thing, her parents were both sharing looks of concern and understanding.
"We're sorry we haven't seen your friend, sweetie." Her mother knelt down and gave her a hug. "I'll tell you what. Why don't we leave some information with Tom. He can send us a letter or something if he sees your friend again. How does that sound?"
Hermione nodded, but she was too sad to speak, tears streaming down her face. She could practically see Harry's sallow face and his bony arms pleading her to look harder for him. She would if things were different, she would never give up. But she was just one kid, and her mother was right, the world was a dangerous and unjust place.
—
"What have we here?" said a high-pitched voice soaked in greed. "A little boy cursed and left for dead. Some people have no respect for the dark arts anymore."
Harry could only see shadows, but he could certainly feel when someone grabbed him tight and with a pop and a sickening twist, the dark of Knockturn Alley disappeared.