Chapter 3

Life with the Potters could not have been more different from the Dursleys. For all his childhood Harry had lived frugally: his room was the smallest, his birthday presents the cheapest. Any luxury item he wanted had to be bought for himself after many months of saving. The Potters, however, spoilt him. He was still trying to get used to the casual disregard for cost that the Potters displayed daily.

Like the rest of the house, his room here was luxurious. It looked like something from a magazine – or at least, it had when Harry first moved in. It now showed the common signs of a young boy's presence: his robes from the day before strewn over the floor and on the back of his chair; a set of animated toy soldiers were waging eternal war against each other across his carpet.

Harry sat on the edge of his king-size bed, watching the battle progress. It was early morning; he would be expected at breakfast soon. Several weeks had passed since he moved in with the Potters and he had achieved something of a routine. He would get up every morning at seven, enticed to leave the comfort of his duvet by the smell of freshly baked bread. After breakfast he would wash and struggle to dress, still getting used to the intricate robes that were expected of him by Thomas and Marissa – though he barely saw them. Thomas was rarely around during the day, busy doing something political. Harry actively avoided Marissa. She was nice enough, but she had taken it upon herself to teach Harry wizarding etiquette.

Harry hadn't even heard of "etiquette" before he met Marissa. Learning about wand-tapping and the noble families was not what he expected from the magical world. So Harry usually spent his days alone, escaping Marissa as soon as he could, either exploring the city or looking through books in the Potters' small library. Books of real magic: spells and rituals, scrying and flying, apparation and apparitions. Lots of it needed a wand; some of it didn't. He was itching to try it out, but Thomas had banned him from using magic until he got to Hogwarts.

"Magic can be dangerous, Harry," he had said, "always remember that."

Harry had kept his promise, but he disagreed. He had used magic loads of times at the Dursleys. Sure, it didn't always go to plan, but Harry had never felt in danger. Using magic just felt completely natural. The idea of magic being dangerous seemed as silly as saying breathing was dangerous! Harry hadn't told any of that to Thomas, not sure what he would think of Harry running around using magic without supervision. He had simply nodded and made his promise, and he hadn't touched magic since.

"Harry!" a feminine voice called from downstairs, "Breakfast in five minutes! And wear your slippers!"

Harry sighed and got up to embark on a quest for the hated slippers. He didn't see what was wrong with walking around barefoot, but apparently this was an etiquette thing. One wore slippers and a dressing gown to breakfast. After putting the gown on, Harry found his slippers being used as a command centre by the army figurines. He reluctantly tipped them out before running downstairs to the dining room. The early morning sun was shining through the large windows, giving the airy room a warm glow. Thomas and Marissa were waiting for him there, both of them in dressing gowns and slippers.

"Ah, Harry, there you are!" said Marissa, her voice an odd mixture of class and warmth. She was, like the rest of the wizarding rich, a vision of near perfection, with a youthful face, clear skin and glossy brown hair that fell past her shoulders. Having spent a little time in and around Sanctum, Harry was learning to spot the little ways witches and wizards changed their appearance to make themselves stand out. While every one of them was beautiful enough to walk a runway in the Muggle world, when surrounded by such perfection he supposed they felt too normal. Marissa's "personal touch" was a light smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Harry still hadn't figured out what Thomas' was. Perhaps it was the newspaper he was never seen without.

"Morning," he replied, taking his seat at the ornate table. Like every item within 5 Oswald Lane, it was beautifully made yet not overstated, artful but meant to be used.

As soon as he was seated the servants brought breakfast in. Of everything in his new life it was the servants that shocked Harry the most. They weren't really people. They were magical constructs, people transfigured out of ashes by skilled craftsmen. They had no minds nor souls of their own; instead they were spelled with hundreds of charms to make them behave like people – at least enough to be able to take commands and perform chores. To own one was a sign of wealth. The Potters had two.

Though they were undeniably useful, Harry couldn't help but be unnerved by them. They were creepy, their unseeing glassy eyes completely emotionless as they went about their business. After placing the food on the table they left as silently as they had come. Harry had learnt by now not to thank them – Marissa had gently but firmly chided him when he tried. One did not draw attention to the help, especially when it lacked a soul.

The room filled with the unmistakable quiet of people focused on food. Tea was poured, jam spread on toast and croissants buttered. Thomas put his paper down.

"Any plans for today, Harry?" he asked.

Harry almost shrugged, but stopped himself. Like slouching, Thomas didn't like shrugging.

"Not really," he responded, taking a big bite from his toast.

"Good," he said, "because Marissa thought you'd enjoy a treat today."

"A treat?" Harry said, hoping it wasn't more etiquette lessons. Thomas looked to Marissa.

"Well, with Hogwarts coming up so soon, you'll need one anyway," she said. Harry got the impression she was being deliberately vague, teasing the mystery out. "And you're not a real wizard until you hold one for the first time."

A thrill of excitement went through Harry, his toast forgotten. If he was right about what she was saying…

"What is it?" he asked eagerly. Marissa laughed.

"Why, a wand, of course!"

The two of them left the house an hour later. Harry had rushed like a madman through his morning routine, throwing his robes on and furiously trying to flatten his hair. Though he was ready in record time, his hurry was pointless: Marissa wouldn't let him out the door until she was entirely satisfied with his appearance. So it was with flat hair and smart robes that Harry left the house to get his wand, practically vibrating with excitement.

They used the Floo to get into the city centre. It was immediately obvious, even from the Floo station, that something was happening.

Drums.

The deep, steady, beat of drums rattled the city with a military rhythm. Trumpets too, and horns, could be made out, if Harry focused. Occasionally the cheer of a crowd would make itself heard before the next beat drowned it out. All around them people were rushing out of the courtyard, eager to find the source of the music. The whole thing reminded Harry of a carnival.

"What's happening?" he asked, wand momentarily forgotten.

"It's a parade," Marissa replied, frowning slightly. "I'd forgotten it was happening. I suppose you want to see it?"

It didn't take much thinking.

"Just a quick look?" he said, "and we can get the wand after?"

"That sounds satisfactory. Besides, the parade is in the way of Ollivander's anyway. Come on then."

They made their way through the winding streets, following the steady stream of people. As they walked, the music and cheering got steadily louder, before –

"Woah!" cried Harry as they turned onto a wide street. He rushed to get a good position in the crowd, not caring if Marissa was still with him. The parade was passing right in front of them.

And what a parade it was.

A group of trolls, easily ten feet tall, were at the front of the column; each of them held a massive drum and was beating it with a club, perfectly in time. At this short distance, it was enough to make Harry feel like his organs were vibrating with the sound.

Boom. Boom boom. Boom boom.

With the trolls was a squad of wizards playing the unmistakable rat-a-tat-tat of snare drums, filling the space between the trolls' deep bass with a marching rhythm.

Behind them was a large formation of marching wizards and witches, each of them clad in a combination of robes and armour: an inner robe underneath a gleaming breastplate and skirt of metal sheaths. They held their wands across their chests as they marched, their left arms swinging like a pendulum. There were many hundreds of them, each of them stern faced and straight backed. Though the crowd cheered, not a single soldier turned their head.

And then came the mighty siege weapons, moving within another two lines of marching wizards. Harry could only guess at their purpose. The large floating spheres of silver, bobbing as they moved, were completely mysterious. They were followed by what might have been cannons, had a cannon been shaped like a wand and made of sparkling quartz crystal. Though he had no real reason to think so, it seemed to Harry that they were not so unlike Muggle weapons. He wondered what they shot.

After the cannons came horseless carts carrying a multitude of giant Totem poles, each at least 50 feet tall, though they were now on their sides. They had been carved beautifully, animals and fierce faces built into the sides, facing all directions. Harry looked at them and imagined wizards dancing around them, performing some strange ritual to curse their enemies.

The last of the Totem poles passed, giving way to the back end of the parade. It was here that the trumpeters were, sounding a fanfare as they walked in front of a group of wizards on horseback. It was immediately clear that these were the commanders, and not just because they had horses. Their bearing was entirely different to the other soldiers. They had an arrogant look about them, staring as they were with imperious gazes down at the crowds, as if it were perfectly natural that they were above the ordinary people.

Riding at the front of this group was the man who had interrupted Harry's dinner at The Willow. Legate Sirius Black. He seemed much the same as before: broad-shouldered, artlessly handsome, his uniform deliberately unkempt. Occasionally he would wave to the crowds. When he did, a loud cheer would go up – he was clearly a popular man.

Riding next to him was a man of greater reserve. He rode without expression, his glinting eyes travelling over the crowd, constantly evaluating. He had a hard face and slicked back silver-grey hair. Though he looked as youthful as any other wizard, Harry thought him old. He carried a quiet authority that Black lacked. If asked, there was nothing about him that Harry could say gave this impression. Nonetheless, Harry's eyes were drawn to him.

And his eyes were drawn to Harry's. They narrowed briefly; then, without any warning, he dismounted. The parade continued.

He walked towards Harry, the crowd instinctively thinning before him.

"Damn!" Harry heard Marissa mutter near his ear, "I should've known. Too late now. Harry, be very careful, this man is-"

"Harry Potter," the man said as he approached, cutting Marissa off. He stretched the name out, letting it roll around his tongue like a fine wine. "Are you enjoying my parade?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied nervously, intimidated by the man's powerful presence. And there was something else too, something about him that made Harry wary. Even without Marissa's warning, Harry would have felt it: this was a dangerous man.

"Sir?" the man replied, seemingly amused, "Have you not been taught to address me properly, child?" He looked to Marissa accusingly. "My girl, I knew you for an oath-breaker, but I thought you would at least remember your history."

Marissa took his rebuke admirably: she did not blush, nor did she look down. Instead, she curtsied.

"He is still learning, your Grace," she replied, ducking her head – very briefly - in deference. Harry looked to her in confusion. She ignored him. "Your Grace, may I introduce to you Harry Potter, whom you know. Harry, this is his Grace the Warlock Alfred Potter, of Camelot, patriarch of our House."

Harry looked at the man – Alfred – with new curiosity. This man was his ancestor? He now knew, from the books in the Potter's library, and from Thomas, that the Potters were a very old family. That meant Alfred Potter had to be at least 800 years old. Harry couldn't even imagine being alive for so long.

He studied the man anew. There was no familial resemblance to be found in his face, as could be seen between himself and Thomas, no sign that this man was the original Potter. For his part, Alfred stared at Harry in return, waiting for something.

Marissa nudged him, whispering under her breath, "Bow, Harry."

For a moment Harry thought of refusing. Why should he bow to this man who had done nothing for him? Why should he bow to a man clearly at odds with Marissa, whom he had come to like? But Marissa wanted him to obey these silly rules. It was clearly important to her, even if Alfred was mean to her.

So Harry bowed. Not deeply, nor for long, but he bowed. A brief incline of his head that seemed to satisfy Alfred immensely.

"Excellent," he said, "it does not do for us to forget our position, Harry. Family is important. Order – hierarchy - is important. When you're older you'll understand."

Though he said Harry's name, he looked at Marissa as he said this. She said nothing.

After a brief silence –

"I must go," he said, "but this has been all too brief. Harry, should you ever tire of the upstarts, you will always be welcome at the ancient seat of our House. Scry my name with your blood and you shall see the way. For now: farewell!"

He turned back to his horse and galloped away, back towards the now-distant parade. Harry looked around. The crowd had moved on, their conversation mostly ignored but for a few curious stares. What was a few people talking compared to the splendour of Sirius Black's legion? He looked up at Marissa, vaguely aware that she was more affected than she looked.

"Well," she said, the word shaking slightly – with relief or anger Harry couldn't say. "How about that wand?"