That night, a despairing Harry Potter found himself standing in the back garden, surrounded by owls that utterly refused to even attempt to deliver the letter he clutched in his left hand.
The words had been clear, had they not? "We await your owl no later than July 31."
Did owl mean something completely different to these people? He had wished for an owl, and a lovely tawny owl had swooped into the garden, landing on the back of Petunia's sun lounger and fixing him with an inquisitive stare.
Harry had approached it slowly, and when the owl simply remained sitting and staring at him, held the letter out to it.
"Can you take this to Minerva McGonagall?" He asked, grateful that at past midnight there was very little chance of anyone watching him ask an actual owl to deliver a letter. Though he needn't have bothered, as all the creature did was look at the outstretched letter, then back to his face, then back to the letter, before finally settling back on his face.
"I'm guessing that's a no, then." Harry sighed, running his spare hand through his hair. Perhaps this owl was just unhelpful.
Again, he found himself wishing for an owl, and dutifully within the next minute a barn owl swooped into the garden, perched itself upon the back of the sun lounger and began jostling with the tawny owl for the prime staring-at-Harry position.
"How about you, fancy delivering a letter for me?" Letter, face, letter, face, a confused hoot this time, but no effort was made to take the letter from him and wing into the night with it. Harry harumphed to himself, nonplussed. Were these owls defective?
But Harry was a stubborn creature and tried again, and again, and again until eventually he was surrounded by an eclectic collection of distinctly unhelpful owls and feeling more and more like this was just one big joke. He'd even tried wishing for one of the owls to take the letter from him but all that had happened was it piercing through the envelope as it held it in its beak and remained firmly in place.
Frustrated, Harry irritably waved his hand at the owls, wishing for them to disappear. And disappear they did.
Instantly.
Horrified and feeling very much like a serial owl murderer, Harry slowly retreated back to his cupboard.
He needed to be more careful, or at least more precise, with his magic.
And he needed a new plan.
Two new letters for Harry arrived the next morning with the morning post.
Once he was released from his morning duties by Uncle Vernon, Harry inspected both letters to find they were the exact same as the one from yesterday, which must mean that this McGonagall woman knew that he hadn't yet replied to the original letter and would continue to send letters until July 31.
What would happen if he did fail to respond in time? Would they take that as him refusing his place at Hogwarts?
Harry felt cold at the thought. If this was a magical school then that's where he needed to be, so he had to find a way of getting his letter to Minerva McGonagall sent.
Chewing absently on a sausage he'd squirreled away, Harry began to ponder his predicament. Owls were the key apparently, yet none of the owls last night had shown any inclination or ability to deliver his letter, so did magical people have their own owls that were trained for such tasks? Or were there species of owls that were magical themselves?
Had his letters been delivered by an owl? And if so, all he had to do was wait for the morning post the next day and try to catch one of them.
And so that's how Harry found himself outside sitting on the front step the next morning, waiting and watching the sunrise.
Eventually, the postman arrived on Privet Drive, ambling slowly from house to house and whistling a tune to himself. Soon, he arrived at Number 4 and stopped short at the sight of a small boy sitting and waiting on the front step.
Raising an eyebrow, he shuffled closer to the front door and towards the boy.
"Good morning sir," Harry chirped. "Any letters for Harry Potter in there?"
The man shook his head, the only letter he had for Number 4 today was what looked like a statement from the bank. "Sorry son, just something for a Mr. Vernon Dursley."
Harry smiled brightly at the man nonetheless. "That's good, have a nice day sir." He said to him with a cheerful wave, and the postman walked away shaking his head at the strange behavior.
So the letters definitely didn't arrive with the postman, so they had to be delivered by owls...unless they'd given up after only two days.
He bloody hoped not.
But then, a sight that caused his heart to soar. A large bird had just flown into sight and looked to be heading directly for him. Soon, his suspicions were found to be correct and the owl had landed in front of the boy, standing on one leg and holding out its other leg towards him, where he could see three familiar letters tied to it.
"Are you from Hogwarts?" He asked, and to his surprise, the owl hooted and nodded its head. Amazing.
"That's great, can you take this letter for me to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall?" He pleaded, pulling the letter out from under his shirt. The owl hooted again, and he set about untying the Hogwarts letters from the bird and tying his response to its leg.
Harry smiled once his work was completed. "Here, take some bacon I've saved up, and thanks for this." He handed the bird a piece of bacon from his pocket and it quickly scarfed it down before taking flight, the letter securely in place.
Harry fought down the urge to do a victory dance and instead span on the spot and opened the front door, beaming.
To be met by the sight of a furious Uncle Vernon.
"Where the hell have you been, boy?!"
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Transfigurations Professor of Hogwarts walked into her office wearily, shrugging off her tartan travel cloak and sending it to the stand in the corner with a wave of her wand.
Summers were always a busy time for her, what with all the visits to their new muggle-born students she had to complete, and today had thankfully been the last and yet most exhausting of all.
Miss Hermione Granger was a very intelligent young girl, and she was sure she would be a credit to whichever House she ended up in (Ravenclaw was her bet), but my goodness that girl could ask ten questions a minute without even pausing for breath!
Shaking her head, she went over to her desk and sat in her comfortable chair, letting out a groan of satisfaction and closing her tired eyes. At least she could now relax for the remainder of the day, perhaps she could find Pomona and spend some much-needed quality time with her old school friend.
Opening her eyes, she began to rise from her seat to enact her plan when she noticed the letter sitting in the middle of her desk, addressed to "Deputy Headmistress McGonagall."
Cursing to herself, hoping it was nothing pressing, she opened the envelope, pulled out the letter from within, and began to read.
Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,
Thank you for your letter inviting me to attend your school, it was definitely a surprise to receive it as before this I had no idea that other people could do the things I can.
I would like very much to accept your invitation, though I confess I do not know where I could purchase everything needed for school as there is nothing like that available in any shop I have been to.
If possible, could you please send directions for where I might find the items needed and a possible estimation of how much they would cost? Also, where is the school located so that I might make my way there on September 1?
I hope you will find time to reply as I am sure you are very busy but I would be quite lost otherwise and likely unable to attend.
Thank you for your time.
Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter
Minerva McGonagall set the letter back down after reading it through several times, in shock. Harry Potter knew nothing of the world he was born to? Had no idea that others could do magic?
How could this be possible? She knew for a fact that Petunia Dursley was perfectly aware of the magical world, how could she not be having grown up with Lily?
Had she not told the boy what he was? What his parents were?
Rising to her feet, she plucked the letter from her desk and left her office, prowling towards the Headmaster's Office and fighting down her rising temper.
Oh, did she have words for Albus.
Arriving at the gargoyle, she spat out the ridiculous password he was using this month and stormed up the stairs. Bursting through the door without knocking, she flew over to the desk and the old man sat behind it, slamming the letter down before him.
"Albus Dumbledore you blithering fool-"
Minerva McGonagall knocked on the door to 4 Privet Drive the next morning, idly noting how little had changed since the last time she had been here ten years prior. The only difference she could see was a different car in the driveway and a slightly better-kept garden. Otherwise, it was exactly as it had once been.
The door before her opened, and she fought a gasp at the sight of the young, black-haired boy peering up at her. He had certainly changed.
She found herself gazing at him in a stupor, emotions rising in her chest at the resemblance he held to James Potter. But those eyes, those eyes were all his mother. A little on the short side, much shorter than she remembered James being at the same age, and much too thin.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" The young man asked her politely, and she shook herself out of her thoughts and held out a hand to the boy.
"You certainly can young man. My name is Minerva McGonagall, I believe you sent me a letter yesterday?" She said primly as the boy shook her hand firmly.
He smiled at her. "I did, but I didn't expect a response in person. Please, come in." He held the door open wide for her to pass him, and Minerva found herself nodding at his manners. Clearly, he took after his mother more in that department.
Harry closed the front door and began to lead her towards the kitchen where she could smell sausages, bacon and egg cooking. Arriving in the clean room, she could find nobody else in the room.
"Please, take a seat ma'am, would you like a drink of anything? Tea, coffee?" He asked as she sat at the kitchen table, bouncing from one foot to the other.
"Tea would be most appreciated Mr. Potter. One sugar, if you please." She responded, watching as he shot into action, expertly making his way around the kitchen and preparing her a cup. As he did so, he continued minding the food being cooked. After a few minutes, he returned to the table and placed a steaming cup of tea before her. She noticed that he had not made himself anything.
Sipping the tea that had been made perfectly, she hummed to herself. This was a decidedly odd picture.
"Where are your relatives, Mr. Potter?" She asked the boy with a raised eyebrow.
Harry shuffled in place nervously. "Erm, they aren't awake yet. They usually sleep in on Saturdays."
Minerva looked beyond him towards the food cooking away. "And they usually allow you to cook breakfast for yourself?" She herself had never been allowed so close to a hot stove at his age, even back in the thirties when child safety had been a bit laxer.
Harry's eyes were fixed firmly on the floor as he answered in a low voice. "It's not for me, ma'am. My Uncle expects breakfast ready for them when they wake."
Minerva's mouth set into a firm line and her nostrils flared. Harry chanced a look up at her before quickly averting his eyes again at her angry visage.
"I see. Please take a seat, Mr. Potter." The boy looked up at her with wide eyes.
"I can't ma'am, the eggs are nearly done and-" She held up a hand, quelling his protests, and removed her wand from her sleeve, waving it towards the stove. Harry watched in amazement as everything paused, the previous sounds of sizzling sausages and bacon going silent.
"Wow." He breathed out at the display of magic and felt a warm, buzzing feeling across his skin. It was real, there were others like him. With shaky legs, he went to the kitchen table and sat across from the witch.
"Now, am I to assume from your letter to me that you are already aware that you can do magic?" She asked him, watching the wide smile that adorned his face at his words and the pleased nod of his head.
"Yes ma'am, I discovered I had magic about nine months ago and I've been using it ever since." He told her, joyful at finally being able to speak to someone about it without fear of them thinking he was a raging lunatic.
She quirked her head slightly to one side, making her look rather like a cat in his opinion. "You have been using magic, Mr. Potter? Could you explain that further to me please?" She asked him in a flat tone.
The smile slowly dropped from his face as he saw her demeanor change. "Uhm, yes, ma'am. I can do lots of things. Erm...I can show you if you like?" He asked, unsure of her reaction.
She nodded shortly at him, and he stood from the table. He thought hard about what he could do to prove himself to the woman before a cheeky idea popped into his head, and with a small grin he waved his hand over his shorts and turned them into a fetching tartan kilt. A gasp from the woman at the table caused him to look up at her.
Her hand had shot to her mouth and her eyes were wide and disbelieving. "Merlin and Morgana, that should not be possible." She breathed out, shocked. That was an astounding display of wandless magic, a feat of Transfiguration she herself would struggle to replicate without her wand.
Harry frowned, confused. "Shouldn't it, ma'am?"
Minerva's eyes rose from the kilt to the boy's face and she saw the confusion and small traces of fear on his face. Schooling her expression, and ignoring the beating of her heart, she gestured with her hand for him to return to his seat across from her. Once he did so, after turning his kilt back into his shorts, she began to explain.
"No, Mr. Potter, a boy of your age should not be capable of such magic. Wandless magic is exceedingly difficult to perform for fully-grown witches and wizards, to say nothing of a boy of ten years of age." She told him slowly, watching his reaction.
The boy simply stared at the tabletop, his confusion disappearing to be replaced by a blank expression.
Harry's previous joy had vanished and a new, sick feeling had taken root. So, even amongst magical people, his people, he was different.
"I...I also fixed my eyesight. Until a few months ago I had to wear glasses all the time, but I suppose that's strange too, right?" He asked bitterly, and sure enough, the older witch's mouth dropped open in shock.
"You fixed your own eyesight, Mr. Potter?" She clarified, unable to believe it, but the boy simply nodded back at her. "That is extraordinarily dangerous magic! Whatever were you thinking, Mr. Potter?"
And she was right. Even Albus Dumbledore had to wear glasses as the eyes were deemed too difficult an organ to tamper with, too complicated to risk losing your vision entirely if something went wrong.
And this boy, this child, had done it to himself with absolutely no idea how challenging it was.
She took a sip of her tea as she collected herself before she gave him a small, wry smile. "Well Mr. Potter, as your future professor I expect great things from you if you are already successfully performing such magic. Not even your father could fix his own eyesight, he wore glasses from the day I first met him as a child until the day he...well, left us." She choked out the last, remembering her former student and feeling the old grief at his fate and the fate of his wife.
Harry leaned forward. "You knew my father? Did you know my mother too? What were their names?" He asked eagerly.
Minerva stared back at the boy blankly. "Do you mean to tell me that you do not know your own parents' names?" She asked weakly.
"No ma'am, Aunt Petunia just told me that they were drunks, and died in a car crash that gave me my scar." He responded, lifting up his fringe to show her the lightning bolt scar adorning his forehead.
A moment of silence passed between the two before the witch spoke once more in a slow, deliberately clear voice.
"Mr. Potter, I do believe it is time for your relatives to join us." With that, Minerva pulled out her wand and a loud bang echoed throughout the house and causing Harry to jump in his seat, to which Minerva offered the boy an apologetic smile.
From above, he heard his Uncle Vernon roar in rage and confusion, and soon enough the thundering of heavy footsteps as he ran as quickly as his girth allowed down the stairs to the kitchen.
"What is the meaning of- Who the devil are you?! What are you doing in my house?" His Uncle stood in the doorway to the kitchen, still in his pyjamas, the buttons on his shirt threatening to pop over his large stomach. Aunt Petunia's face poked out from behind her husband, her long neck craning over his shoulder to peer within. Behind her, Dudley tried in vain to squeeze past them as his mother held him back with a bony arm.
Minerva allowed her eyes to rake over their forms with a chilly gaze before answering him. "My name is Minerva McGonagall, I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I am here to do what you should have done long ago, Mr. Dursley. Now please, if you and your wife would be so kind as to join us at the table, I believe we have a long discussion ahead of us."
Any intelligent being would recognise the danger in her tone and comply with her wishes, but Vernon Dursley was not an intelligent being.
"Hogwarts? You're one of those freaks!" He spat at the woman, pointing a fat finger in her direction.
"A witch, you mean? Yes, I am, just as your nephew is a wizard." She rose to her feet, walking closer to the raging buffoon before her, and Harry was impressed to see that she towered over his Uncle, before his brain caught up to him and he too shot to his feet.
"Hold on, you know? You know about magic?" He asked indignantly. His Aunt Petunia scoffed and stepped out from behind her husband, a sneer adorning her horse-like face.
"Of course we know, what with my freak of a sister being one of them." She spat.
Harry couldn't believe his ears and began to tremble, anger rising within him.
"So all my life you've known and never told me?" He ground out through gritted teeth.
Minerva re-entered the conversation, eyes never leaving the Dursleys. "You have told the boy nothing? Nothing of his parents, his world, how he came to be here?"
Vernon, purple with rage, thundered. "Of course not, we swore when we took him in we'd stamp out such nonsense and raise the boy properly."
Harry laughed, a low, empty, humourless laugh. "If that's what you call sticking me in a cupboard and starving me."
"You kept him in a cupboard? You starved him?!" Minerva hissed, whipping out her wand and brandishing it at the couple, eyes glazing with rage.
Vernon spluttered and eyed the wand fearfully. "W-we wanted to keep him away from Dudley. You people are dangerous, what else were we supposed to do?" He blustered.
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CARE FOR THE BAIRN!" Minerva exploded, her previously tempered Scottish accent thickening in her anger. "You were supposed to raise him as your own, as Lily would have done for your own son!" She thundered, gesturing with her wand at Dudley, who squeaked in fear and fled the doorway.
"You should both be ashamed of yourselves. Why, in all my years I have never heard such drivel. Mr. Potter, collect your things." She continued, glancing at the boy.
"My things?" He repeated, confused.
"Yes, Mr. Potter, your things. Any items of your own you would like to bring with you because you shall not be returning to this place once we leave." She stated with a no-nonsense tone.
Harry felt hope rise up within him, surely not, surely this was too good to be true!
Petunia's jaw dropped at the witch's words. "Y-You can't! That Dumbledore man said we had to keep him until he was seventeen! He said that there would be some of your sort that would come after us, but as long as the boy was here we would be safe!"
Minerva spared the woman a scathing look. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before you treated the boy so deplorably." She said mockingly, before glancing at the frozen Harry once more. "Your things, Mr. Potter." She prompted.
Harry, who was by now grinning, shook his head at the woman. "I don't have anything ma'am, I'm ready to go."
"Then let us take our leave, unless you would like to say your goodbyes?" She offered.
"Erm, not really ma'am, I have nothing to say to them." He said quickly, desperately wanting to leave.
Thankfully for Harry, Minerva accepted his words without complaint and began to usher him from the kitchen and past his stunned relatives, keeping a keen eye on them to ensure none of them had any funny ideas about trying to stop the boy.
Soon enough, the pair stood outside the property, the door closing quietly behind them.
Minerva looked down at the boy who was gazing back at her like she was a conquering hero and allowed herself a small satisfied smile.
"Take my arm, Mr. Potter, and we shall be on our way." He did so, and without another word between them, the two vanished with a faint pop.
Harry Potter would never return to Privet Drive again.
The pair appeared in an alleyway and Minerva set her arm on the boy's shoulder to steady him. Perhaps she should have warned the boy before apparating away with him, it was not kind on the stomach the first time from what she could remember.
Harry however was simply looking at their surroundings curiously, wondering where they were.
"That feels different when someone else is doing it." He noted absently, causing the witch to breathe in sharply. "This is not the first time, Mr. Potter?" She asked.
"No, ma'am, I learned how to do that a while ago, though mine isn't as smooth or as quiet as yours." He said, wondering if this was another "not normal" thing he could do.
Minerva for her part seemed to take it in stride, no longer surprised by the boy's feats. "Of course you can." She muttered to herself. "Well, let us be getting on. We are currently in an alleyway behind The Leaky Cauldron pub on Charing Cross, London. That wall over there is the gateway to Diagon Alley, which is where we shall be getting you your things." She told him, pointing towards the wall. "When arriving from the muggle world you must pass through the pub to access the alley, though there are charms in place to stop any wandering muggles from entering."
The pair began to walk towards the wall and Harry wondered if he should ask any of the questions burning in his mind.
"Muggles, ma'am?" He asked, sure that a small question would be permitted.
"Non-magic folk, Mr. Potter. Now, pay attention to the pattern as I open the alley." With her wand, she started to tap the bricks of the wall, and Harry tried his best to remember each brick. His mind went blank as the wall began to dissolve, and he got his first look at Diagon Alley.
It was amazing. His eyes were on stalks as his head whipped around, taking in all the sights around him.
Minerva watched the boy, remembering another child she had led into this very alley twenty years ago with the same wide, green eyes.
"Welcome home, Harry." She whispered to herself, going unnoticed by the boy, before with a gentle hand on his shoulder began to lead him further into the alley, the wall materialising and closing the portal behind them.
She led the boy towards a large, snow-white building partway down the alley, and pointed the boy's attention toward it. "This, Mr. Potter, is Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It is where every witch and wizard in Britain stores their money and is kept safe by the goblins."
Harry looked around the entryway as he was led inside by the woman, and sure enough on either side of the top of the steps stood two short, long-eared, stern-looking creatures who bowed to the pair as they passed them by.
The two entered into a large, marble-floored entryway and Minerva led them to the shortest line to a teller. "Always be polite to the goblins, Mr. Potter. They are highly-intelligent beings and none too fond of our kind." She spoke lowly to him, and Harry nodded at her words, believing her.
"I'm always polite, ma'am." He answered cheekily, to which she simply rolled her eyes. In short order, the line disappeared and it was their turn.
"Mr. Harry Potter would like to access his vault." Minerva spoke promptly, handing a golden key to the goblin sitting on the high desk. The goblin nodded, inspecting the key, before shouting in a strange language over his shoulder and handing the key back.
"Sharpclaw will take you to Vault 687. Have a pleasant day. Next." The goblin spoke in a bored tone, sounding like he did not care a jot whether their day was pleasant or not, and dismissed them with a wave of his hand towards a goblin that had just appeared at the side of the desk.
"Please come with me." The goblin, Sharpclaw, said and began to walk away without another word, expecting the two to follow. They did so, and Minerva handed the golden key to Harry. "This is yours, Mr. Potter, make sure to keep it safe."
Harry was confused, wondering how it was that he had a vault of his own. He figured that perhaps it was simply a school fund that he could access, and this key was his way of doing so.
Quickly, they arrived at a set of tracks, in which a small cart sat looking very much like a rollercoaster. Sharpclaw climbed into the foremost seat, and the Professor gestured for him to get in as she followed him.
And then they were off. The ride down to Vault 687 was done at a breakneck speed, and Harry was exhilarated, discovering a newfound love for traveling at high speeds. He vowed to himself to purchase a motorbike as soon as he was old enough.
Arriving in a cavernous area, the cart stopped suddenly, causing the occupants to jerk forward as Sharpclaw hopped down to one side, and he clambered out of the cart at the prompting of the woman beside him, standing on shaky, adrenaline-filled legs. Before them was a large, ornate door with "687" above it in golden lettering.
"Key." The goblin demanded with an outstretched, clawed hand. Harry retrieved the key from his pocket and, after a glance at the Professor behind him and her encouraging nod, handed the key to the goblin. Sharpclaw approached the door, entered the key into the keyhole, and, like the wall to the alley, the door simply disappeared, revealing the contents within.
Mountains of gold, silver and bronze coins were stacked as high as the cavernous roof stretched further back than he could see. Harry stood in the doorway to the vault, transfixed at the wealth on display.
Shaking himself from his reverie, he turned to Professor McGonagall. "How much is my allowance, ma'am?" He asked.
"However much you wish, Mr. Potter. It is all yours, after all." She told him, hiding a smile.
Harry's mouth dropped open, and his gaze returned to the piles of money. It was his, it was all his. "How?" He asked, his throat dry.
"This is the Potter Vault, Mr. Potter, and as you are the last Potter, and your parents left everything to you, it is now yours. Though I urge you to be mindful that money does not last forever. The gold coins are called Galleons, the silver coins are Sickles, and the bronze coins are Knuts. There are seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle." She explained, watching the gears turn in the young man's head.
"How much is here?" He asked, turning to the until-now silent Sharpclaw.
"At present, there are 98,297 Galleons, 7 Sickles and 17 Knuts." The goblin responded instantly.
"...and how much is that in sterling?" Harry returned, wondering how high the number might be.
"In British Pound Sterling, it would amount to £491,487 and twenty-three pence."
Harry gaped like a fish, glancing to and fro from the goblin's bored face to the Professor's amused one.
"Bloody hell." He exclaimed. He was rich!
"Language, Mr. Potter. Now, might I suggest retrieving 100 Galleons for your school requirements? There are coin pouches just there on the table to your left." She told him, enjoying the expression of amazement the boy was wearing.
In a short time, he had counted out the recommended coinage, placing them in a black pouch that he could tie around his neck, and they were soon back in the cart, making their way back to the lobby.
Harry was in a daze and wasn't broken from it until the sunlight hit his eyes as they exited the bank.
"Do you have your list, Mr. Potter?" Minerva asked the stunned boy, who silently pulled the list from his pocket. "Very good, now, a visit to Urquhart's Luggage and Baggage for your school trunk would be best to start with I believe."
"Whatever you think is best, ma'am." He said automatically, still in a stupor.
Holy hell, he was rich!
The day passed in a blur for Harry as Professor McGonagall whisked him from shop to shop with practiced ease.
He'd been to the luggage shop and purchased a sturdy, dark trunk which the owner assured him would last for all seven years at Hogwarts and beyond, with security charms and enchantments interweaved to prevent thievery.
Then, he had found himself at Flourish & Blotts, a bookstore that was filled to the brim with books on all manner of subjects, and Harry had to be manhandled through the shop to stop him from purchasing every interesting book that caught his eye. "For Merlin's sake Mr. Potter, you can always come back later!" McGonagall had cried, dragging the boy away from a book on Dragon handling. He still couldn't believe that the things were real!
Next they had gone to Scribbulus Writing Instruments, where they purchased large amounts of parchment, quills and ink for use at Hogwarts. The Professor had some helpful advice when he mentioned that he'd only ever used pens and pencils at his muggle school. "Practice makes perfect, Mr. Potter, so I suggest you do so." He had nodded happily at her, grateful for the wisdom, and dutifully began to pack away his purchases in his trunk, completely missing McGonagall's follow-up statement which she muttered to herself. "And I sincerely hope that your penmanship will be better than the chicken scratch your father seemed to believe was acceptable."
At Slug & Jiggers Apothecary they had collected all of his potions ingredients, cauldron, stirrer and protective dragon-hide gloves. He had briefly contemplated purchasing the cauldron made of solid gold, but a quelling look from the Professor knocked the idea out of his head quickly, though she chuckled with mirth to herself when he had looked away as she imagined Severus Snape's reaction if she had allowed him to waltz into his first Potion's class with a golden cauldron.
And now, he found himself entering Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and inside he spotted a plump witch waving her wand around a very pretty blonde-haired girl standing on a stool at the back of the store. At the chiming of the doorbell, the woman patted the girl's arm before bustling over to the new entrants.
"Why, Professor McGonagall, I thought you were all done yesterday!" The witch greeted the professor with a smile before turning to the boy beside her. "And hello to you too, young man. What can I get for you today?" She asked him, her eyes kind and welcoming.
"I would like my Hogwarts robes if you have the time, ma'am." The woman beamed at him, and with a gesture began to lead him to the stools at the back of the store and the girl still stood there waiting. "Oh, a gentleman I see! Not to worry dear, we have everything you need here. My name is Madam Malkin, by the way, and it is a pleasure to receive your custom today."
With that, she told him to stand atop the stool next to the girl and began to wave her wand around him, a piece of parchment hovering beside her as she began to take his measurements. As she did, Harry took the time to glance at the girl beside him.
She stood a little smaller than himself, with long, straight blonde hair, and when she glanced at him he could see deep blue eyes before he realised he was staring and quickly averted his gaze to the adult woman standing nearby, he decided that his earlier observation that she was very pretty was an understatement. There certainly weren't any girls like her back at his old primary school!
The woman, which must have been the girl's mother, was a tall, very beautiful witch who looked very much like her daughter apart from the black hair and hazel eyes. The woman looked very nervous about something and was watching Professor McGonagall with apprehensive eyes.
Professor McGonagall seemed to sense the woman's stare and turned from her perusal of a set of red robes to meet her eyes. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her mouth set into a firm, thin line. Tearing her gaze from the other woman, the Professor walked over to Harry whilst the other woman began to look through a catalogue, trying her hardest to ignore the presence of the Hogwarts Professor.
"There is an ice-cream parlour a little down the alley. I will go and order us both a small treat, and when you are finished here I would like you to meet me there, do you understand?" Receiving a nod from the boy, she nodded curtly and swept from the shop, and soon after Madam Malkin declared his measurements complete and vanished into a back room with promises to return shortly, leaving Harry alone with the girl and her mother.
Harry stood there, wondering what he was supposed to do whilst he waited. He looked at the girl from the corner of his eye and saw that she was staring straight ahead with no discernable expression on her face. Chancing a better look, he noticed that she seemed as apprehensive as her mother had when she had caught sight of Professor McGonagall and wondered why that was.
Deciding to at the very least be polite, he spoke. "Hello, are you going to Hogwarts too?"
The girl didn't turn her head, but her eyes shot to him as she nodded jerkily, eyebrows knitted together slightly. She looked confused at the question, though Harry had no idea why.
"Oh that's nice, it's my first year, is it yours?" He asked her, and the girl nodded again, finally turning to look at him fully. Harry smiled at her shyly, but soon found himself looking away and at the floor under her scrutiny.
He didn't really know what to do or say to the girl, cursing his lack of social skills from having a lack of friends.
Eventually, he stumbled upon a topic to discuss. "This is all new to me. Magic, that is. I had no idea that any of this existed before a few days ago. Did you grow up with it all?" He asked, glancing up at her.
The girl nodded again, but this time actually followed it up with words. "Yes, I grew up knowing I was a witch." She said very quietly, but her voice was soft and pleasant and Harry decided he liked it very much. He smiled uncertainly at her, rubbing the back of his neck. "That must have been great, I wish I'd known earlier about all this. You must know lots about magic and Hogwarts?" He asked her.
The girl shrugged. "I like to read a lot but my mum and dad haven't told me much about Hogwarts, they want it to be a surprise for me." She said, and a small smile flashed across her face that was quickly hidden. It was a lovely smile, fleeting as it was.
Harry looked at the girl's mother to see her looking at them over the catalogue. She had a small smile on her face, but her eyes were dancing with an emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on. He turned back to the girl.
"Well, I'm sure you know much more than me. I like to read too, Professor McGonagall had to drag me out of the bookstore because I wanted to buy everything. I suppose I'll spend most of my time before Hogwarts reading so I can catch up with you." He said to her, rolling his eyes at himself.
To his happiness, the girl graced him with a short, melodious laugh before she stopped herself by covering her mouth with her hand, though her eyes still looked amused. "I'm sure you'll do fine." She said, smiling at him again, though this time the expression held.
Before he could say much more, Madam Malkin returned from the back room, with three sets of Hogwarts robes bundled in her arms as she quickly walked over to the girl beside him. "Here you are, my dear. Three sets of Hogwarts robes all ready for you." She handed the girl the robes and she got down from the stool to follow her mother to the till.
Paying quickly, the two began to leave the shop but as her mother held open the door the girl turned back to him. Harry waved to her from his stool for a second before quickly dropping his hand, feeling extremely awkward.
"Well, I guess I'll see you at Hogwarts?" He offered.
The girl gave a full, beautiful smile that caused a fluttering in his stomach, and nodded excitedly to him before something flashed across her face and she looked sadly at the floor. Before he could ask her what was wrong, the girl turned and exited the shop. Her mother gave him a sad smile of her own before she followed her daughter out of the door.
Harry wondered why the girl had gone from happy to sad so quickly, and why her mother smiled at him in such a way. He resolved to ask Professor McGonagall who they were, as the woman clearly recognised the girl's mother.
Soon, he was paying Madam Malkin for his robes, with a promise that he would return anytime he needed robes, and he left the shop to search for the ice cream parlour.
He wondered idly at the strange fluttery feeling in his stomach after the girl had smiled at him.
He decided that the feeling was just excitement.
He was about to have his first taste of ice cream, after all.
The mint choc chip ice cream (three scoops of it!) was delightful, so delightful that Harry completely forgot to question the professor on the girl and her mother as he basked in the feeling of finally having a favourite ice cream flavour like any other child.
After Professor McGonagall had paid the owner, a man called Florean Fortescue, for the treat, ignoring Harry's protests that he would pay for himself, they arrived at his final destination of the day.
Ollivanders.
Here, he would purchase his wand, which the Professor assured him would make using magic much easier, despite his talent for wandless magic. Harry was excited beyond belief as he entered the narrow, messy shop, causing a small bell to ring from somewhere inside.
The shop was tiny, and empty except for a small chair that Professor McGonagall perched herself upon. Harry was looking around himself at the hundreds, or maybe even thousands of narrow boxes piled all over when an old man with wide, pale eyes emerged from the depths of the shop.
"Good afternoon, Harry Potter." The old man said in a soft voice.
Harry's eyed widened as he replied. "Good afternoon sir. How-"
The old man interrupted him, chuckling. "You look just like your father Mr. Potter, though you have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday they were here themselves, buying their first wands. Mahogany, eleven inches, pliable and excellent for Transfiguration was the wand that chose your father, whilst your mother was partnered with a ten and quarter inch long, swishy Willow wand." The man told him, eyes gleaming as he remembered years past.
"The wand that chose him, sir?" Harry asked as he registered the man's words, delighted to learn new things about his parents.
Mr. Ollivander smiled mysteriously at the boy. "Oh yes, Mr. Potter. The wand chooses the wizard after all, so let us see which wand shall choose you."
And over the next forty minutes, Harry began to suspect that no wand would be choosing him at all. He had tried dozens upon dozens of wands, causing untold amounts of damage to the store which seemed to phase Mr. Ollivander not one jot, in fact, the man seemed to grow more and more delighted with each failure.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, not to worry...though I wonder..." Not elaborating on this statement, the man disappeared back into the depths of the shop, leaving Harry standing at the counter alone.
He turned to the patiently waiting Professor with a look of worry. "Professor, what if a wand doesn't choose me? Do you think it's because I've never needed one before?" He asked, panicking. What if Hogwarts didn't allow students who didn't have a wand?
Before the witch could answer and absolve his worries, Mr. Ollivander returned with a long, black box and an expression of intense expectation.
"Here we are, Mr. Potter. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." With that, he handed the box to the boy and watched intently as he retrieved the wand from within.
As soon as his hand wrapped around the wand, Harry knew that this was the wand for him, or he was the wizard for the wand. A great warmth filled him from head to toe, and he brought the wand high above his head and swished, watching as bright green and blue sparks erupted from the tip. He looked at Professor McGonagall's proud smile to the delighted wandmaker who cried "Bravo, bravo! Well, well, well...how curious."
The man took the wand from the boy and placed it lovingly back into the black box it had come in, still muttering to himself. "Curious...curious."
Harry coughed slightly to get the man's attention. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm beginning to think there's something curious about my wand?" The boy asked wryly.
Mr. Ollivander stared at him with his pale eyes and a sorrowful look on his face.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the Phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather - just one other." The man paused, and Harry found himself transfixed. Behind him, Professor McGonagall too leaned forward interestedly.
Mr. Ollivander continued in a mournful tone. "It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed and his hand reached up to rub at the scar on his forehead.
"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter...after all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes...but great."
Seven galleons lighter, Harry stepped out into the dimming sunlight, a shaken Minerva McGonagall beside him.
Looking up at her, he swallowed, before voicing the most pressing question amongst many swimming around his mind.
"Professor, who is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" He asked her in a flat voice.
The witch sighed to herself and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as she began to lead them away.
"Come, Harry. We will have a meal at The Leaky Cauldron, and I will tell you everything I know" She promised the boy.
If anyone deserved to know the truth, it was Harry Potter.
Here is chapter two for you all, I hope it's enjoyable for you.
This was Daphne's introduction to the story (in case anyone didn't realise who the girl in Madam Malkin's was), and as we go along in the story you'll get an explanation for her odd behaviour and McGonagall's reaction to her mother.
Next chapter will be Harry finding out his past, about his parents, and about Voldemort, and what is going to happen to him now that McGonagall is determined that he will never return to the Dursleys.
And, we'll meet one of the most important characters in this story. Want to take a guess at who that might be?
Please leave a review and let me know what you think, about Daphne's introduction and what will happen in the future.
This was fun to write and I'm looking forward to getting started on the next chapter.