Harry stared at the letter that had been delivered to him.
The day had finally come, and on his eleventh birthday, no less. Which was odd as he had been told it was supposed to come earlier in the month.
Nevertheless, Harry stared at the multi-colored wax seal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The day he had been waiting on since he first met Narcissa had finally come. This single letter was his golden ticket to practicing magic, officially.
Oh, how life had improved in the last year.
Harry had gone from a forgotten nobody in the cupboard to a kid in an orphanage, and at no point would he ever want to go back. The orphanage was more of a home than his own family ever could have provided.
"Harry," the Matron of the house knocked on his door. "There is someone here to see you."
Harry nodded despite not being seen by the woman on the other side of the door. Narcissa had told him that a professor would come to him the day he received his letter.
"Harry?" the Matron called again, knocking once more.
The now eleven-year-old crossed his small room, the aged wooden floorboards groaning beneath his weight. No matter how hard he had tried to softly step across them, they always groaned, alerting whoever was on the opposite side of his approach. He opened the wooden door, and it creaked louder than the floors.
On the other side, Madame Moon's deep, wrinkled, and exhausted face looked down at him from between short faded white hair.
"There is someone here for you," the Matron of the house smiled, stepping to the side and allowing a new person into the room.
If Madame Moon was old, then the man behind her was ancient. His grey beard was as long as a horse's tail, stretching down to the man's waist. Behind the gray beard was a garish purple corduroy robe that stretched from head to toe. It provoked an unending urge to hurl at the sight of it, but Harry steeled himself in the face of disgust.
"Hello, Harry," the purple fossil spoke. "My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I am sure you have just gotten a very special letter today."
Harry plastered a fake smile onto his face, his teeth barely showing, "Yes, sir."
"Professor will do, my boy," the old-timer said. He turned to the Matron. "Would you excuse us, dear Elizabeth?"
"Of course, Headmaster." the Matron bowed her head before walking away, leaving only Harry to stare up at the person in the doorway.
"May I come in, my boy? The conversation we are about to have is not one for every ear in this orphanage, even if it is run by a dear friend."
Harry nodded, stepping away and retreating to his bed by the lone window, the floors creaking beneath his step. He sat carefully on the bed's edge, careful not to disturb his freshly made sheets.
Professor Dumbledore followed, taking a seat in the lone chair at Harry's desk. From behind half-moon glasses, the professor's eyes roamed across the scattered papers on the desk.
"These drawings are quite incredible, my boy," the old man applauded, lifting a piece of paper into the air. On it was a drawing of a black and grey dragon breathing fire into the sky, roaring defiantly against the world.
The drawing came from a day when he was inspired after one of the times Narcissa stole him from the orphanage. They had spent the day sneaking about Diagon Alley before ending up in the bookstore. It was there he had found books written about himself of all people. It was of how he had ridden a dragon by the age of nine. That night, he couldn't help but read the story of how he did it, and the day after, he spent drawing a hundred different dragons trying to fit the one in his mind's eye.
"Thank you," Harry responded.
"This dragon, incredibly detailed…." The man pulled the drawing closer. "What was your inspiration? A Hungarian Horntail?" Dumbledore raised a brow.
"It was what came to me, sir."
The old man stared at him, a twinkle in his eye, "Of course. The imagination of the youth is incredible. Wouldn't you say?"
Harry only nodded, but at the back of his mind, Narcissa's golden rules lingered in his thoughts.
Do not talk about yourself.
"Do you know why I am here, Harry?" Dumbledore transitioned, putting down the drawing and leaning forward. "Do you know who I am?"
Narcissa's golden rule, number two: Never let them know how much you know.
Harry shook his head.
"I see." Dumbledore flicked his gaze to the Hogwarts letter resting on Harry's windowsill. It still lay in the same spot he had placed it after taking it from the barn owl that had swooped by mere minutes earlier. "That letter you have," he gestured to the window. Do you know what it is?"
Again, Harry remained quiet and shook his head.
"It is a very special letter—an invite to a most wonderous school," the professor emphasized. "May I ask, my boy, have you ever made things happen that you could not explain? Events that felt magical?"
He had. Harry had done a number of things in the last year alone that were very magical. From the day he had accidentally apparated into London, his whole life had become magical, even down to the very fact that he had walked in the magical world itself. Not that Dumbledore needed to know that. Narcissa had made sure to impress upon him the lengths of secrecy the two must act under, even if he did not fully grasp why.
But it was because of her that he could explain everything magical that had happened in his life because it was magic. Narciss, him, the professor, and even the Madame were wizards and witches.
That said, Harry shook his head at the old man before him.
Dumbledore frowned, stroking his beard all the way from his chin down to his stomach.
"Interesting, my boy. Interesting."
The man held up his wrinkled hand adorned by various rings and trinkets, and the letter of invitation floated up and through the air. It slowly spun, orientating its colorful seal towards Harry as it hovered just before him.
Harry eyed the letter and then the man behind the magic with a neutral face.
"Read it, my boy, and I will answer any questions you may have."
Harry nodded and took the letter. He wouldn't have any questions, as they had already been answered months ago. Yet rule number two existed.
"Why me?" Harry finally spoke.
He knew why. It was his parents who had passed down magic to him. They were the same parents who had been murdered by a Dark Lord that had catapulted Harry's own fame in a stroke of unknown magic that had resulted in Harry surviving the impossible.
Dumbledore smiled, "What a question that is, my boy. Why are we blessed with magic? Hmm?" he crossed a leg over the other, laying his hands on his lip while his eyes searched his thoughts. "Many men and women have asked this question and studied all they could for centuries to answer it, but it remains an unsolved question." The old man shifted, meeting Harry's gaze once more. "I am a personal believer that magic has reasons of its own. Some reasons we will never learn, and more we should never learn."
Harry nodded politely.
The Headmaster frowned, "I must say, my boy, I had expected this conversation to be much more surprising for you today."
He knows that I know.
Harry shrugged. He had to give the man something to appease his curiosity, which led to Narcissa's golden rule number three: Lie by telling the truth.
"I've spoken to a witch before."
"Have you now, my boy? Who might she have been?" Dumbledore once again forced a pleasant smile to his face as his eyes seemed to glint, peering beyond just at Harry. Uncomfortable, the boy looked away back at the letter.
"She recognized me." Harry brushed back the hair on his forehead, revealing a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. "She recognized my scar somehow."
Dumbledore nodded, a slow, exaggerated movement as he slowly chewed over the words.
"That is a long and dreary story for such a bright day like today. Perhaps once the school term begins, I can tell you why in more detail."
Harry nodded. He recognized a dismissal. The Dursleys had given him plenty of examples.
"What are we to do today if not talk about this?" Harry asked, trying to force the conversation to take him to Diagon Alley and to get his wand.
And it worked.
"I believe the best course of action for the day is setting into motion your first steps properly into the Wizarding World with a journey to our market street. Therein, we shall find everything listed in your letter there so you can begin your journey at Hogwarts."
:P MAGICAL LINE BREAK d:
Harry and Professor Dumbledore entered their first shop in Diagon Alley, which was, in the older man's opinion, one of the most essential stops. According to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the trunk a wizard or witch chose determined their success as students.
Harry didn't personally understand what the Headmaster meant when he said that, but he tried to find the meaning of it all the same when he looked at the twenty different trunks for sale. Some of them had hidden compartments, expanding compartments, preserving compartments, and even one with an empty armory ready for a child to stock and take to Hogwarts.
He really didn't understand the point of that last one. Who needed a sword when you had a wand? With a wand and magic, who could oppose you? What good would be a knife to a wizard who could turn metal to water and your clothes to fire?
In the end, Harry had picked the one with hidden compartments. With Narcissa's help, the next time he saw her, she would be able to apply expanding charms of her own. Plus, he really just wanted to get onto getting his wand instead of staring at trunks.
"How am I to pay for this, Headmaster?" Harry turned to his guide. Harry knew the answer should be a stop at Gringotts Bank, but seeing as the looming white building was on the other end of the street and not the first stop, he was curious.
"Oh, my dear boy, today is not a worry of coin for you. My coffers are plenty full on their own, and a chance to empty them is something I have been searching for for a few years now."
Harry nodded. Who was he to argue with someone willing to buy his supplies for him? Saves him from having to deal with the goblins. Right little nasty creatures they were with their greedy hands and snarling attitudes.
"Thank you, Professor."
"Think nothing of it, my boy. Let's move on to the next store, shall we? Robes are essential for any student at Hogwarts."
Harry nodded, letting himself be guided out of the trunk store and into its neighbor, Madame Malkin's Robes for Every Occasion. Not a wand yet, but Harry could be patient for a little while longer. It wasn't like Dumbledore would not let him get a wand.
A twinkling bell rang as Professor Dumbledore ushered Harry through the next door down from the first stop they had made.
"I'll be with you in a moment!" a woman called from within the cattywampus assembled racks of clothes.
Harry could hear faintly the voice of a young boy coming from the direction of where the woman spoke. The Madame was likely busy with a customer already.
Dumbledore and Harry stepped further into the parlor, the old man drifting to a collection of questionably colored robes decorated by stars and telescopes. The man even looked at a tie—like that was ever going to be seen beneath his never-ending beard.
"It looks fine, Draco." Harry overheard a teenage girl snark. "You'll grow out of these robes before the school year ends."
"I'm sorry. Unlike you, I want to look my best at all times," a boy hissed back, likely Draco.
"Children, behave," a familiar voice cut through.
Harry's eyes widen at the sound. He had not expected to see her today, especially under the Headmaster's gaze. He turned to the older man just in time to see him peek his own head towards the back.
"Ah, Lady Malfoy," Dumbledore announced, walking to the back of the shop and past the shop's entourage of silks and fabrics. "Shopping for robes today?"
Harry suppressed a snort. Why else would she be in this shop?
"Headmaster," Narcissa Malfoy acknowledged, not even turning to pay the man a moment of her attention as she prodded at her son's robes. "We are. Draco's first year, after all."
Everyone in the room, adult, sibling, and orphan, turned to the boy in question.
Harry immediately didn't like the way he looked with his slicked-back bleach-blonde hair. Nor did he like the way the boy bristled under the room's attention, fixing his collar as he stuck his nose into the clouds.
To think Narcissa has to go home to such an arrogant kid, Harry thought, frowning.
"And you know my eldest, Ophelia," Lady Malfoy nodded to the sibling in the room.
Ophelia was tall with silky black hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Unlike her little brother, her face resembled her mother's down to the sharp nose and jawline. She even shared the same resting disinterest that Narcissa showed the world.
"Of course, the brightest witch of her age," Dumbledore smiled. "Quite remarkable, only a fourth year and already going to be sitting your OWL for defense."
"Thank you, Headmaster," Ophelia Malfoy bowed her head.
Dumbledore turned back to the boy, who was glaring at his sister. "And you, young man. I bet we all can expect great things from you if you are even half of your sister."
Draco said nothing but nodded once, rather stiffly, too.
"Headmaster," Narcissa spoke up, her eyes flittering towards Harry. "Who is this young man you have brought with you? I did not know you personally gave muggle-borns introductory tours."
The room now turned to him, and Harry tried his damndest not to meet Narcissa's gaze, no matter how familiar it was. He had to act like he knew nothing of her. They were strangers. So, instead, he forced himself to look at the real strangers in the room, her children. The ones who received her love every day and not every other month at best.
"Ah, this young man," Dumbledore rested his decrepit hand on Harry's shoulder, "is young Mr. Potter."
Harry flickered back to meet Narcissa's gaze. A part of him begged for even a sliver of recognition to be shown, but she merely raised an uninterested brow.
"Oh? I supposed it should be no surprise that the Boy-Who-Lived would be under your wing."
"I am merely doing my part as a professor of Hogwarts, shepherding the next generation of witches and wizards."
"I see," Narcissa turned away.
Even though Harry knew the truth, he couldn't stop the twist of pain in his heart at seeing the only person who had ever cared for him ignore him. The cold shoulder was so distantly familiar from a life she had saved him from.
He hated it.
He turned away from her as well, eyes momentarily meeting her daughter's before he looked up at the old man at his side.
"To not take up any more of your time, Mrs. Malkin," Dumbledore turned to the owner of the shop. "Young Mr. Potter and I here will simply take what we need and leave the galleons on the counter."
The owner raised a brow, "I trust you know what charms need to be done to make sure they fit?"
Dumbledore once more gave his pleasant, grandfatherly smile. "Of course. The standard Hogwarts robes still the usual?"
"Never need to change," she muttered, turning back to Draco, who was picking at a loose thread in his sleeve. She quickly batted his hand away, ignoring his cry.
Dumbledore's hand once more returned to Harry's back, taking him away from the back of the shop and towards the front. Harry glanced back one last time, watching as a handful of black robes floated behind them, but just beyond them, he found the slightest sight of Narcissa looking at him.
A genuine smile found its way across his face, the corner of his lips turning upwards as he moved out of the shop. Behind him, Dumbledore left a bag of coins on the counter as he flicked his hand, sending the robes into the trunk Harry had already selected earlier.
"Best to avoid that family, my boy."
Harry bit his tongue, looking up at the man. "Why's that, sir?"
"Not everyone is our society is understanding. Some families like to see themselves above the rest. I'm sure you saw young Draco and the way he turned his nose away?"
Harry nodded. Even if he thought differently about Narcissa, Dumbledore had no reason to know about that.
"Hmm," Dumbledore looked around at the surrounding shops and a small flock of people parading up and down the street. "How would you like to get your wand before the usual bustle of the town arrives?"
Finally, Harry smiled.
"I would love to."
AN: Been a minute. Hope you enjoyed it.
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-Manke