Minutes later, and without one more word of resistance from his aunt and uncle, Harry found himself in front of small, rather dingy-looking pub somewhere along Charing Cross Road. It appeared to Harry, other than its outwards seediness, like any normal pub. The only thing unusual about it, of course, was how he had gotten here. Dumbledore had asked him to hold on to his arm, and a dizzying, disorienting, almost vomit-inducing second later, he found himself in London, many kilometres from Little Whinging.
'Shall we?'
Dumbledore stepped up to the door and pushed it open, proceeding inside. After a second of debate whether he, an eleven-year-old, would be allowed to enter what was clearly a pub, but then decided that following Dumbledore was probably the best course of action.
The inside of the pub looked just like Harry had expected it to look. The lighting was dim, the tables were slightly worn-out, and everything was covered by a thin layer of dust. That did not bother the patrons, however, and there were many, most of whom were wearing strange-looking clothing, and some of whom had odd, or perhaps even suspicious-looking features. One man in the corner was almost completely wrapped in bandages, like a mummy from a child's animated film. Another man, wearing a large, purple turban, was looking contemplative as he sat alone in a corner, stirring his drink while casting furtive – daresay even frightened – glances at everyone in the room. Harry noticed the man's eyes settle on Dumbledore, and he visibly flinched.
'Stick close to me,' Dumbledore whispered.
Harry followed his instructions diligently, and after some squeezing, they arrived in a small, ivy-covered courtyard at the back of the pub.
'Where are we?' Harry asked, curious at the odd location.
'One of the entrances to Diagon Alley,' Dumbledore replied, drawing his wand. 'This one is a little out of the way, but it's the easiest for a first-time visitor to find.'
Dumbledore raised his wand and touched its tip to a particularly red brick, then traced a pattern that vaguely looked like two figure eights laid across one another. Suddenly, there was a low rumble, and the bricks began to shift. A cloud of dust floated from the shifting wall, and Harry had to bury his face in his sleeve so as to not swallow any.
When the dust cleared, Harry found himself looking into a part of a busy, lively commercial street. People, some wearing the same odd clothing as Dumbledore, but also some wearing what appeared to be more normal clothes, were walking up and down the street, some with bags in hand, others laden with goods in their arms.
'Where would you like to go first?' Dumbledore asked as they turned onto the street.
'Uh…what do I need to get?'
'There was a list of supplies sent with your letter,' Dumbledore answered.
Harry, having forgotten completely about the letter, now awkwardly dug through his pockets for the slightly crumpled sheet of parchment, unfolding it and flattening it against his chest, but just as he was about to read the first item on the list, Dumbledore interrupted him.
'My apologies, Harry. I, an old man, managed to forget that you are new to the wizarding world. You will have to withdraw some money first before you could proceed to buy your school supplies.'
'Money?'
'You'll have to pay for your school supplies, do you not?'
'No, I just meant that…I don't have any money…' Harry said awkwardly. 'Not my own, anyway…and the Dursleys – '
'Your parents have planned ahead for this years ago,' Dumbledore repeated his statement from earlier. 'Did you think they would have left you with no means of financial support?'
'Where do I go to withdraw money, then?' Harry asked.
'Gringotts,' Dumbledore answered. 'The wizarding bank, run by goblins. Now, you'll have to be careful with goblins. There is a long history behind it all, why goblins and wizards do not see eye to eye, and why wizards still entrust goblins with their gold, but the long and short of it is that with goblins, it is imperative that you be on your absolute best behaviour and treat them with the utmost cordiality.'
After several minutes of walking, during which Harry gawked with curiosity and awe at the variously coloured and decorated shops selling all sorts of, to him at least, odd-looking goods on either side of the street, they arrived at the front of a slightly crooked-looking white marble building. Across the top of the front gate were a series of odd-looking, gold-gilded symbols.
'The name of the bank,' Dumbledore said, answering Harry's unvoiced query. 'In the Eastern Eltrys Language, written in the Old Runic Script. Very few wizards today can read the combination of the archaic form of the language and the oldest script well. Admittedly, my own comprehension is more than a little rusty.'
They entered through the grand wooden front gates of the bank, which were flanked by two guards – goblins, by the look of their different features and stature – wielding weapons that resembled an elongated machete. They passed the guards – who shot them suspicious looks – without a word, and proceeded into the interior hall of the bank.
The inside looked as grandiose as the outside, with walls, floors, and ceilings covered by variously coloured marble. Several large, crystal chandeliers hung above the rows and rows of stations, behind which goblins, dressed in various different uniforms, worked, signing stacks of papers with what looked to be feather quills, or otherwise running errands.
Dumbledore led Harry up to one of the goblin stations, behind which worked a goblin dressed in a black uniform, almost resembling a suit, but more cloak-like.
'What do you need?' the goblin barked, rather uncouthly and in a slight accent.
'Zwus, Goshodz Griphook,' Dumbledore greeted the goblin, unexpectedly in some foreign language that Harry had never heard spoken before in his life.
The goblin looked up, a look of veiled surprise on his face. 'Zwus, Goshodz Clawejk. Kwed nehudete?'
'Harry Potter geneti gadeti ojw Pegrebow toco hweseta,' Dumbledore replied.
'So nehudeti ojw Pegrebow toco hweseta? Ymeti so ojw Klehucow toco?'
Dumbledore reached into his cloak once again and produced a small, golden key, passing it to the goblin. He took it, examined it carefully in the light, then ran his fingers across it slowly, as if feeling for something.
The goblin nodded and handed the key back to Dumbledore before rising from his chair. 'Slojxejut gind mena,' he commanded with a wave of his hand that was clearly a beckoning.
'What did you just say to him?' Harry asked as he and Dumbledore followed the goblin through the main hall and towards a door at the very back of the bank.
'I asked him to please lead us to your vault,' Dumbledore answered. 'And he asked for your key before he could bring us down into the bank.'
'What was the language that you were speaking?' Harry enquired. 'Was it the goblin language?'
'No, not the goblin language,' Dumbledore replied. 'Their language, Kowlaces – which, quite rudely, some wizards choose to call Gobbledegook, despite that being rather insulting to the goblins – is a closely guarded secret that is passed only between goblins. No, I was using the Eltrys language with Mister Griphook back in the main hall.'
'Do goblins not speak English?' Harry asked, somewhat concerned that he would have to learn a whole new language before the next time he visited Gringotts.
'Oh, no, of course they do,' Dumbledore said jovially. 'Otherwise, they would have a rather hard time doing business in Britain. I simply personally consider it a little more polite to use a common non-native language for both parties. As long as you show appropriate respect, which, I may add, many wizards do not seem to understand how to show, you can speak to them in any language that they understand.'
Harry pondered over that as they made their way through a small, almost hidden door, in the back of the main hall, finding it all rather fascinating – the wizards had their own language! Beyond the door was a small, dark corridor that was only wide enough for two people to fit through side-by-side. At the end of the corridor was what looked to be a narrow-gauge railway track, on top of which sat a small, five-seat cart.
'Xejut ubje,' the goblin – Griphook – commanded with a wave at the cart. Harry needed not understand Eltrys to know that he was ordering them to get in.
They climbed onto the cart, Griphook taking the seat at the front and Harry and Dumbledore taking their seats behind him. Griphook snapped his fingers once, and restraints magically appeared around their shoulders and waists, strapping them into the seats.
'Ojwissnes ojw Ast toco?' the goblin asked.
'Ejt,' replied Dumbledore.
Griphook turned to Harry. 'This cart will take you down to your vault. Hold on tightly. The ride will be fast.'
Harry nodded, his heartrate speeding up a little. The restraints on the cart appeared like those that were used to strap people into roller coasters at amusement parks. Harry had never been to an amusement park – the Dursleys had always left him home when they went, after all – but from what he had seen on television, roller coasters did not look fun, especially not for a first-time rider.
But before Harry had any more time to think, the cart shot off. Harry was pressed firmly back into his seat as the cart sped up with incredible acceleration. They made a veering left, then a right, then down a sharp incline that made Harry want to scream in terror – if the wind had not been battering his face so hard that he could barely open his mouth.
Harry had lost track of how long it had been since they set off when the cart suddenly screeched to a halt. He flew forward thanks to the sudden deceleration but was caught by the surprisingly gentle restraints. He opened his eyes, blinked, and looked around.
He was in a narrow, dimly lit underground passage. To his left was a stone wall, and to his front and back were more tracks. To his right, however, Harry saw a large, impressive-looking black metal door, on which there were two differently sized keyholes.
'Vault six-hundred eighty-seven,' the goblin said to Harry before turning back to Dumbledore. 'Ojw Klehuc toco?'
Dumbledore withdrew his key and gave it to the goblin. 'Doteju Harry to, jeslo gadac kansqzal wjej.'
Griphook nodded and walked briskly up to the vault door. He took the key that Dumbledore had given him and inserted into the upper, larger key slot. Then, he reached into his own pocket and withdrew a smaller, luminescent silver key, and inserted it into the bottom slot. Griphook turned the lower key first, and Harry heard a low clang of metal before he turned the upper key.
Griphook withdrew the keys and waved his hand once. To Harry's shock, the doors disappeared right before his eyes, revealing a small vault beyond, containing eight of what looked to be safes, each labelled with a number from one to seven, while the last, largest one, was unlabelled.
'One for each of your years,' Dumbledore said quietly, sounding a little impressed. 'Lily's work, I'm sure. She was always by far the more organised of the two.'
Harry stepped forward towards the first safe and kneeled before it, laying a hand on the metal top. A surge of warmth and anticipation which had nothing to do with the money contained within surged through him. He was touching something that his mother and father had, long ago, touched, who had prepared, for him. And that was more special than any sum of currency.
After some time, he removed his hands from the top of the safe and placed them on the dial, only then realising that he did not know the passcode. He was about to turn to Dumbledore and ask him if he knew it when, before his eyes, the door vanished into thin air.
'Definitely Lily's work,' Dumbledore said, and Harry caught a wistful but proud smile on his face. 'Her Charms work had always been outstanding.'
Harry looked inside the now open safe. Inside was a huge number of gold coins, neatly arranged into stacks of ten and then piles of ten stacks each. Next to all the coins laid a plain, white cloth bag, which looked far too small to fit all the coins comfortably.
'Galleons,' Dumbledore explained. 'It's a unit of wizarding currency in the British Isles. One Galleon breaks into seventeen Sickles, which then breaks into twenty-nine Knuts each. By today's exchange rate, a Galleon is worth about forty muggle Pounds.'
Harry nodded, trying to commit the wizarding currency system into his memory, but found that the subdivisions were rather arbitrary and absurd. He shrugged as he gathered the Galleons from the vault – perhaps magical people simply got used to it – and counted almost three hundred coins in total – about twelve thousand Pounds, according to Dumbledore's numbers. Harry felt his jaw drop a little at the sum. Never had the Dursleys entrusted him with more than several Pence in coins, and now, he was standing in the middle of his vault, holding a small fortune in his hands.
'All done, Harry?' Dumbledore asked, jerking Harry out of his trance. Harry hastily nodded and pulled the drawstring shut before placing the bag into his pocket. For something containing two hundred gold coins, it was almost weightless. Magic was starting to look to be quite…magical.
'All done.'
'Xejom?' Griphook asked, and Dumbledore replied with a nod.
They walked out of the vault, and with a wave of Griphook's hand, the vault doors reappeared behind them, as firm and impenetrable as ever. Griphook reached into his pocket and fished out the golden key, but instead of handing it back to Dumbledore, offered it to Harry.
'Your vault key,' he said, placing the key into Harry's hand. 'Do not lose it. The fee of replacement for a lost key is five Galleons.'
Hastily, Harry dropped the key into his money bag and tucked it securely into his pocket. They took their seats back on the railcar, and after a few more dizzying minutes, arrived back in the marble-clad entrance hall on the surface. There, they went up to another goblin clerk, where Harry transferred one hundred twenty Galleons to a vault owned by Hogwarts to pay for his school fees, before finally, they began proceeding back towards the front doors.
'Have you thought about where to go first?' Dumbledore asked as they walked.
Harry pulled the sheet of supplies back out of his pocket. According to the letter, he was going to need at least three sets of black 'robes' – he hazarded a guess that they were dress similar to what Dumbledore was wearing – a winter cloak, one pair of gloves with a protection level of III or higher, a long list of books, a cauldron, preferably collapsible, a telescope, also collapsible, a set of scales, a Year 1 potions supply chest, and finally, a wand.
'I want to get my wand first,' Harry decided immediately.
'That will be at Ollivanders, then – '
'Morning, Albus,' Dumbledore was suddenly interrupted by a low, slightly gruff, but wholly cheerful voice from Harry's left.
'Good morning, Hagrid,' Dumbledore replied. Harry looked up from his supply sheet. Standing right outside of the entrance of Gringotts was perhaps the largest man Harry had ever seen. He was nearly twice the height of Dumbledore, and about one-and-a-half Uncle Vernons wide. His face was covered by a bushy beard, and he was wearing a large, patched, brown coat that seemed to twitch in places, as if there was something alive living under it.
'Harry, this is Rubeus Hagrid,' Dumbledore introduced the man. 'Gamekeeper at Hogwarts and a dear friend of mine. Hagrid, Harry Potter.'
Hagrid's eyes suddenly widened upon hearing Harry's name. 'Harry Potter?'
'Not too loud, Hagrid,' Dumbledore warned. 'Yes, Hagrid. Harry Potter. I am bringing him here today to purchase his school supplies. He will be attending Hogwarts in the autumn.'
If possible, Hagrid's eyes grew even wider. 'Hogwarts? In September? Harry?'
'Yes, Hagrid, that is what I just said,' Dumbledore replied amusedly. 'I'd ask you again to keep your voice down. The whole of Diagon Alley does not need to know about Harry's school shopping trip.'
'I-I'm sorry, Albus,' Hagrid stammered, his face reddening. He reached out a giant hand towards Harry. 'Good to meet you, Harry.'
Harry reached up and tried his best to shake Hagrid's hand, though with the size difference, it felt more like Hagrid was simply wrapping his hand in his fist and tugging it. 'Nice to meet you, too, Hagrid,' he said, trying to not wince at the pain.
'You are here for…the strawberry jam?' Dumbledore asked cryptically in a lower voice when Hagrid let go of Harry's hand.
'That's what I'm about to go for now,' Hagrid replied, just as cryptically.
'Then I won't keep you,' Dumbledore said. 'And anyway, I'm sure Harry will want to get his supplies before the sun goes down.'
Hagrid gave a small chuckle and nodded, before bidding them farewell and walking into the wizarding bank, telling Harry that he will see him when he arrives at Hogwarts on the first of September. Harry and Dumbledore proceeded down the street towards Ollivanders, during which time Harry's curiosity finally got the better of him.
'Strawberry jam?'
Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. 'Yes, strawberry jam. Hogwarts has a wide selection of preserves, as you will soon find out, Harry, but one thing that has always been, infuriatingly, lacking is strawberry jam. I thought that it was high time to purchase some and fix this problem.'
Harry had a hunch that Dumbledore was not exactly being truthful with him, but he suppressed further questioning, for it was obvious that Dumbledore did not want to speak about it. They walked mostly in silence, Harry continuing to admire the scenery around him, but this time, noticed how some of the passers-by seemed to be gawking at Dumbledore, who looked unfazed, though slightly annoyed, at the attention. Other than that, he noticed that between every several brightly coloured and heavily-patronised shops were small streets that led off from the main road, many of them looking rather seedy and far from the straight-and-narrow.
'That's Knockturn Alley,' Dumbledore said, pointing at an intersection where a man along with a boy about Harry's age, both with platinum blond hair, had made a right turn into a side alley. 'It has another name, from the Eltrys, but no one in recent history has used it, much like how almost nobody knows the original name of Diagon Alley – by the way, if you want to impress your friends, the original name of Diagon Alley from Eastern Eltrys is Nibkuniprawe, approximately "Sky King's Way". Back to Knockturn Alley, though, you should know that that is the biggest outlaw hideout in all of the British Isles. The Ministry of Magic has very little power there – thieves, smugglers, Dark dealers, and all sorts of criminals make their home in there. Best to avoid, Harry.'
If Harry was unsettled by that, he brushed it aside as he and Dumbledore stepped up to the front door of a small yet intricate shop. Through the windows, Harry could see rows and rows of shelves, filled with small, black, wooden boxes.
Harry pushed open the door, and a chime rang through the shop. Moments later, a short man with flyaway white hair appeared on from between the shelves. His eyes flashed in recognition upon seeing Dumbledore.
'Albus,' the man said wheezily. 'Fourteen inches, slightly yielding, fir, and feather from the tail of an abnormally large phoenix. Though if my suppositions are correct…you have since made acquaintance with…a different wand.'
'It could be, or it could not be, as is the nature of suppositions, Garrick,' Dumbledore said. 'Harry, Garrick Ollivander, the finest wandmaker in Britain.'
'No, no, Albus, you are overstating my abilities,' Ollivander replied, though he certainly did not look like he thought that that was an overstatement at all. 'Harry, you say…are you…Harry Potter?'
'I am, Mr Ollivander,' Harry said timidly. 'Good to meet you.'
'Harry Potter…of course, of course. I remember when your father came in for his first wand. You look just like he did on that day, you know. Thirteen-and-three-quarters inches, reasonably supple, mahogany, and the heartstring of an American Longtail dragon.'
'And, oh, of course, your eyes are just like your mother's. Lily Evans…thirteen inches, unyielding, willow, and the heartstring of an Indonesian Bluefire.'
Harry took it all in, rapidly committing it to memory. So that was what his father and mother had looked like…or at least part of how they had looked like. His father had resembled him in his youth, and his mother…at least he now knew that his eyes were hers.
Ollivander was now rushing back between his shelves, muttering to himself. 'Now…a wand…yes…this, maybe…'
'Twelve inches, pliant, beech, the hair of a unicorn,' he said, taking the wand out of its box and handing it to Harry, who took it eagerly. 'Aim it at the floor over there and give it a jab.'
Harry pointed the wand at the spot on the floor several metres away that Ollivander had pointed out for him and jabbed it in the air as instructed. There was a small flash of a purple-coloured light, a grey puff of smoke, and a small crack, and before Harry had time to process what had happened, Ollivander had taken the wand from his hand.
'No, no, no way,' he murmured as he replaced the wand back into its box and turned back towards the shelves. 'Not a good match at all.'
More than thirty minutes of trial and error followed, with wand after wand producing unsatisfactory results – for Ollivander, at least. Several had looked promising – Ollivander had almost been ready to conclude with a fourteen inch, quite flexible, rowan wand with a thunderbird feather core, but decided against it at the very last moment. When Harry finally was feeling exhausted and wanted nothing less than to buy a wand – any wand – and continue with his shopping, Ollivander emerged from between the shelves again, a pensive look on his face and a box clutched tightly between his hands.
'Fourteen inches, holly, slightly yielding, with the feather of a phoenix,' he said, holding the wand out at Harry, before looking up at Dumbledore and giving him a meaningful look, but saying nothing. Harry looked up at Dumbledore, a questioning look on his face, but Dumbledore simply nodded back at Ollivander and gestured silently for Harry to take the wand.
The moment Harry touched the handle of the wand, there was a warm tingling that originated in his fingertips but then soon travelled throughout his body. Something appeared to awaken inside him, and a surge of heat rushed down his right arm. For a moment, Harry felt…powerful. There was simply no other word that could describe the feeling.
'Give it a try,' Ollivander said, clear anticipation in his voice.
Harry pointed the wand at the target on the floor and jabbed it through the air, a motion that he had now become quite practised at. This time, however, there was no sound, no light, no smoke – simply a shower of golden sparks emanating from the end of the wand.
'Interesting…interesting,' Ollivander muttered to himself before suddenly looking up at Harry. 'It looks like this is a match,' he said. 'I do not think we need to try any more wands, unless you have any objections?'
Harry, despite having grown slightly confused at Ollivander's attitude, shook his head. Ollivander took the wand from him without another word, placed it back in the box, and set it down on the countertop, wrapping it in a felt cloth before dropping it into a small paper bag.
'That will be fifty-five Galleons, please. Unless you have a deduction.'
Harry looked at Dumbledore, unsure of what Ollivander had meant.
'The Ministry of Magic gives cost deductions to families who have…difficulties…with the expense of affording first wands for their children,' Dumbledore replied. 'I do not believe that you are on the list of those who receive one, though.'
Harry nodded in understanding – he had the means to pay for it, after all. He opened his bag and was about to count out the coins when, with a wave of Ollivander's wand, fifty-five gold coins flew out from its depths and deposited themselves on the countertop.
Having purchased his wand, Harry followed Dumbledore out of Ollivander's shop and back out into Diagon Alley. For the next hour, they went up and down Diagon Alley, purchasing all the books, supplies, and tools that the supply list indicated. By the end of the hour, even the magically weight-reduced money bag felt noticeably lightened. Harry had not been keeping track of his expenses in his head, but he had to have spent at least a good two-thirds of this Galleons by now.
'Just the robes left,' Harry murmured tiredly as he and Dumbledore stepped out of Flourish and Blotts. The school trunk that he was using as an impromptu shopping basket was now nearly filled to the brim, and if it had not been for Dumbledore magically lightening it, Harry was sure he would have long collapsed of exhaustion trying to carry it from shop to shop.
'Madam Malkin's is where students normally would go,' Dumbledore said. 'Have you thought about what pet you would like to bring?'
'Pet?' Harry asked, perplexed.
'Students at Hogwarts are also allowed to bring a pet – generally a cat, owl, or toad, unless special permission is granted for something else,' Dumbledore answered. 'One student, four years ago, I believe, was granted permission to bring a rat. Of course, we won't allow anything that could potentially be dangerous to other students. I have seen requests for a tiger, a bear, or even a dragon in my time which, as interesting as they may be, had to be denied.'
Harry could not help but a little at the thought of a tiger walking down the corridors of his school. He considered what Dumbledore had said for some minutes as they walked back up in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. A toad, with all due respect to toads, sounded rather boring. Cats…he had had enough experiences with cats with Mrs Figg for a lifetime. An owl, meanwhile, now that sounded like an exciting pet to have.
'Maybe an owl?'
Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'Not a bad choice, Harry. You won't have to worry too much about owls – they can feed and clean up after themselves. Plus, they can carry your mail for you. They do, though, in my experience, have quite a personality, but that of course depends on each owl.'
'Where would I get an owl?' Harry asked in excited anticipation.
'The Magical Menagerie, of course. Though I would recommend you go for your owl after you have gotten your robes. Madam Malkin might not take too kindly to a squawking bird in her shop.'
Half an hour later, Harry found himself in Madam Malkin's as she took measurement after measurement, seemingly unable to decide which of the stocked uniforms fit him best – the standard was a little too large, but the smaller size was too small. Harry watched as a girl his age with curly, almost frizzy, brown hair entered, purchased her uniforms, and left, before Madam Malkin finally gave in and magically downsized the standard size to fit. Harry found that he did not mind the extra Sickles that he had to pay for the service, if it meant that he finally got out of the hot, stuffy shop.
It was another hour before Harry finally purchased his owl, as he waited in line for the two boys in front of him – both his age, by the look of things – purchase their pets. The first boy, a round-ish, slightly clumsy boy, accompanied by what looked to be his grandparents, picked out a toad, while the second – who appeared to be the same boy that Harry had spied walking into Knockturn Alley earlier – argued with his father, trying to convince him to buy for him what he had said was a magical snake, before his father firmly denied him a pet altogether and dragged him out of the shop.
In the end, Harry chose a handsome snowy owl which had taken quite the liking to him, though, as Dumbledore had warned him, had quite an attitude – nipping his fingers hard enough to draw blood when Harry teased her with an owl treat and throwing a minor fit in her cage when Harry appeared interested in other owls.
'What have you named her?' Dumbledore asked curiously as he led him back towards the Leaky Cauldron.
'I haven't thought of a name yet,' Harry replied.
Dumbledore nodded. 'Well, a flash of inspiration could always strike you.'
They walked in silence for the rest of the way, broken only by the occasional hoot from the owl and the sounds of the trunk's wheels against the cobblestone road. The passers-by continued gawking at Dumbledore, but by now, Harry had gotten used to the attention – at least it was not directed at him.
As they reached the Leaky Cauldron, a question that had been nagging at Harry all day – truthfully, for years, now, ever since the day that the Dursleys had told him his parents' names, but now amplified by all the shock of today – finally broke out. He wanted to know what had happened – the truth of what had happened.
'Headmaster Dumbledore?'
'Yes, Harry.'
'Can I ask a question?'
'You are free to ask any question, though I must apologise in advance that I will not be able to answer every question.'
Harry took that as Dumbledore's way of saying yes, and so took a deep breath, steadying himself and putting down his nervous anticipation. 'Do you know what happened to…to my parents? Why…how…they died? And when?'
Dumbledore stopped walking and gave a shallow sigh. His face suddenly looked a little more aged than it had been before. A quick flash of what looked like disappointment flashed across his features, unmissed by Harry.
'What did your aunt and uncle tell you?' Dumbledore asked, voice deeper than usual.
'They…they told me that they died in a car crash,' Harry answered honestly.
Harry saw Dumbledore's jaw drop a little. 'Did they really.'
Harry nodded solemnly. 'How…how did they really…you know…'
Dumbledore fell silent for a long while, his face concentrated in a look of debate and doubt, before finally giving a long, resigned exhale. 'I may regret telling you this…for you are young and, in many respects, innocent…but the magical world was not always the peaceful, wonderous place that you see it as now. In ways, it still is not.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that many years ago…when your parents first had you…the British Isles were under the grip of one of the most feared dark wizards in recent history. Murders of both magical people and muggles – non magical people – were commonplace. He had ambitions, Harry. Ambitions to take over the world and rule it as he and his followers saw fit. He was so feared that many, even today, do not dare to speak his name.'
Harry did not know whether he should ask what his name was, but Dumbledore made the decision for him.
'His name was Voldemort, Harry. I tell you this because you should say his name, and not be trapped by fear of fear itself – which gives him power that he does not deserve. More than a decade ago, Voldemort was at the height of his power, on the verge of possibly taking over the entirety of magical Britain. But for…some reason…one night, ten years ago, he decided to attack your parents…and you.'
'Did he kill them?' Harry asked, horrified. 'Was that how they died?'
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. 'He did…but somehow, that night, after he had murdered your parents and then turned his wand on you, something…something stopped him. He disappeared after that night, and not even a trace of him has been found since.'
'Is he dead, then? Did…whatever it was…did it kill him?'
'Many would like to believe that it did,' Dumbledore answered with a sigh. 'I think, however, that it did not. I think, in all likelihood, he is still out there somewhere, waiting for a chance, biding his time. But that is only my opinion. In truth, no one knows for sure.'
He turned to look at Harry directly in the eyes. 'Harry…you do not know yet what you are to many in the magical world, but your coming to Hogwarts will be far from unnoticed. I believe that I have a responsibility to warn you that in the wizarding world, you are not an anonymous boy from Little Whinging, but someone who is literally regarded as their saviour.'
'I…what?' Harry gasped in disbelief and shock, not quite comprehending the sudden turn in what Dumbledore had just said.
'To many, you are the saviour of the wizarding world,' Dumbledore repeated. 'Because of, perhaps, coincidence, the fact that Voldemort had attempted to kill you when he died made you the one who had vanquished Voldemort and saved the world. Whether that is true or not, I do not know, but that is the version of events that has become accepted as history.'
'What…what does that mean for me?' Harry breathed, overwhelmed.
'It means…that you need to be careful,' Dumbledore warned ominously. 'The wizarding world is safer and kinder than ever before, that is true, but there may still be those who, in spite of – or precisely because of – the fall of their leader, seek less than your best interest.'
Harry did not know how to respond to that, nor what even to make of Dumbledore's warning. His shock must have shown on his face, for Dumbledore's solemn countenance suddenly broke, and a small smile came over his face in its place.
'But do not let that keep you down,' he said, more cheerfully as they approached the door of the Leaky Cauldron. 'It is always good to stay vigilant, but you will be in no danger if you keep your friends and those you trust close by.'
Harry nodded solemnly as he followed Dumbledore into the pub, but then, at the thought of perhaps, finally, meeting those who might consider him a friend, a small smile spread across his face. 'Yes, Professor. I'll keep that in mind.'
