I do not own Harry Potter nor World of Darkness

Park Royal, London, 28th July 1991 (Sunday)

"Mr. Harry Potter is to report to room 2." screeched the intercom.

Harry frowned, pausing his 'Exit Wound' match against Samuel, much to his friend's dismay.

"I was about to win, you know?"

Harry smirked

"Of course you were. Say… do you remember what's in room 2?"

Samuel shrugged.

"No idea. We aren't allowed in there, so it must be something important."

Harry nodded, handing his controller to John and walked out of the room.

After a long walk across the now familiar sheet metal walls, Harry entered a large room with a massive round table in the middle, barely visible through the shadows that covered the room.

"Mr. Potter, I assume. Please, take a seat."

Harry halted himself for a second, taken aback by the voice. There was something sickly sweet about that voice, and the lack of illumination made him nervous. Regardless, he ignored his instincts, pulled a chair from the table and sat.

"I have received news regarding your letter, Mr. Potter."

A figure stepped out of the shadows, the appearance of a balding man in his late 40s, with his right eye covered by a nasty burn.

"Tell, me Mr. Potter - the figure approached him, almost gliding across the air - Do you believe in wizards?"

Harry looked away, unable to stand the piercing gaze of this man. He didn't know what it was, but the man scared him. Something innate in him told him that the man was dangerous. Harry swallowed.

"I..I don't know, sir. I…I think… maybe they could be… Endowed?"

The man frowned, moving his gaze away from the boy.

"Fomori, child. Endowed is the term used by the ignorants and the uncultured. You are neither. - the man took a breath. - A reasonable interpretation, however. Completely incorrect, of course, but reasonable. No, child. Mages are not Fomori. They are their own creatures, just like the Garou. Are you familiar with the term Garou, boy?"

Harry shook his head.

"Werewolves, boy. You ought to learn the proper terminology if you wish to make something of your life. Was all the money Pentex invested in your education tossed away for you to not know the basics?"

Harry shrunk down into his seat.

"Regardless of your utter failure in acquiring basic knowledge, you have received an opportunity. A very rare opportunity, I might add. For whatever reason, those Mages have decided you ought to learn their craft. They are willing to share their secrets with you, secrets that have been decidedly reluctant to share to anyone for the past millennia or so. Secrets that, if in the more competent hands of Pentex, would bring great benefits to humanity. - the man stopped, staring into Harry's eyes. - Do you understand what I'm saying, boy?"

Harry nodded "You want to learn about them."

The man smiled, revealing a set of elongated and sharp canines.

"Correct. You are smarter than what your first impression led me to believe."

Before Harry could puzzle whether he was being complimented or insulted, the man resumed his walk around Harry's chair.

"Over the next few weeks, you will have to learn much about the reality of the world, if we want to properly integrate in their backwards society. Etiquette. Latin. Heraldry. Horse riding. Jousting, if time allows for it. How to write with ink and quill. How to prepare a quill for writing. Maybe we'll even touch the basics of Demonology and dark Thaumaturgy, if you show any propensity for it."

Harry looked incredulous at the man.

"Demonology?"

The man smiled, once again showing Harry his fangs.

"Indeed, child. But we'll be breaching that specific subject another day. For today... would you like a drink?"

The man offered Harry a glass full of a thick red liquid. Where the man had pulled the glass from, he couldn't tell.

"Now drink, Childe. Your education starts now."

Headmaster office, Hogwarts, 30th July 1991 (Tuesday)

Minerva McGonagall looked again at the owl that was handing her a letter. There was clearly something wrong with that particular bird, but she couldn't quite put her fingers as to what it was. It certainly didn't look like it did when she had sent it out to deliver Potter's letter. She took the letter and, still somewhat on edge, gently unrolled it.

Dear Deputy Headmistress,

We are have received your acceptance letter and thank you for

offering young Harry the opportunity to study at Hogwarts

School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Unfortunately, we do not know where to acquire the

necessary books and equipment, and would kindly ask for more detailed

instruction on how to proceed.

We hope that this letter reaches you on time, as we have

never sent a message via owl before and are thus

unaware of how long it will take for this letter to be delivered.

Yours sincerely,

Harold Zettler

Pentex BoD, Harry Potter's personal tutor

and freshly appointed legal guardian

Minerva frowned. Wasn't Harry Potter supposed to live at the Dursley's? And why was the name Harold Zettler familiar?

"Albus, why is Mr. Potter's owl not signed by the Dursley's?"

Albus Dumbledore lifted his eyes from the stack of letters he was reading, raising an eyebrow.

"It isn't?"

"No. It was signed by his personal tutor, one Mr. Zettler. He claims he's the boy's new legal guardian."

Albus nodded. "Ah, this must be one of Harry's teachers. I knew he was sent to a boarding school a few years ago, but I thought he would be spending the summer with his relatives. You say he's the boy's new legal guardian?"

Minerva handed the letter to the headmaster. Dumbledore quickly scanned it, taking a deep sigh.

"It seems like I put too much faith into Petunia Dursley's maternal instincts. It is a shame the boy couldn't find love among his blood relatives, but I suppose there is nothing else to do. At least we should find solace in the fact he found someone willing to show the boy the love he deserved. Do we need to send someone for a proper muggleborn introduction?"

Minerva looked back at the letter.

"Doesn't seem like it. They merely asked for instruction on how to acquire the necessary books and equipment."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Then they must have been aware of Harry's magic on some level. They were certainly informed of it by the Dursley."

A man snorted.

"Or more likely the boy has been causing havoc with accidental magic."

The headmaster shook his head.

"Now now, Severus, there is no need to be so pessimistic. I'm sure the Dursley wouldn't be so irresponsible to send Harry to a boarding school without informing the teachers of his gift."

Severus Snape snorted again.

"I hope for everyone's sake that the boy didn't take after his father. And if he has, I hope that muggle boarding school has instilled enough discipline in him to act like a dignified wizard."

Minerva ignored the man's bitter reply.

"Should I send instructions on how to reach Diagon Alley then?"

Albus nodded.

"Please do. Also, kindly remind this Mr. Zettler to keep information about the wizarding world confidential, lest we'll be forced to Obliviate him. - he paused for a second - Please, also be sure to explain what being obliviated entails."

Minerva nodded, grabbing a quill and started to write.

Leaky Cauldron, London, 15th July 1991 (Monday)

"So, are you sure this is the place?" asked a skeptical instructor David, looking at a blank wall.

Harry nodded, looking at the dinghy wooden door of the old pub, the 'Leaky Cauldron'. He opened the door and walked in, followed by an extremely surprised David.

The inside of the pub was… frankly speaking, a disappointment. Sir Harold had told him about the opulence of the various Tremere chantries he had liberated in the past: the intricate tapestry, the moving frescos, the menagerie of colors and the innumerable Thaumaturgical knick-knacks glowing and shifting, the tomes of ancient knowledge that littered every available surface…

Compared to the spectacle described by his Domitor, the anonymous gray walls, the brown tables so dark they might as well be black, the sparse candles barely shedding enough light and the sea of people in plain, colorless robes seemed… old. Old and uninspired. Boring, even. Was that the whole point, maybe? This was a place where non-magical people could accidentally stumbled in, maybe the dingy atmosphere was to convince them to leave?

Instructor David placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, guiding him through the crowd toward what appeared to be the counter, positioned in between two massive stone columns.

David's black business suit and sunglasses clashed heavily with the rest of the establishment, causing many conversations to halt as the duo approached the counter.

"Mr. Tom, I presume?"

Instructor David's voice echoed through the now silent room, catching the attention of the few that weren't already staring at the muggle.

"That would be." answered the man behind the counter.

"I must ask you to show us the way to Diagon Alley. My charge needs to purchase school supplies for his first year."

Tom's gaze shifted from the man to the child. Recognition flashed on his face before the man went slack-jawed.

"Bless my soul - whispered the old bartender - Harry Potter... what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

As he tried to reach for Harry's hands, he was stopped by instructor David's extended arm.

"Sir, step away from the child, please."

The man stopped, looking up at the muggle with an almost offended look.

"The child does not know you. You might know who he is, which poses a lot of questions as to exactly how, but to him you are a stranger. - he twitched his nose - A much older stranger that smells like alcohol, I might add. Can you not see how that might give him the wrong impression?"

Tom frowned.

"And who might you be, mister?"

"Instructor David Charlston, currently in the services of Homogenity Incorporated, Pentex subsidiary. Harry's guardian has tasked me to accompany him for school shopping. Now, if you don't mind showing us the way…"

Tom blinked a couple of times.

"Hogwarts shopping, of course, of course. Sorry for my lack of manners. Please, follow me."

The duo followed the old bartender through the back door into a small walled area.

"Excuse me sir, but how come you know who I am?" asked Harry to the bartender.

"Oh dear, you don't know? - he glared at instructor David - You never told him?!"

"Told him what exactly? We learned of his magic less than a month ago." replied the irritated muggle.

Tom stared at the duo in disbelief.

"Are you telling me that Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, grew up as a muggleborn?"

David frowned.

"And what exactly is a muggle, sir?"

"A non-magical person. People like you, sir."

David scoffed, at the condescending tone used by the old bartender.

"In that case yes, he was. Would there be any specific reason as to why he wouldn't be?"

Harry looked between the two adults, seemingly determined to try to piss off the other. Instructor David was prideful and after spending many years in his classes every morning, he knew that the man hated not being in charge and was incapable of admitting he ever did anything wrong. The bartender, on the other hand, seemed to have taken something the instructor said as a personal insult and was making no effort to hide it.

"Because he's Harry Potter! The boy-who-lived! He's the hero of wizarding Britain!"

At that, instructor David was forced to take a step back. He stared at the man, raising a single eyebrow to the point it peaked above his sunglasses.

"Elaborate."

Tom sighed.

"A couple of decades ago… we had an… internal struggle. There was this wizard, we call him You-Know-Who... they were dark times, very dark times indeed. He and his followers started to preach about pureblood wizards being superior…- Tom glared, silencing instructor David's snort -. Headmaster Dumbledore stood against him, but there was a lot of fighting."

He looked at Harry.

"Your parents were on Dumbledore's side, fighting the good fight, but You-Know-Who didn't like that, he didn't like that at all… No one is sure what happened, but the day You-Know-Who tried to… you know… deal with them… - He paused for a second, trying to find the words - Well, that was the day he disappeared. He casted the killing curse on you and somehow you reflected it back on him. You defeated the Dark Lord, Mr. Potter, every wizard knows it."

Instructor David couldn't help but snort.

"So, Harry's a hero because one wizard Hitler fucked up his spell so badly it bounced against him."

"How dare you, sir! I lost many friends and if you think you can mock their sacrifice…"

Harry was deep in thoughts, ignoring the bickering adults. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it. Sure, he knew his parents were dead, but his aunt had never told him how they had died, always ignoring the question. Knowing they died fighting made him feel… something, even though he had no idea what that something was. Sadness? Pride? Sure, maybe they weren't like those heroes from the First Strike team, but maybe it was something similar? Fighting against an evil wizard wasn't as good as fighting Garous or realm-intruders, but it had to be a close third. And what was that about him reflecting the spell? One of Sir Harold's ancient Tremere books mentioned spell backlash whenever a Mage acquired too much Paradox (not that the book bothered explaining what Paradox was), perhaps that was the reason the spell backfired? Or was some kind of magical protection that was placed upon him? In either case, it was hardly Harry's doing: if anyone was to thank for it, it would be whoever placed a defensive spell on him. Maybe…

"... would have killed the cunt-whose-name-is-irrelevant with a single fucking bullet though the dick!"

shouted instructor David, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

Tom's face looked red and Harry was almost certain the wizard was about to curse Instructor David when he interjected, tugging on the man's sleeve.

"Excuse me, sir, but can you please show us the way to Diagon Alley?"

Tom paused, regaining his composure before nodding. He pulled out a wand and gently tapped the brick wall, causing it to wiggle. A small hole appeared, slowly enlarging until it opened up into an archway.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter."

He then turned toward Instructor David.

"Once your shopping is finished, you can leave through the Leaky Cauldron. After that, I don't ever want to ever see you again in my establishment, mister."

David scoffed, pushing Harry through the archway.

"The day I willingly get back to this cheap-ass fucking pub is the day they'll lock me in an insane asylum. Or put me in a coffin from food poisoning."

The duo walked down the busy road, the people giving David a weird look, as the man was very clearly out of place. He ignored the looks and pointed at a large building at the far end of the road.

"Gringotts Wizarding Bank. That's our first destination. Marching pace, kid."

Years of ingrained habits of following instructor David's commands took over and the two marched toward the twisted marble building, past the little armed guards with scarlet and gold uniforms. David halted and fished an old-looking key from his pocket, handing it to Harry.

He took the key and approached one of the employees, a tiny creature that couldn't have been taller than a meter with long fingers, a crooked nose and sharp teeth. Harry had never seen a picture, but he was fairly certain that it was some type of Fae. Sir Harold didn't have any personal experience with them, nor did anyone else in Pentex, but his Domitor was at least aware of their existence.

He patiently waited for the creature to finish its task, taking out a few pieces of papers he had been handed before taking the car earlier that day. After a few minutes, the creature finally looked at him.

"Yes?"

"Good afternoon, sir. I am Harry Potter and I would like to make a withdrawal from my account. - He handed over the documents and the key - He's my key, proof of identity and a list of the items I need to acquire. I wasn't provided a price tag for them, but I kindly ask for your professional estimation as to how much money would be required to pay for all of them."

There. Just like Sir Harold had taught him.

The teller looked at the document and eyes the list.

"I see. Would you like to visit your family vault and speak with the account manager?"

Harry shook his head.

"That won't be necessary. - He handed the teller a business card - However, if you could ask the account manager to start a correspondence with Sir Harold Zettler to discuss the state of my account and possible investments, that would be appreciated."

The creature looked at the business card, raising an eyebrow.

"Pentex Board of Directors? Is that a muggle company?"

"Yes, sir."

The teller nodded, then got up from his desk.

"Please, wait here, Mr. Potter."

After about 10 minutes, the creature returned, carrying a small sack full of gold, silver and copper coins. He handed it to Harry together with the documents and the vault key.

"That should be more than enough for you to buy everything on the list. As I'm sure no one bothered to explain it to you, the wizarding world has three types of currency: Bronze Knuts; Silver Sickles, which are worth 29 Knuts, and Gold Galleons, which are worth 17 Sickles or 493 Knuts."

Harry nodded.

"Thank you for your cooperation, mister. Before I go, may I ask a personal question?"

The creature raised an eyebrow.

"While my magical education leaves a lot to be desired, I am fairly certain you are some kind of… Fae? Could you confirm?"

The creature snorted, apparently amused by the question.

"I am a Redcap, Mr. Potter, just like the majority of Gringotts tellers. Although wizardkind seems unable to tell the difference between kith and call all of us Goblins."

The Redcap's bitter tone wasn't lost on Harry, who nodded and made a swift exit from the building.

Notes

As you see, the introduction of the wizarding world is quite different from canon. Harry's status hasn't changed, but the environment he grew up in has.

Once again, I'd like to remind you that Pentex members, especially the Board of Directors, are BAD people. I don't plan to show their dirty laundry just yet, but there's plenty to hate about them, and Mr. Zettler is more despicable than most, despite what he might appear.

Gringotts! Goblins ain't Goblins! That will be one of the many necessary changes to bridge the gap between sourcebooks. I'll try to be coy when I can, but sometimes you have to be blunt. More info about Fae will come in the future as they become relevant to the plot (coff Dobby coff), so stay tuned. Yes, Harry's rich, but Pentex is 'can buy your entire goverment' level of rich, so focusing on Harry's money is pointless. At least for now

Answering PM/Reviews

Wizards and Witches will, for the most part, use Sphere Magic (which from now on I'll just call Magic), altough the fact that they rely on rotes so heavily makes them virtually unable to distinguish between Magic and Linear Magic (which I'll call Sorcery, Theurgy, Psionic or True Faith depending on the specifics). While I love MtA magic system for the TTRPG, I feel like the spell-based magic system from HP is better for writing since it's more predictable. Sure, in a sticky situation I can pull the perfect spell out of my ass in both system, but for HP I have to set it up beforehand, which is part of what I love about writing magic users in the first place.

I love interracting with my reader, so I encourage you to write