July to September 1991, before 1st year
Wizarding money made no sense.
According to the goblins, the coins were made of real metal – of real gold and real silver and real bronze. So why were the golden coins the largest? Why were there only three coins in total? Why did wizards not use a decimal system?
Wizards – and witches – and whatever else was part of this magical world, this world of the gifted – were rather nonsensical, Harry was starting to learn.
He had debated for a while whether to go to a bookshop first to do some much needed research or go and find some magical item that could store all his purchases – he sure as hell wasn't going to levitate all his books and a cauldron and whatever else he needed around with him. He had eventually come to the conclusion that he could just visit the bookshop twice.
The visit to the bookshop had taken longer than necessary, because Harry had not known, yet, that non-magical people were called 'Muggles' and he therefore had to look in the 'Muggle-born' section, but it had been very informative. Very informative, indeed.
Wizards were nonsensical. There was nothing much else to say.
Wizards also, apparently, needed a wand and to use special incantations and wand-movements and only children with their outbursts of accidental magic or experienced and very powerful wizards (and witches and whatever else) could cast non-verbally and wandlessly. Harry didn't know what to think about that. Harry also didn't like his wand.
He had figured that acquiring a wand first would be the sensible thing to do, because he could then pretend to use the wand while using his Gift and not stand out. Turns out children under the age of seventeen were not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts. He had read about that, but that information had quickly gotten buried among all the other, more important things he had learned from the books in Flourish and Blotts. Not that Harry cared – he had disabled the tracking spell the moment he had left the creepy old man's dusty shop.
Harry's wand was an odd little thing. Or, well, not exactly 'little' – it was rather long and quite inconveniently so, because he couldn't wear it up his sleeve or anywhere else he might access it easily. But maybe wizarding robes (they looked like robes, they were probably called robes, didn't his school supply list say something about robes?) had pockets specifically designed for holding wands. He would find that out later.
So. Harry's wand was an odd lit– thing, an odd thing. A wand was primarily characterized by its core and wand wood, secondarily by its flexibility and length. The wand that had apparently 'chosen him' – And how did that work? Were wands sentient? – had a wonderful phoenix feather core that resonated with something inside Harry. Not Harry. But something. He should probably think about that more deeply at a later point.
The holly wood did not resonate with anything within him. It was terribly ill-suited. Harry didn't like it.
Harry didn't like the wand in general, simply because he didn't need the damn thing, but was expected to make good use of it – do great things with it, according to the creepy old man. Harry hadn't bothered to learn his name. The shop was called Ollivanders, though, so he was most likely related.
The creepy old man had also recognized Harry and hadn't that been curious? Harry's research had, of course, included skimming through some books about recent history, which had let to the discovery of his own fame and how his parents had really died. Harry had never believed his aunt when she had talked about his parents being drunkards that had died in a car crash. His parents had been gifted, there was no way they would have died in a car crash of all things.
Harry was famous. Harry's scar was famous. Harry didn't like that. It was a good thing that he always hid the damn thing and no one expected the Boy-Who-Lived, saviour of the magical world, defeater of the Dark Lord 'You-Know-Who' (honestly, could they have chosen any worse titles?) to look like a girl. It was dead useful. Harry had always known it would pay off, eventually. He just hadn't thought it would be quite like that. He had been thinking more along the lines of appearing weak and innocent, so people would underestimate him and never suspect him and leave him alone, ideally. He had not been expecting to be famous for something he had definitely not done – a baby defeating a powerful, evil wizard? These people really were … Ah, well, better not think that out loud.
Harry found a shop selling bags. And trunks. Seriously, trunks? The shop had bags that were larger on the inside, which had been exactly what Harry had been looking for. What Harry had been looking for was called a bag with a permanent 'undetectable extension charm' – a lie, if Harry had ever seen one, he could certainly see the charm on the bags – and a, also permanent, 'featherlight charm'. Those bags were rather expensive, but Harry could not have replicated the enchantments, not yet anyway, and he thought the prices were more reasonable than the cheap wand had been. One Unicorn hair was worth more than a wand containing one. Harry didn't want to know what a phoenix feather or a dragon-heartstring was worth. Harry also wondered why the wandmaker only used three different cores. Harry wondered about a lot of things.
Just because he found the price reasonable, didn't mean he was willing to pay it.
Harry had used his Gift to frighten the Dursleys into leaving him alone, to make sure the teachers and the students left him alone. Harry had used his Gift to make his life easier – by floating heavy things instead of carrying them, by heating his room when uncle Vernon wanted to save money during cold autumn nights, by vanishing the milk he'd spilled and healing the bruise he had acquired by tripping over a stone (he had been reading a very interesting book at the time, no harm had come to the book).
Harry had never used his Gift to steal. Or convince someone to give him a discount just because. He had been prepared to haggle with the salesperson, but then decided that would be too much trouble. So he had just … given them a nudge. And they had given in without resistance. It had been easy.
The bag was very useful.
Harry had immediately returned to the bookshop and bought as many books as he wanted, plus his school books and some additional research material. Harry loved books. Books never bored him.
He had reluctantly gone to the post office to reply to his Hogwarts letter, purchased the other items on his list and then went to a shop selling robes. Only to realize he didn't have enough money with him, anymore. Oh, he could afford the mandatory school robes, but he couldn't afford a whole wardrobe of them. He should have realized, he needed more than the standard set. Really. How near-sighted of him.
Harry wanted to be left alone. To be left alone, Harry had to blend in. To blend in, Harry had to go unnoticed. To go unnoticed, Harry had to wear what everyone else wore. And that was certainly not a school robe on a weekend or anything Muggle. Harry only owned things that were Muggle.
Since Harry had to leave the shop to brave the bloody goblins again, he decided to purchase his new wardrobe elsewhere. Madam Malkin had recognized him, because she had insisted that pinning up his hair wasn't enough – for which the woman had untied his mother's ribbon – she needed to pin up his fringe, too. Madam Malkin had then discovered the damn scar and gasped and made a fuss. A very small and polite fuss. Her assistant hadn't made a very small and polite fuss. Harry had then and there decided to never return to that shop. They knew who he was now. They would never leave him be again.
Twilfitt and Tattings did not even touch his fringe, or his precious ribbon, and all it had taken was proof that he could pay.
Harry went back to the Dursleys after that (not home, it would never be his home). He had had enough for one day.
No one bothered him on the train. People didn't even notice he was there.
Aunt Petunia opened the door for him, saw that all he had with him was an inconspicuous black bag and decided to not say a single word about it.
o
The rest of the summer went by in the blink of an eye.
Harry had to go back to London to purchase more books, because he had already read through his rather extensive purchase several times before the second week of August, but he was otherwise content. The Dursleys left him alone, Harry had books to keep him occupied and all was well.
Aunt Petunia accompanied him to London on the first of September, as she had promised. Harry told her that he would try to find a different accommodation for the summer, because he thought she deserved it, but he expected her to pick him up if he didn't. Aunt Petunia gave him a tight smile and a nod and then left him standing in front of the metal barrier between platforms nine and ten that basically reeked of magic.
Platform nine and three-quarters was empty. No people, just a scarlet steam engine waiting patiently. It was still rather early, the train would only leave in an hour, but it was still unusual, Harry thought. Well, he wouldn't complain. Harry preferred it this way. The doors weren't locked, so Harry entered the train and choose a compartment at random. He decided against using his Gift to keep other people from entering, because he supposed it couldn't hurt to at least try and endure a few people until it got too much. He could always get rid of them if they started grating on his nerves. In a non-violent way, of course. He didn't want to get into any trouble. If he was lucky, one of them might prove to be quiet and smart and useful. Harry had yet to meet such a person in his life, but they sounded like a perfect companion. Harry didn't mind being alone, but loners stood out and Harry didn't want to stand out.
Then again, the moment people found out his name, they would make him stand out. But he would deal with that when he had to.
Over the next hour, the platform became gradually busier as more and more children arrived with their families. Some people sticked their heads into Harry's compartment, but most moved on out of their own volition and the rest Harry send away with just the slightest nudge. Only one person did he allow inside.
The boy was about his age, had mousy brown hair that framed his face in wonderful curls – Harry may have been just a tad bit jealous – and dark eyes. He seemed like the quiet sort and Harry preferred the quiet sort.
They both just nodded at each other, not even introducing themselves, and then the other boy took out a book and started to read. Harry liked him already.
Now that he wasn't sitting alone anymore, less people looked into the compartment. A few first-years (presumably) asked whether they could sit with them, but all it took to make them go away was Harry and the other boy staring at them impassively. And then the train started moving and by that time people had all found their seats, so Harry was hopeful for a few uninterrupted hours.
He was not that lucky.
Around noon, a lady with a trolley full of sweets came by and just as she left three boys entered. One of them was pale and blonde, the other two dark haired and thick-set and looming behind him.
"Theodore," the blonde boy sneered. "I have been looking all over the train to find you." He looked down his nose at Harry. "And who are you?"
Harry set aside the chocolate frog he had just wanted to open. "It is not very polite to ask that when you haven't even introduced yourself."
"I'm Malfoy," the boy said as if Harry was supposed to know what that meant. "Draco Malfoy."
From a wealthy family, most likely, old money and all that. Harry contemplated just sending the boy away, he was starting to get on his nerves. But the boy seemed like the type to hold a grudge and he hadn't done anything so far that deserved Harry's retaliation.
"My name is Harry Potter."
The shift was immediate. One moment the blonde boy still wore his sneer and the next his eyes widened.
"Are you really?" he asked, his tone losing all its haughtiness. "Why didn't you say so from the beginning? If I had known who you are, I would have –"
"Treated me with more respect?" Harry interrupted. "So you are that sort of person."
The blonde boy narrowed his eyes. "What did you just say?" He lowered his voice. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You should know that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go insulting those above your status."
"Mhm, sure," Harry said. "If you would kindly leave, then?"
He did not wait for the other boy to answer, instead raised one hand and pushed him and his two minions out with his Gift. The door slid closed on its own accord. There was some muffled shouting, but Harry simply made the door sound-proof with a wave of his hand. He couldn't help the satisfied smile spreading on his face.
"How did you do that?"
Harry had already forgotten that there was still another boy in the compartment – said boy was staring at him with wide eyes.
Harry tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"You used wandless and non-verbal magic like it was nothing. Only very powerful wizards can do that."
"Is that so?"
"You –" The boy shook his head and then put his book aside, straightened his posture and extended his hand. "I am Theodore Nott."
Harry carefully shook his hand. "Harry Potter."
The boy nodded with a serious expression on his face. "I know. I look forward to see what path you will take in the future."
Harry eyed him warily, but the boy just returned to reading his book. Interesting.
The door to the compartment slid open again.
"Hello," a girl with bushy hair said, "have you seen a toad, perchance? Neville has lost one."
"Do you people not know how to knock?" Harry muttered.
"Excuse me?" the girl said, offended. "I did, in fact, knock."
The quiet boy looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow at him. Harry blinked, realizing he still hadn't lifted the silencing magic he had put on the door.
"Oh, sorry," Harry said. "I must have missed it."
"No matter," the girl said. "So, have you seen a toad?"
"No, we haven't."
The girl nodded and looked over her shoulder at something Harry couldn't see. "Don't worry, Neville, we will find your toad." Or a someone. She turned back to the boys. "Are you first years, too? Is that one of our school books you're reading? They are very fascinating, aren't they – I've learnt all our set books off by heart as soon as I got them, I hope that will be enough. I was ever so surprised when my letter came – nobody in my family's magic at all, you see. I still can't quite believe it. But I've already tried a few simple spells and it's all worked for me, so it must be true. And Hogwarts is the best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard."
Harry wished she would just stop talking and go away.
"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"
"That," the quiet boy said in a low voice, eyes narrowed at the girl, "is none of your business, mudblood."
The girl blinked. "I'm sorry? Did you just insult me?"
"That he did," Harry said, looking at the boy with newfound interest. "I assume it is an insult meant for Muggle-borns?" He had already noticed a rather unfriendly attitude towards Muggles and Muggle-borns in the tone of some of the additional reading material he had purchased.
"Their sort does not belong in our world," the quiet boy said snidely. "They are filth."
The bushy-haired girl made an offended sound. Someone in the corridor said a few quiet words Harry couldn't quite make out, but she did not listen to them, opting to glare at the quiet boy instead.
Harry cocked his head curiously. "Why?"
"Why what?" the quiet boy asked.
"Why do they not belong in 'our world'? Why are they 'filth'?"
"Because their magic is weak, their blood is dirty. They do not come from our would and instead of trying to adapt, they force their customs on us and then blood traitors like Dumbledore support them in poisoning our society."
That sounded like he was just repeating what his parents had told him. Easy influence on a child that has yet to see the world. Harry did not particularly care about magical blood, but he was curious to see how far they could go with this argument. The girl at the door and whoever was standing in the corridor behind her had become unimportant. He needed to follow this argument through.
"You say they are weaker than those born into magical families," Harry said, "but can you prove that?"
"It is obvious, isn't it?" the boy replied. "We cultivate our magical abilities. We hone our skills and strengthen our magical blood through the generations. Keeping the company of Muggles and mudbloods dilutes our blood, weakens it."
Harry hummed. "You say that, but where is your proof? Just earlier you said that using wandless and non-verbal magic was a sign of a strong individual. My mother was a Muggle-born –" At least Harry thought she must have been, based on everything aunt Petunia had ever said about Harry's mother and their parents, his grandparents. "– following your logic, my blood is not purely magical and I therefore must be weaker than others, but I am clearly not."
"There are exceptions to every rule," the boy said, though Harry was pleased to note that he already sounded less confident than he had before.
"Oh, you can't be serious!" the girl exclaimed. "I will not stand here and let myself be insulted like this! Come, Neville, let's go and look for your toad elsewhere."
Harry briefly wondered why she had stuck around for so long in the first place, then shrugged it off as unimportant. The other boy had put a hand to his chin and was obviously deeply lost in thought, as he didn't even notice that Harry was watching him in fascination for several minutes until, eventually, the boy nodded to himself and raised his eyes, a determined glint in them.
"You raised a valid point, Potter," he said. "I am not saying that the believes of generations of pure-bloods are wrong, but a distinguished individual cannot blindly follow what others say and must determine the truth on their own."
Harry's expression brightened. "Yes, that is precisely what I am talking about. We shall wait and see how the other half-bloods and Muggle-borns fare in terms of magical abilities and then form our own opinion on the matter."
The other boy smirked. "I knew you were special."
And Harry couldn't help but preen at that. Special, indeed. Harry was gifted, after all.