CHAPTER THREE

Harry collected her trunk, ink and quills first, mainly to hide the ornate books from prying eyes. Flourish and Blotts' was next – she bought her school books plus a few extra ones on history and politics. There were a few titles that were not sold in her time and she let her inner Hermione get the better of her. All the while, the foreign book store played on Harry's mind; it was one of the stores that wasn't there when Harry came to Diagon Alley when she was eleven. Questions had plagued Harry's mind – had it gone bankrupt? Did it get bombed?

Before she even knew what she was doing, Harry had found herself entering the red bricked building. The bell was rather loud, so the shop was clearly new, or at least well-kept. There was no one behind the counter when she entered; there was no sign of life from upstairs, but then again there were piles and piles of books that were not sorted. Harry began browsing the merchandise. There were books on soul magic, dream manipulation, death magic, rituals, Elemental magic, weather magic – some of these arts were long thought to be Dark, but Harry didn't see anything Dark in the art of manipulating the element of Earth or Fire. None of the covers were boring either. All of them were plated or engraved. Some had shiny edges on the parchment.

"Can I help you?"

Harry looked up to meet the eyes of a man in his late thirties, with thick dirty blonde hair that turned wavy at the tips and with intelligent blue eyes. Harry supposed he was kind of ruggedly handsome, but definitely not someone who'd easily catch the eyes of a woman. Perhaps it was the moustache and beard. He was dressed in a nicely cut suit, but he had rolled up the sleeves and was wearing chukka boots under them.

Harry flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry. I saw your store and I thought I would … see what you sell. Flourish and Blotts' only sell the standard books, every day ones."

"That is putting it lightly," the man scoffed. "These books are not likely something you can afford, nor are on your curriculum. From your trunk, I can hazard a guess you are a Hogwarts student."

Harry momentarily looked down at her boots. "Yes, transferring this year."

She felt the shopkeeper study her. "How old are you?"

Harry looked up. "Seventeen."

That earned a raised eyebrow from the strange bookstore owner. "A little late to be going to Hogwarts, don't you think?"

Harry shuffled her feet uncomfortably. "My parents are dead. I was home schooled."

The man looked apologetic almost immediately. "That was tactless. I am sorry."

Harry gave him a reassuring smile. "It's all right. How would you know? You're not a Legilimens."

The man chuckled. "And how would you know, girl?"

"Because you could have invaded my mind already. I have been making eye contact with you this entire time and you have yet to make a mental attack on me." Harry grinned. "My Occlumency shields are shit, so you could have entered quite easily. Either that or you are a very poor Legilimens."

The strange bookstore owner barked out a laugh. "Smart one, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Not smart. Just logical."

The man observed her for a moment, biting his lower lip. He seemed to be internally debating something. Harry stood there awkwardly, letting her eyes wander now and again. Finally the man spoke up. "What is your name?"

Harry dipped her head in a small bow. "Harry Evans. Yours?"

"Thomas Burke. I am a collector of rare books and manuscripts. Got here quite recently, as you could probably tell," the enigmatic man gestured to the mess that surrounded them.

"Oh, really? I thought you simply enjoyed building mazes out of your books," Harry quipped, though she internally started berating herself for not holding her tongue. This was the 40s; Mr. Burke was highly likely to find her impertinent.

Fortunately for her, Mr. Burke seemed to have a sense of humour because he snorted with laughter. "I do not, you cheeky girl. I run this shop on my own; I haven't had time to sort the upstairs yet."

Harry nodded and smiled. "Are you looking for extra hands during the summer?"

Mr. Burke raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering, Miss Evans?"

"Believe me when I say, I am doing as many odd jobs as I can to scrape together some money to live off," Harry replied candidly. She then smirked. "Is that a yes?"

There was a moment of silence as the strange book shop owner blinked at her. He then chuckled lowly. "You're not normal."

"That is not a no, sir."

Mr. Burke regarded her closely. "You are not going to give up, are you?"

The young witch had mischief dancing in her eyes as a small smirk etched its way onto her countenance. "I never give up on anything I set my mind to. Besides, even if I cannot afford them, I can still help find a suitable home for them."

Mr. Burke rolled his eyes. "Come back at ten in the morning tomorrow. You really are an unconventional young lady."

"Thank you, sir!" the young witch almost jumped through the roof in excitement and practically took the door with her on her way out.

Harry was practically skipping towards Madam Malkins'. Mr. Burke was a grumpy old teddy bear, and Harry had another odd job she could entertain herself with. There was something dower and melancholy about his features, but then again … it could just be mental vacancy.

As soon as Harry entered, she was accosted by seamstresses, who had all seen her attire the moment she had entered the shop. Madam Malkin, the Elder, had saved Harry by shushing her enthusiastic employees and asking Harry what clothes she wanted made. Harry obediently told her that she didn't have Hogwarts uniform, new dresses, jackets, shirts, peasant tops and trousers. That was when Madam Malkin eagerly showed her the catalogue. It reminded Harry just how much she actually hated clothes shopping, because it took forever to find something to her taste. Eventually, she found enough that a) would fit into her trunk with some added minimising spells and b) still reflected her tastes and character.

"We can even add designs if you wish," Madam Malkin had informed, showing Harry some stunning thunderbird and dragon patterns, which the young Lady Regnant quickly fell in love with.

Harry realised she preferred the 90s fashion over the 40s one since they allowed the girls to dress a little more masculine. Despite the fact trousers, jackets and boots were an option for women, Madam Malkin had positively blanched when Harry requested three leather jackets in the colours red, green and black. Though she had to admit that the boots were definitely to her taste.

When Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron, had dinner and spent a quiet evening with her books, she decided today had turned into a day well worth living.

Watching the retreating back of his Mistress from the apartments above the bookshop, Death could not help but crack a small smile. It would appear there was more to Hera Potter than any of the immortals knew, and Death was determined to protect her at all costs.

***********

Over the next month, Harry returned to Mr. Burke's bookstore to help organise the store and – in Mr. Burke's opinion anyway – to make his life a living hell. Harry took almost sadistic pleasure in asking questions at every turn about the minutest detail; "Why is that book going there?", "How many books do you collect in a year?", "Does your wife complain about the mess?", "Do you even have a wife? Is that why you're so grumpy?", "Maybe you should be shelving in alphabetical order?". There were several moments where Mr. Burke looked ready to put Harry under a Sleeping Charm so he could get some peace and quiet.

When Harry wasn't asking irritatingly inane questions, she was curled up in a corner with a pile of the books she was supposed to be shelving and just reading, utterly absorbed in the books. Half the time Harry had not even noticed she was doing it. Hermione really had rubbed off on her over the years! But Harry found she couldn't help herself. These books were just so cool! Mr. Burke found he couldn't get vexed about Harry's penchant for sampling his merchandise. He just simply watched her with a small, sad smile on his face, and often made a cup of tea for the both of them and joined her in the reading corner as he came to nickname it. Harry felt certain that her company was slowly growing on him, but they both knew it wouldn't last for much longer.

When Harry wasn't at the bookstore, she was working on assignments for Gringotts. She had gotten three in the entirety of August: a cursed tome, a semi-sentient sword and a necklace that liked strangling its wearer. The book was afflicted with a hybrid curse that caused obsession and delusions; the sword was afflicted by the evil of its previous owner to the point it had a penchant for absorbing the souls of those it killed. Harry had to dodge the damn thing's deadly swishes – it had cleaved one of the posts of the four poster and the chair she had thrown at it – and had to conjure at least three shields before shooting Stunners at it. Eventually Harry had managed to cleanse the sword's Dark magic, but had no idea how to retrieve the souls inside.

As for the necklace, it had around ten different Dark spells on it that Harry did not recognise. Harry raided Burke's Ancient Runes and Arithmancy sections to try and find something that could help undo the spells on each one. Burke had grumbled and mumbled but had obliged begrudgingly. Harry would never have admitted it to anyone, but she was genuinely enjoying herself more in 1944 than she ever did in her own time. Perhaps it was because she was an anonymous teenager or it was because she was not the target of a vindictive, narcissistic Dark Lord.

On a happier note, she had purified the tome in a day and a bit, the sword in three days and the necklace in a week. In total, Harry earned a solid 5,000 Galleons for her efforts. She was actually rather pleased with that, especially since she had managed to earn that with little to no knowledge of the rituals needed. In truth, Harry had been mostly acting on instinct.

The day before she was to go to Kings Cross, Harry went to visit Mr. Burke at the usual time. She had felt rather guilty that she had not helped her new friend as much as she would have liked to. Harry had done her bit through all the assignments but most was done by the sombre man.

Mr. Burke was already drinking tea and greeted her with the usual dower nod. Harry in turn smiled at him brightly as she admired the ornate bookcases filled to the brim. "The shop is looking amazing! If people don't start coming in more often, they clearly have no taste."

"I have been getting more and more clients," Burke reassured her with a smile. "I had a Lord Parkinson and Lord Greengrass in here yesterday. So, you are off to Hogwarts tomorrow?"

"Train leaves at 11:00," Harry confirmed. Suddenly she began fiddling with her hands and shuffling on the spot. "I know I have been a pain sometimes and not much of a help of late. I just wanted to thank you for putting up with me."

"Nonsense, girl," Burke answered gruffly. He studied her for a moment. Should he tell her the truth about himself already? Would it ruin their budding friendship already? "Miss Evans?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you by any chance related to the Potter family?"

Harry froze, her face paled and her eyes widened. Her posture tensed as the fight-or-flight response began circulating through her body. "Sorry, what?" she whispered.

"It is just that your hair is as wild and untameable as the Potters'. I have met a few in my time. Your raven hair falls in the exact same way as Fleamont Potter's, though your eyes are definitely not a Potter trait. Plus, that ring on your hand is the Peverell family ring. Only living descendants from that family can inherit it, and the Potters are the only ones alive who have a right to inherit that name."

Harry gulped. Had the glamour worn off the ring? This was bad. Really bad. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"I think you do." Mr. Burke sighed and gestured to the chair opposite him. Harry woodenly complied, barely able to look her new friend in the eye. "Look, Harry, I don't care whether you are a Potter or not, or that you are the Lady Regnant of House Peverell but there are people out there who do care. The number of Potters has started to dwindle over the years, and Fleamont Potter has not had a child with his wife Euphemia yet. There are other Potters but they are of a lesser line or the heirs are female. Plus, we all know Grindelwald is hunting anything and anyone who has anything to do with the Peverell family."

"I am not Fleamont's daughter," Harry answered firmly. Now she really needed to put her acting skills to the test. "Not really, anyway. I am … illegitimate."

Harry swallowed. She knew the Muggles' view on children born-out-of-wedlock in this era, and doubted the wizards were much better. People already regarded bastard children with prejudice and contempt in the 90s – less, but it was still there. She still remembered Petunia and some of her friends sneering at two twins at her primary school because they had a single mother who had them while being unmarried.

"I thought as much," Mr. Burke mused, with a look that Harry could have sworn was amusement. "As I said, I don't care, but there are some families at Hogwarts who are very traditional and do not share light views on children born from an affair between a pureblood and a mistress."

"I know," Harry responded gloomily. "Hence why I said nothing about it. But apparently my face is a clear indicator of my parentage."

Pity I don't know any permanent Glamour spells, she thought to herself.

"It is best to pretend as you do," Mr. Burke smiled. "I just hope you will tread carefully at Hogwarts. Hold your cards to yourself and trust only those who have earned it."

"Trust is not something I hand out easily," Harry reassured, taking a sip from her tea cup. "Too many people have tried to kill me over the years, or betrayed me on a whim. Safe to say, I have learned my lesson the hard way."

Mr. Burke nodded ponderingly for a moment before he sharply stood up and went upstairs without so much as a glance or word. Harry frowned and watched him carefully. Had she said something wrong? She didn't think so, but then again Harry was never really good at minding her words. Mr. Burke returned quite quickly with three books – The Forgotten History of Magic, Creative Application of Ancient Runes and Arithmantic Principles and 5000 Fun and Interesting Ancient Spells and Rituals.

He put them on the table between them and gestured to them with his head. "Take them. You may need them this year."

Harry blinked in shock and had to metaphorically pick her mouth up from the floor. "No, sir, I can't possibly-"

"Yes, you can." Mr. Burke rolled his eyes. "You have been assisting me for no pay, and have trusted me with your secret. At present, I am in no position to start paying wages just yet, so consider these your payment until I can compensate you in Galleons."

Harry lit up. "Thank you, sir! That is very generous of you."

Mr. Burke flushed for a moment but quickly recomposed himself with a cough. "Not at all. And rest assured, if you have a problem, you may contact me. I know you are off-age, but-"

"I will write to you," Harry promised immediately. "And sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Try to get out more. I have seen more suntanned vampires."

"Why, you cheeky-!"

Harry made a quick escape with her cloak and books, chuckling away. Harry soon found herself stopping in front of the row of stores that sold familiars, ones that she had been avoiding like the plague for the past month.

She had sworn never to get another familiar after the death of her beloved Hedwig but despite putting it off for an entire month, Harry had felt a little lonely up in her room. Not necessarily for human contact – she could get that by sitting in the bar and café – but Harry had missed the companionship of a familiar.

Before she knew it, Harry's legs had moved on autopilot and she was surrounded by the cacophony of mewing, squawking, barking and hissing. Harry wandered about, looking at the various different creatures available. She found herself quickly going past the cats, snakes and kneazles. Crookshanks had put Harry off having a cat for eternity, a snake would cause too much suspicion and that was not something she needed. So that left the birds. Or so she thought.

The falcons practically turned their beaks up at her, the hawks looked at her curiously and all the others ignored her. A white raven watched her curiously and the owls barely looked in her direction. Unlike with Hedwig, she did not feel the familiar bond with any of them. It was at this point Harry was approached by a creature that had sequestered itself high up on a shelf.

It was an odd thing, to say the least. It had a sleek, lithe body that was a dark grey colour that had a texture not dissimilar to stone. Its tail was long and as smooth and sleek as the rest of its body. Harry noted that it had markings on its upper legs, chest and forehead that looked like carvings she had seen on cathedrals from holiday photos the Dursleys took. She was surprised to see it had good size wings that were like a gargoyle's or small dragon's. Its eyes looked like they were carved straight from obsidian stone. The ears of the creature were quite long and pointed. It was safe to say, Harry had never seen anything like it, though it was quiet adorable.

Most of the other animals immediately shied away from it, or regarded it with a deep suspicion. Harry watched, tensing slightly, as the creature sniffed at her and then promptly began circling around her legs like a cat trying to leave its scent. Very quickly, Harry relaxed and watched the creature fondly.

"Odd beast that one," the owner of shop, who had been watching the creature's interaction with Harry with interest, stated. "She hasn't moved from her spot since she arrived."

Harry's brow furrowed a bit. "Why? What even is she?"

"I suspect she was just doing what is in her nature. That creature you see is a Gargouille, a dragon native to France who adapted to look like gargoyles on a cathedral," the owner explained. "It's why she looks the way she does. But from what I was told by the person who brought her to me, she was cast out from her group for being too small and thin. To us she's an elegant thing, but to them… she was seen as weak."

Harry's eyes widened. "A dragon?! Can she-"

"Gargouilles are strange as a genus," the owner laughed as he watched the dragon sniff at Harry's jaunty military boots. "They have no breath weapon; fire, ice, poison, etc. They have razor sharp claws and teeth, agile in flight and have the ability to mimic sounds they hear. You don't need to worry about anything getting frozen or burned or poisoned. Plus, this one only seems to hunt small birds and fish, which is why the birds don't like her, so you don't have to worry about her wanting to eat cats, dogs or humans. They barely count as X rated creatures."

Harry still "But, Hogwarts regulations-"

"A familiar is a familiar, Miss," the shop owner stated with a grin. "To put a regulation on that kind of bond is simply immoral."

Harry nodded ponderingly and looked down at the creature, who was looking up at her with hopeful and pleading eyes. Harry felt what little trepidation she had dissolve quite promptly. "How much does she cost?"

"Since she has clearly bonded with you already, ten Galleons."

With a very proud and happy young Gargouille in tow, Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron to read and study a little more, ignoring the odd looks that were sent her way. She also had a suitable name to find for her new familiar. Harry had chosen Hedwig's name from one of her text books, so she decided to follow a similar tradition with the Gargouille. While her new familiar sat with her and watched her curiously, Harry searched through the history book Burke gave her as well as her own ones, rifling through names. Her top contenders were Mezquita, after a famous cathedral, Grainne after the Queen of Connacht, and Alcazar, after a famous Spanish castle, and Athenaïs, after the Marquis de Montespan.

Harry tried each one. The stone dragon barely reacted to Grainne and she all but turned her back onto Harry when she tried to call her Mezquita. Alcazar got a reaction too; the Gargouille knocked off the antiques that were on top of the closet. Harry just managed to catch them with a wave of her hand. Harry had expected a similar violent reaction to Athenaïs, but the moment the young dragon heard the name, she perked up quite brightly and made an ethereal sound that reminded Harry of a howling winter wind.

For some odd reason, Harry found herself laughing. Not just at her familiar's antics but also that there was an irony to her death leading to a chance for her to build some kind of life for herself.

Despite her excitement, Harry found herself going to bed that evening rather earlier than normal. Not that it helped all too much: the sound of planes overhead had made going to sleep very difficult, especially since it had made Athenaïs very agitated. Her familiar's cry was eerie and high pitched, but sounded quite mystic. However, it wasn't helping Harry get to sleep. She knew it was 1944; the war was drawing to a close and those planes were heading for Europe. Harry was rather glad she had avoided coming to 1941 when the Blitz was still ongoing.

As more planes were heard overhead, she felt her magic humming, which she had not expected at all. To add to Harry's embarrassment, her magic – suspecting a threat – had attacked the maid who had come into the room to check on the orphan girl. Harry spent a good twenty minutes apologising profusely while the maid offered her own apologies for startling her. Athenaïs watched them both like they were mad.

Yep, it was safe to say Harry had one interesting night. Meanwhile, deep in the Austrian mountains, the Dark Lord was having an interesting night of his own, having read the reports of his supporters inside Gringotts and Curse-breaker circles of the new young female Curse-breaker the goblins acquired.

It was safe to say that Gellert Grindelwald's strange eyes were full of excitement and mirth at the prospect of finding out who she was and following her exploits. A mystery was always tempting to him, and he could not wait to investigate it.

-

Uh oh. Harry's identity is safe for now it seems but how long will that last? I decided to give Harry a rather unusual familiar but one that I thought would in theory still blend into Hogwarts and its aesthetic quite well.

I hope you have enjoyed reading this chapter and any advice/comments are welcome. As usual, all canon characters belong to Madam Rowling.

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