Life was definitely looking up for 9 year old Harry Potter.
His own room, social popularity on the rise, furthering his education about the magical community, and now the new striker for the Surrey's St. Thomas Primary School.
His newfound exercise increased his speed and endurance over the summer so that the try-outs proved hardly any difficulty for the aspiring athlete.
Adding his innate lightning fast reflexes, his control of the ball, and an eerie knowledge of his surroundings gave him a rather surreal advantage over his peers.
As such, his status as the striker for the school's team improved his already established popularity to the point that you'd be hard pressed to find anybody who did not know of him.
Practicing the teaching from his etiquette book, Harry took his popularity with a nonchalant attitude, never bragging, and always willing to help his fellow classmates. This behavior endeared him to the social recluses and the 'bookworms' as he never showed any signs of judgement against them nor preferences for their more 'social' classmates.
Indeed, if you were to ask any one of his classmates, Harry would be succinctly described as, 'a great guy to know.'
His classmates would not be the only ones who grew to appreciate this newfound confidence and seemingly genuine compassion; his own teachers and school faculty were pleasingly surprised by and in full support of him, allowing him certain privileges and responsibilities.
Never one to be a braggart, Harry took all this in stride, maintaining a calm, collected and approachable personality.
However, the changes did not remain within his school. Indeed, within the Dursley's residence, a drastic change could be easily seen to any viewer.
No longer was he being treated as their unwitting slave. No longer would his only words spoken be, "Yes, Aunt Petunia" or "Yes, Uncle Vernon." No longer was he kept away in their filthy cupboard under the stairs. No longer was he inappropriately called "boy."
Now, Harry Potter truly lived here.
While a familial relationship may never exist between Harry and his relatives, their current state was one of amicable respect.
His best relationship, surprisingly, was with his Aunt Petunia.
This turn of events occurred several weeks after his confrontation with his relatives.
{Flashback}
Walking down the stairs, planning to make himself a simple turkey ham sandwich, Harry was surprised to hear muffled crying emanating from the living room.
Creeping downwards, Harry turned right at the end of the stairs to face the living room.
Sitting at the end of the sofa, back turned towards him, was his Aunt Petunia. Walking closer around her, Harry observed her back shaking with intermittently suppressed sniffling. Face downward, her sight was directed at a small photo held tightly in her hands.
Having never seen his aunt so publicly crying, Harry was not certain of what he should do.
'Should he comfort her? Should he walk away? It's not like his family ever showed any morsel of compassion to him when he was abused or found crying.'
In that moment, Harry remembered something he read in his etiquette book.
"A gentleman, no matter of his own preconceived notions, shall always be ready to render aid towards a lady. Regardless of opinion or preference, a true gentleman is always willing to take the time to render assistance to a lady in distress. Indeed, it the responsibility of any man to assist and protect the women in society."
While some of the book might lean towards a misogynistic interpretation, Harry took to heart the beginning of that paragraphs, "always be ready to render aid toward a lady."
With that in mind, Harry strolled across the room to stand at arms distance from his aunt.
"Aunt Petunia, are you okay?," he questioned.
Startled, his aunt made a small leap in the sofa. Hurriedly turning the photo, his aunt turned around and faced him.
"I'm fine," she firmly stated, tear marks evident across her face.
"Are you sure? You seem quite upset."
"I told you, I'm fine. Leave me be, Potter."
"I know we've never had the best of relationships, Aunt Petunia. But I'm willing to listen if you ever need it.," he replied as his aunt shuffled towards the kitchen.
"As messed up as things were, we still remain family.," he continued. "Family always helps one another."
Instantly, his aunt ceased further movement, back straightened, she suddenly stopped.
A well of tears poured out of her eyes, trinkling downwards. Facing downward she took out the photo once more with shaking hands.
Gently, Harry walked towards his aunt. Ensuring a respectful distance remained, he stood to her right.
"Is that photo why you seem upset?," he inquired.
"Yes," she whispered.
Speaking before any confidence left him, he asked, "May I see it?"
After a moment of hesitation, she extended her arm, trembling, she offered it towards him.
Reaching forwards, he grasped the edge of it. Turning it, he came upon an old photo, where it displayed two young girls.
The one on the left seemed close to 10 years, taller than the other girl, she had thin straw colored blond hair and a skinny appearance, her neck appearing too long for her body giving her a rather horsy look, sunken brown eyes ablaze with pride, and a rather small smirk graced her face.
'Aunt Petunia.'
The other girl, standing to the left of his aunt, was smaller, a happy smile shining across her face. Arm wrapped around his aunt, she possessed a beautiful shade of auburn wavy hair laying down her shoulders, emerald green eyes twinkled with evident joy, a rosy tinged graced the cheeks of her smooth fair complexion, her mouth was opened in an eternal laugh displaying small glimpses of pearly white teeth. Skinny in appearance, hers came about in a healthier view than her sister.
'Mom.'
Mouth slightly agape, Harry stood with silence, shock spreading across his face.
Roaming his eyes, he took in every detail of the background. Set in what appears to be the yard of a home, a tree could be visualized behind them, a swing hanging from a thick branch, soft pastel lavender petunias were planted throughout the tree, mixed within them were smaller lightly blushing pink lilies.
The tattered photo looked worn out, creases evident throughout the diameter of the image. Wrinkling edges, Harry turned it backwards and came upon scribbling on the top.
"Petunia & Lily Evans, sisters forever."
Looking up, with glimmering eyes, Harry looked at his aunt.
Pale face, eyes closed with leaking tears, his aunt continued to stand with the occasional sniffling heard.
"Your mother and I used to be the best of sister. Your mother would follow me, we shared everything. But one letter and my little sister was gone. Gone to some foolish school, hidden away from us normal people. Gone to that fool of a boy, Potter, coming in here swaggering with his own self-importance. Laughing over what he deemed 'funny little things.' She used to tell me everything but now she couldn't because of some stupid 'secrecy statute.' When you got here, no one bothered to explain anything to us, just some ridiculous letter from that man, that Dumblydore or whatever his name is. 'Your sister and her husband have been murdered by the Dark Lord. It is imperative Harry remains hidden here from his followers. He must not learn of his heritage until he is ready.' I thought myself finally free from this magic nonsense, but that man forced it back into my life. My anger, my hate for magic and what it took from me ended in me taking it out on you. Your uncle believed me, in what I told him, and did the same."
Standing besides her, Harry stood in silence, captivated by her rambling.
"If Lily were to have ever heard of it, she would have ripped me a new one. I know, if both Vernon and I were to have died, she would have taken Dudley with no questions and shown him nothing but love. Perfect Lily, never willing to hurt anybody. Ashamed and angry, she would be. Seeing you change, growing up and beginning to settle in your confidence, it brought back memories of her. Lily never had problems making friends. Beautiful Lily always helped everyone. My father would always tell us, 'You are all that you have, care for one another. Family always helps each other.' Hearing you say that…those similar words…my father would have bend me over his knee and spanked me a new one for my conduct."
"I'm sorry."
Hesitantly, Harry beckoned towards his aunt, arm stretched, he place the tips of his fingers upon his aunt's forearm.
Unaware of his internal turmoil, his Aunt Petunia continued speaking.
"You were right about our mistreatment. Seeing you…your eyes…so like Lily's….I just couldn't stop this sensation of bitterness, of encompassing rage, of loss. My baby sister, robbed away from me. Powerless to do anything about it, I took it out on you and encouraged your uncle to do the same. I will not ask for your forgiveness; I do not deserve such mercy. All I can hope is that whatever time remaining we may have, you'll allow me to help you. I see it in your eyes, you know about Dumbledore. Albus freaking Dumbledore. That selfish, manipulative old bastard. I don't know how or from where, but I saw it in your eyes when I mentioned him. You recognized his name."
"You're right.," Harry affirmed. "I did recognize his name."
"How? Your uncle and I swore to keep this nonsense hidden away. We hoped to stamp out any magic mumble jumbo out of you. We hoped you would never find out."
"I found a chest in the attic.," Harry revealed. "It belonged to my parents. I don't know how it got here nor how long its remained there, but it contained books and journals that belonged to my parents. They left me letters, notes, and messages to inform me about the truth. The truth about who I am. What I am. I found it nearly a year ago and I've been learning from it. The truth of my parents, not the lies you told me, about my drunk of a mother and father."
Wincing, his aunt seemed to shrink before him, "I had no right to say that about Lily. I'm sorry."
"What has been said has been said. I'm willing to forgive your actions but I will never forget what you and Vernon put me through. Never. Let's make that very clear. Even so, I understand that I need to remain here until I am able to leave for my family's home. As such, I would like to extend a proposal.," he offered.
"What is that?"
"We begin an amicable relationship between Uncle Vernon, you, and I. This silent treatment will not work forever. Therefore, I propose that we treat one another with respect. We speak with respect and afford one another common courtesy. I do not expect you to care about me nor to feign interest in my life. I simply want to remain comfortable in this house."
After several moments of thought, nodding her head, she replied, "Very well. I'll agree to it. I'll speak with your uncle about it."
"Good."
{End Flashback}
Since that eventful encounter, his aunt and uncle began to afford him more respect and courtesy towards him.
Truly, it was a sad reality that this simple act of common courtesy would seem like a great win for Harry. Nonetheless, Harry took his wins wherever he could.
Another change that Harry began, was the start of Krav Maga, an Israeli developed form of martial arts that provides an effective and dynamic self defense and fighting tactic. Hebrew for "contact combat," it prepares its students for a more realistic 'street-fight' encounter.
{Flashback}
This initiation began as pure happenstance. During the evening of a night summer day, walking through the small shopping center found along the way to his relative's residence, the neon green sign "Krava Maga" caught his eye and drew him in.
Nearing the establishment, through a wall of transparent glass, Harry saw a half dozen students, ranging from 8 to 12 years, practicing a series of steps in coordination.
Facing them, standing in the front of the class, stood a salt-and-pepper hair middle aged man with a sweaty black wife-beater shirt and red athletic shorts. Back slightly bent forward, arms to the front, hand enclosed in a tight fist, and a fierce focused gaze, the instructor cut an impressive sight.
Clearly a dedicated practitioner, this man possessed a tight robust layer of muscle tensed in anticipation of his move. A layer of sweat covered him as he continued a repetitive motion of performing a left hand jab followed by an incredibly fast left hand uppercut.
Over and over, the instructor continued this motion until he raised his voice and, with a muffled voice, said, "Stop, that will be enough for today. Go and collect yourself. Remember to stay hydrated, drink some water."
Without realizing, his body had placed Harry in front of the glass near the front door.
With a surveying glance, the instructor seemed to catch him across the room and raised a hand towards him.
A small smile pierced through his rough face, walking towards him, he beckoned Harry forwards with an inviting wave of his hand.
Not fully in control of his actions, Harry entered the martial arts studio and walked towards the instructor.
"Hello, interested in learning Krav Maga?," the instructor questioned.
"Hello, I'm sorry for disturbing you. I was just walking by and saw your sign. I'm not familiar with Krav Maga. Is it like karate?," he wondered.
Chuckling, he replied, "No, its not like karate. Both are martial arts but they each approach self-defense in a different manner. Krav Maga is a more intense, aggressive way to fight using your entire body in a more efficient manner. In other words, it teaches you how to fight using your whole body."
"Wow, I've never heard of it before."
"It's not quite as popular here in England seeing as it was developed in Israel but it's definitely a great way to learn self-defense."
"Is it hard to learn?"
"Well, it's a very demanding discipline. It requires your concentration and dedication to safely learn and practice it. A small mistake or distraction could easily see you getting injured. But if you stick with it, put in the time and sweat, I can honestly say that you'd find it well worth the effort."
"Well, I can safely say I am interested. Can you tell me more?," he inquired.
{End Flashback}
Going on a couple of weeks, Harry would definitely agree with what his instructor, Mr. Feldman, said.
It was a demanding discipline.
Beginning with slow and relaxing stretches, they began their warm up by performing a series of jumping jacks, bends and some light jogging around the studio.
The first week consisted of learning how to stand correctly in preparation for a fight. Loose enough to move in a moments notice but tense enough to counter any hit. Going in, Harry did not understand why Mr. Feldman heavily reinforced such lessons, but after a quick demonstration by Mr. Feldman and the assistant instructor, Mr. Quinn, it was detailed how their fundamental teachings played a hand in a real fight.
As Mr. Feldman states, "In a fight, as in a crisis, movement is life. Always remain moving. If you stopped for even a second, a smart opponent could use this against you."
A former member of the Israel Defense Force-Paratroopers, Mr. Feldman had an intimate understanding of combat and its effects. As such, after separating from the military, he decided to spend his time teaching self-defense courses to civilians.
When asked why he chose to do this in little old Surrey, he would simply reply, "I've had too much fighting in my life. The peace and lack of chaos here in Surrey is like therapy."
Juggling this newfound hobby and his daily exercises were difficult to maintain during the first few days. After all, waking up feeling so stiff that any little movement would bring about a cold spasm of pain would cause anybody difficulty.
Regardless, Harry would continue to progress in his studies and hobbies.
During the weekend days, after breakfast, he would read his father's book regarding the Potter family history outside under the shade of the backyard tree.
A dark brown leather wrapped book with 'Potter' neatly written on its cover, it possessed the true account history of the Potters, including little tidbits of information that the rest of the population would never know.
For example, the name Potter did not become the family name until the marriage of Hardwin Potter and Iolanthe Peverell, eldest daughter of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell.
Beforehand, his forbearers held the name Peverell before the change to Potter following Iolanthe's entry into Hardwin's family. This marriage brought the Potters to adopt the Peverell's status and become a Most Ancient and Noble House.
From there, the Potter family continued their sacred obligation to the protection and care of the citizens of Godric's Hollow, as carried through the decades by the Peverells.
A surprising find in the family history book was the mention of Henry (call me Harry) Potter, his great-grandfather, who was in support of providing magical support to the muggles during the First World War. So passionate was he in this endeavor, that he publicly called the Minister for Magic, Archer Evermonde, a "useless fool of a took, spineless as they come" in front the entirety of the Wizengamot.
That last tidbit caused Harry to laugh quite loudly for several minutes.
If there was ever any discord of his name, it flew away when he came upon this entry. Being named after this man was an honor Harry would bear gladly.
After enjoying his lunch, Harry would return to his room and study his mother's copies of 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' and 'Magical Drafts and Potions.'
Unable to perform any of the potions taught within his book, Harry simply took the time to read over each recipe and the anecdotal notes written by his mother clearly explaining the importance of each turn or why certain ingredients needed to be cut in cubes, slices, or shredded.
According to his mother, certain ingredients reacted better when prepared a certain way, whether due to their unique presentation or the intended purpose of the potion. Indeed, some ingredients would be prepared differently based on the individual's intended potion.
The rationale for pairing both the Potions and Herbology books together was explained within his mother's note found on the Potion's cover.
"Without the understandment of each ingredient and their role within the potion, no aspiring potioneer may progress further in their endeavor to produce consistent quality results. Only through being intimately knowledgeable of each ingredient, how they are produced, cultured, and prepared, can you be prepared to extend your mastery of the art of potions."
In agreement with his mother, he set aside time each afternoon to go over each book in an attempt to become familiar with each potion and plant.
After several hours of studying the Herbology and Potion books, Harry would study his father's 'Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them' book which detailed every magical creature and their habits. To the young boy, this book was fascinating to read as it verified that indeed there exists unicorns, dragons, griffins, and thunderbirds. To read about each one of them, not as fiction, but as a part of his education was rather surreal.
Nonetheless, busy as he was during the weekends with his magical education and his normal school days (both soccer and Krav Maga), Harry never felt happier than now.
Time Lapse
18 months from the discovery
After much debate and discussions with his Aunt Petunia, Harry decided that his attempts to ignore investigating the magical world must end.
Regardless of his fear of being discovered, Harry decided to have his aunt drive his towards the entrance of the magical community.
The Leaky Cauldron, found on Charing Cross Road, was nothing to look at. A shabby, rundown building with a sign filled with so much dirt that its writing was no longer legible. Nonetheless, his Aunt Petunia confirmed that through this pub, located passed a door, was the entrance to the magical center known as Diagon Alley.
Therefore, dressed in black trousers, a dark blue top, and dark brown loafers, Harry entered through the front door of the Leaky Cauldron.
Crossing the threshold of the entrance, Harry felt a slight tingle spread throughout his body. Resembled the spreading warmth one feels when entering a warm room from a cold exterior, it felt comforting and inviting.
In plain view, from the entrance, Harry visualized a bar located to the left with several empty stools available and 2 men seated to the far end of the countertop drinking their beverage. Behind the countertop stood an older man, grey thinning hair and deepened wrinkles with a gentle smile, he greeted Harry.
"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, young sire."
Spread throughout the bar were tables and chairs made out of wood, it seemed that it was too early for the clients to have arrived for there seems to only have a couple patrons seated in various seats.
Dressed in dark colored robes, Harry's muggle clothes seemed to stand out in the midst of them all.
"Hello, sir, would you be Tom, owner of this bar?" he asked remembering what his aunt told him from recollections of her own visits with her parents.
"Indeed I am. Tom Garrison at your service.," he answered with a small bow.
'So far so good.'
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm Sebastian Evans. My family and I just moved nearby, and I was hoping you'd help me enter through Diagon Alley. My aunt told me you would be kind enough to help me. Of course, I don't have my wand just yet.," he rambled with an uneasy smile showing his nervousness.
"Of course, dear boy. Come along, let me open up the entrance," he exclaimed as he walked around the bar and headed towards a nondescript wooden door hidden towards the back of the inn.
Opening it, both he and Tom entered a small walled courtyard with a dustbin.
Puzzled, Harry looked around to see if he found any hint of what to do next before he observed Tom taking out a dark brown wand from the depths of his robe pockets and beginning to tap a brick from the rubbish bin, three up and two across.
Instantly, the brick he had touched quivered-it wriggled-in the middle, a small hole appeared-it grew wider and wider-a second later they were facing an archway which revealed a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome," said Tom, "to Diagon Alley."
Mesmerized, he mumbled, "Thank you.," as he continued to look around soaking up every detail on the shopping center.
A look of immense pride, Tom replied, "I never get tired of seeing the reaction of you youngin's."
In a daze, Harry began to walk through the portal archway and made his way down the street.
Wishing he had eight eyes, Harry's head appeared to be on a swivel as he looked side to side in an attempt to capture every detail.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. 'Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-stirring – Collapsible' said a sign hanging over them.
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying 'Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy.'
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.
Continuing forward, Harry walked directly towards the largest and whitest building located towards the end of the street. Situation in the middle of the street, a snowy-white building, which towered over the other little shops, caused the street to bifurcate into two pathways leading further down.
Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a goblin. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as he walked inside.
A pair of goblins bowed to him through the silver doors, and he entered a vast marble hall.
About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins on brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these.
In an attempt to hide his nervousness, Harry raised his back, chin lifted with an air of self-importance, as he continued his trek towards the next available teller.
Standing directly in front of the teller, a pale skinned, long nosed globin with darkening black eyes, Harry awaited in silence to allow the teller to call him.
"Next!"
Taking a glimpse at the name tag located at the forefront of the counter was written, "Dalgon."
Taking heed to the instructions left by his father in regard to his first encounter with Gringotts, he spoke.
"Greetings, honorable Dalgon, I seek to speak with mine account manager for vault number 77."
Looking up from his piece of parchment, piercing black eyes gazed deeply into Harry's own.
However, refusing to show fear, he remained steadfast in his posture; straightened back, chin lifted and a blank face.
"An audience with the account manager will require a verification of identification."
"Then let us go forth and proof my identity with the honored account manager."
Flicking his left index finger, a guard standing watch in the nearby pillar walked towards the teller. Covered in gold armor and draped in a scarlet cape, the guard held a shiny steel spear in his right hand, a heavy set circular golden shield on his left hand.
"Take the young sire to Account Manger Hrothgar's office immediately."
Standing at attention, slamming the butt of his spear to the ground, the guard turned and began to walk towards a side hallway at a quickened pace.
Trotting behind the goblin, Harry attempted to maintain the guard's pace to avoid losing sight of him.
Making their way down a hallway filled with doors upon doors, the guard stopped beside one of the furthest doors located at the end of the hallway.
A rich oak door with a golden doorknob held the nameplate, "Hrothgar." With two strong sudden knocks, the guard announced their arrival.
A strong deepened voice exclaimed, "Enter."
At this, the guard immediately returned to his previous post and left Harry standing before the door.
Taking a deep breath, collecting his thought, Harry smoothly turned the doorknob and entered the threshold.
Dark wood shelves decorated the stone walls on both sides of the office, a big oak desk was placed at the center of the room. A goblin, dressed in a sharp black suit with a golden tie, was seated in a high chair resembling more a throne than office chair with his arms bent in front of his, fingers clasped together.
Older than the first goblin, he appeared no weaker nor fragile. On the contrary, thin and nimble his arms and fingers may appeared; a sinewy layer of hardened muscle was visibly etched as a remind of his inhuman strength. Sunken dark black eyes were focused directly on him with a thin line for a mouth lining his face.
"Greetings, Master Hrothgar, Account Manager of mine vault. I come to you under the rights of guest in the hallowed walls of Gringotts under the reign of King Ragnok the Swift to seek control of mine gold."
If even possible, the previously dark black eyes seemed to darkened further as he heard his words.
"As a sovereign ambassador of mine King Ragnok the Swift, I welcome you under the rights of guest."
Releasing a breathe he wasn't even aware he held, Harry remained standing at attention in front of Hrothgar.
"If you are who you claim to be, come forth and submit yourself to the verification of your identity."
Beckoning him, Hrothgar pulled out a small silver knife from a hidden compartment behind his desk and placed a seemingly normal roll of parchment beside it.
Pushing down any fear he felt, Harry crossed their distance and picked up the offered knife.
Prickling his left index finger with the end of the knife, he allowed three drops of his blood to fall upon the center of the parchment.
Immediately, the blood began to move on its own, scribbling letters etched across the parchment writing his information.
"Harry James Potter
Born: 31st July 1980
Father: James Charles Potter, deceased.
Mother: Lily Elizabeth Potter nee Evans, deceased.
Ownership: Vault 77 (Lord's Vault), Vault 103 (Lady's Vault), Vault 687 (Heir's Vault)
Total Monetary Currency: 3,949,275 Galleon (Lord's Vault), 300,000 Galleons (Lady's Vault), 25,000 Galleons (Heir's Vault). Total: 4,274,275 Galleons.
Title(s): Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter; Heir Presumptive of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."
"Welcome, Harry Potter of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter.," Hrothgar declared. "I, Hrothgar, remain at your service."
Remaining in shock over the amount of his family's wealth, Harry remained standing staring directly at the parchment.
"I knew my family was wealthy, but I never imagined they held so much," he mumbled.
"As you can see, your family has never had any need for anything. Over the years, their wealth increased, with your grandfather, Fleamont Potter, increasing the wealth by 15% through his sale of his Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment."
"My father mentioned the family being wealthy, but I never expected it to be this much."
"Your father?," Hrothgar mentioned, puzzled.
"I'm sorry, in my surprised, I seemed to have lost my decorum. As you can see, I am indeed the remaining member of the House Potter, therefore, following the line of succession, I stand in preparation to take my place as the Lord of mine home."
"Of course, Lord Potter, as your claim stands true, if you will it so, we shall prepare the appropriate paperwork to begin your position as Lord of the House Potter." he replied.
"Thank you, however, before anything begins, I would first like to speak with you regarding mine and my family's standing.," Harry stated.
"Of course, is there any concerns that you may have?", Hrothgar questioned.
"Yes, before anything, can I assume that anything spoken within this room will remain in confidence?"
"So long as whatever is revealed does not pose a threat to the Goblin Nation, Gringotts and its citizens, any and all secrets will be held confidential."
"Wonderful. Before we delve into the family finances, I should begin by explaining why I am here. I'm not sure if you are aware that I was placed in the trust of my mother's sister and her husband, Petunia and Vernon Dursley. Was this information explained to you?," he questioned.
"No, it was not. As far as the rest of the magical community is aware, you were raised in a magical home, hidden away due to your fame."
"Fame? Why would I be famous for?," he pondered.
"For the alleged defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort upon the death of your parents."
Eyebrows scrunched; Harry was confused about that. He wasn't aware that he was famous.
"I must admit being confused by that. I was not aware I was famous. In fact, I wasn't even aware I was a wizard until a year ago."
"Indeed, you are Lord Potter. As far as the rest of the magical community is aware of, after the murder of your parents, you caused the death of the Dark Lord on that fated All Hallows Eve night. Speculation ran amok as to how you did but no evidence was ever released on how this act came to be. Nonetheless, you are credited with defeating the Dark Lord on the night of the 31st of October. Since then, the every man, woman, and child have praised your name as the next great wizard of the century. Harry Potter is the most famous name across the United Kingdom; there is no one who does not know of you. However, from the look on your face, this is news to you, correct?"
With a flourish of thoughts swirling around him, Harry replied, "No one ever told me about this. I was placed in my aunt's residence against their will and forced to live in the dark about my heritage. It wasn't until I found a chest that belonged to my parents that I found the truth of who I am. It was there that I learned about magic and my supposed place in it."
"I see. Continue.," he stated, looking directly at him.
"For the past year, since the discovery of my parents chest, I read and learned everything that my parents had secreted away and enchanted to follow my presence. In there I learned about my standing in the magical world, of my rights and my family. It was only through a letter written by my father that I knew to come here, what to say, and what to look for. My father had a great deal of respect for you, and it was from his advice that I now stand before you asking for your assistance. Will you, Master Hrothgar, assist me as I aim to learn more about my place, my fame, and magic?," he ended asking quite firmly.
"As the past holders of mine position have done, so too will I continued to asst you in your affairs, Lord Potter."
From there began a long and tedious conversation.
In essence, upon the death of his parents, his accounts remained frozen. The properties shut down as their defense ward were activated and remained so until he could personally deactivate them. Other than paying the interest for their vault, no money was used or taken out.
As such, the remaining properties fell into disarray; hedges and grass overgrown, the properties were inaccessible to anybody. Therefore, following the advice of Hrothgar, preparations would begin to have each property renovated and repaired.
The first of these would be the Potter Manor. Situated in a valley of hills, deep in Wales, the Potter Manor was in a similar state to the rest of the Potter properties, hidden away with no way to determine its state.
However, before anything could be started, Harry would first have to take a trip to the manor and 'open the door' for the goblins to begin their work.
This, he stated, would have to wait until the summer as he would not have the time to make the trip.
Another important topic covered the role and rules of his position as Lord Potter. Due to his age, there were limitation in place until he reached adulthood. In his current position, he was able to reactive the vaults and begin new agreements and negotiations for businesses, able to use up to 50% of the total monetary wealth, able to elect a proxy for the family's Wizengamot seat (attendance by him would not be permitted until he reached the age of 13) and be within his right to wear the Lords ring.
The ring, brought into Hrothgar's office by another goblin, was a sight to see.
A vivid emerald rested on a silver band etched with various runes. A rich green, the jewel glittered under the lamp's flame and seemed to captivate Harry's attention as he felt it calling him. A smooth band made of silky silver molded around the emerald, giving it the appearance of being melted around the jewel.
Placed in rich black box, it cut an impressive sight with its glittering emerald jewel.
With a gentle grasp, Harry placed the ring on his left ring finger.
Immediately, a warm sensation was felt as the ring began to glow. Seemingly, it began to melt and resize to fit his finger until it remained snug on his hand. A tingling flowed from the ring, rushing through every bit of Harry like a pouring of water on him.
No words were spoken, no noise was heard and yet Harry could swear he heard a voice.
"Welcome."
A breeze, so light and gentle only the fringes of Harry's bangs fluttered sporadically. A warm touch on his right cheek felt like the gentle warmth of the sun rays; resembling the cupping of a hand, it soothed Harry as the flourishing of the gentle sensation spread.
As it reached the edges of his scar, a thin zigzag of a bolt, the warmth cooled to the point of it becoming a frigid cold; a sudden sharp stabbing brought forth an iron-hot dagger of pain that resulted in a daze of blurry vision to incapacitate Harry.
As suddenly as the paresthesia began, it quickly faded away leaving Harry to return to reality.
A split second was all it took for all this to take place and yet it felt longer than that.
"Good, it has accepted you.," uttered Hrothgar.
"What was that? I've never felt something that like before.," he muttered, reeling from the experience.
"In the event of a new Lord, the Head of the House ring is presented to the eldest child of the main line. Thereupon, the blood magic and enchantments placed upon it are activated to weigh the heart, mind, and soul of the person to determine their worthiness in leading the family. Each ring of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses is different, with different requirements and enchantments, set forth by the families to meet their preferences. The Potters family, renowned for its integrity, honor, courage, and compassion have set forth a stringing of high standards to meet. Only twice in the long history of your family has the ring deemed the heir to be unworthy, in both cases the ring was presented to the younger sibling and so continued the family line."
"What would have happened if I was not worthy?," Harry asked while gazing upon the ring in wonder.
"If you were unworthy, the ring would have continued to glow and burn forcing the heir to remove the ring else they lose their finger. To be denied is a slight that can never be forgotten, seen as the highest form of dishonor, both cases that occur resulted in the heir to commit suicide."
Widened eyes, Harry look up towards Hrothgar, "They killed themselves? Why?"
"The loss of the family magic, the denial of the blood magic…it's been said that the pain of denial weighs heavily on the person's soul. They never recover, as the death of a child brings forth a never ending pain to a parent, so too does it cause despair to the denied."
"Then I'll consider myself lucky to be worthy.," he muttered.
"So, you should. There is an honor to serving the family as its head of house. The blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifices made by the heads of house are unspoken. A thankless role, each Head aims to direct the family true. We shall see what Head you shall become, Lord Potter."
"I have only one goal in mind for my family, Master Hrothgar,," he declared, "to bring the Potters back into their former glory, to honor my parents and ensure that their deaths were not in vain."
"Then let us continue discussing your family's affairs."
Time Lapse
2 hours later
Following his goblin guide, Harry observes the darkening cave, covered in a layer of moisture they emanated a cold feel to Harry. Further and further, they walked until they came in view of a rail track. On top, wedged above the tracks, were two mine carts, each with a booth-like seat and a single door.
Seating himself in the first cart, the goblin beckoned Harry to the remaining cart.
"Enter the cart."
Opening the door, Harry sat on the available seat and braced himself for the trip to his family's vault.
With a lurch backwards, the mining carts burst forwards in a spontaneous acceleration down the tracks.
With increasing speed, they flew forwards before suddenly falling down in to a lower level of the cave. Reminding Harry of a rollercoaster, it sped and turn, flipping randomly in neck-breaking speeds.
His hands holding on tightly to the cart, Harry's initial burst of fear faded away as the novelty of the cart settled in. Letting down his inhibitions, he began to enjoy the speed of the cart, of feeling the wind blaze through them fluttering his hair like a burst of leaves floating through the air on an autumn day.
Suddenly, without warning, the cart began to slow until it stopped before a flattened stone pathway leading to an enormous door, sculptured from the natural stone, it resembled more the doors of a throne room than vault door.
Exiting, both Harry and the unnamed goblin walked until they stood before the vault door.
Etched on it, were finely carved delicate and miniscule runes and drawing. Centered to the door was a round shield that possessed a skinny horse with wings spread open on its hind legs directed to the right of the door, on its mirror side was the drawing of a lion rearing for an attack. In between both, engraved was a singular broadsword with the hilt directly in front of their respective head.
Underneath, written were the words, "Fortis in Aeternum."
"Place your left hand upon the center of the crest to allow entry.," the goblin instructed.
Taking heed, Harry placed his hand on the cold door. Immediately, a tingling was felt on the palm of his hand before he heard an echoing 'click' emanating from behind the vault door.
With a hiss, the door opened until it remained fully and displayed an impressive sight.
Before him was a vast cave, stalagmite bigger than Harry outstretched from the ceiling, a gleaming hue of light glowed from some unseen place illuminating the contents of the vault.
Golden mountains of galleons could be seen covering every corner of the vault, a single barren pathway remained through the midst of it all. Walking in, Harry observed a section to the back that contained dozens of chest in front of a library of book. A thick glistening maze of shelfs made of some unknown wood contained more books than he had ever seen.
In a complete daze, he barely heard the goblin speak, "Once done, ring the bell located on the outside of the vault door and a cart will be sent."
Spotting a bag, Harry began to pour golden coins until he finished his count. '1,000 Galleons should be enough.'
Placing the bag into his trousers pocket, Harry began to investigate the contents of the chests.
Within 3 were containers of jewelry; bracelets, anklets, rings, necklaces, and more could be found within them. Every type of jewel and color would be found within the chest.
Within others, were more books thrown in; others held clothing, robes of every sort and color; others possessed armor and weaponry, a mixture of glowing golden to twinkling silver; others seems to contain random items.
Harry could spend days looking through every item and even then would barely scratch the surface of centuries of wealth kept within his family's vault.
Seeing no reason to waste more time in the vault, he returned to the entrance and rung the bell as instructed.
Within a minute, Harry could hear the screeching of a speeding cart making its way to him.
Sitting within the back cart, the same unnamed goblin returned them both to the surface lobby of Gringotts Bank.
Once more in steady ground, he mentioned to the goblin, "Is there a way I can exchange some gold to muggle money?"
"Yes, an exchange can be made with one of the available tellers at the front."
"Thank you." he replied with a small bow presented to the goblin.
With that in mind, he waited in line until he was in front of a different goblin than before.
"Next!"
"Greetings, honorable teller, I am in need to exchange gold into muggle pounds."
"The amount?"
"I require 2,500 pounds."
"Key, please."
"I'm sorry, I do not have the key, but I do have mine ring," he said subtly displaying the family ring.
With narrowed eyes, the goblin presented an empty parchment, "Press it against this to request the amount."
Doing so, a series of golden letter burned into existence through the parchment.
Suddenly, from behind his desk, the goblin offered an enclosed envelope. "2,500 pounds, as requested."
"Thank you."
Turning around, he made way to the entrance.
Looking at his watch, an old analog watch he found in a second hand store, it showed to be a quarter to noon. With that in mind, and conscientious of his nearing hunger, he resolved to buy a trunk before making way to the clothing store.
Located mid-way between the entrance of Diagon Alley and Gringotts, 'Thorton Trunks' was a store recommended by Hrothgar as selling quality trunks with a reputable reputation.
Entering through the door, a bell rung from above the door announcing his arrival.
Seated behind the counter was a man, dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, he stood barely one foot taller than Harry. A tan notable in his complexion, he carried a small smile as he observed Harry entered.
"Welcome to Thorton Trunks. I am Thomas Thorton, how can I help you, young sir?," he welcomed.
"Hello, sir. I'm Sebastian Evans, unfortunately I need a newer trunk. My old one belongs to my brother and now it's a useless lump of fire wood.," he grumbled, playing the image of a disgruntled tween.
"Well, you're in luck, I have a wonderful selection of trunks. Is there any you have in mind?"
"Not really, what do you have?," he questioned.
"Well, I have your basic trunk with no charms, a single compartment and a set of wheels. I also have a basic package which consists of a two compartment that you can change based on your selection, each kept in a small pocket dimension so nothing can be lost. A bit pricier, but another package consists of a 4 compartment truck; 2 regular compartments, one for fragile belongings, and one with a pop up wardrobe for your clothing. My most expensive is a 7 compartment trunk that consists of 2 regular compartments, 1 for fragile belongings, one pop up walking closet, one with library shelf that can hold up to 100 books, 2 components that connect to form a bedroom with an adjacent bathroom, and lastly one that can keep potions in stasis for 6 months to maintain their freshness."
Mindful of his reaction, Harry suppressed showing any surprised in what he heard.
'How could you have a bedroom and a bathroom in a trunk?'
Nodding, he replied, "I think the third option would suit me best. Can you show me your selection, please?"
"Of course, come right this way,," he requested, pointing his hand towards the back of his store.
As they made their way back, Harry took care to look around and observe the trunks.
There were trunks of every size and color, large ones, small ones, even some that were the size of a matchbox. Dark brown, black, white, red brown and a rainbow of colors were available in every size.
As they came to the back, towards the right of the building, Harry saw the section Mr. Thorton was pointing at.
"This is our selection of the third option. As you can see, we have almost every color and size option that you may desire. Please, look around and let know your choice."
Looking around, he spied a rich dark blue trunk, so deep that it looked black in certain angles, with a golden brown trim, it was certainly an attractive trunk to witness. Knocking on it, a dull deep 'thunk' was heard, vibrations across it.
Inside, inlayed with the wood was a soft layer of violet carpet-like material that felt as smooth as it appeared.
It was a rectangular shape, reaching a height midway through his thigh, it was as wide as a his hands would be fully extended. Regardless of its size, lifting it proved to be an easy task as it weighed as much as a feather.
"Ah, I see you found one that caught your eye. That one there is a relatively new look my wife designed. Made from a particularly old oak true, its been bespelled to that color and coated with Everlasting Potion to maintain its vibrant color. I see you've noticed the soft material within it, it's a mixed blend of wool and acromantula silk. Its adds a bit more to its price but the benefit prove its worth. The acromantula silk provides a natural deterrent against fires, so any accidental first would be hard pressed to damage it. Standard with this option includes a Featherlight Charm to allow it to remain easily accessible, a Flame Retardant Charm is coated in the during production to result in a fire proof trunk, a Water-Repellent Charm, and a minor protective charm to reflect any minor curses, jinx, or hexes."
"Are there any additional options in terms of magical protections for this trunk?," Harry questioned.
"Yes, we have a selection of wards and charm that can be placed on the trunk. Depending on your choices, the price of the trunk will increase. If you'd like, I can provide you with a list of our offered protections." he offered.
"Yes, if you would, please," Harry agreed.
Quickly choosing a parchment roll from the counter, Mr. Thorton presented it to Harry.
Unfurling the parchment, Harry took note of the listed protections, some were interesting to him, others he quickly wrote off as being too excessive or plain ridiculous.
"Blood-sealed lock: utilizing a drop of blood, this would prevent the trunk to be opened by anybody other than the owner. Price: 15G
Permanent Self-Resizing Charm: with a tap to the lock, the trunk will automatically shrink to the size of a matchbox. Price: 3G
Anti-Theft Hex: releases an electrical shock to any burglar if any unauthorized opening is detected; notification is sent to the owner. Price: 7G"
Pointing at the aforementioned protections, Harry decided to add those to the trunks defense mechanisms.
"Excellent choices, Mr. Evans. Will there be any other additions you would like?"
"Yes, would it be possible to have a name inscribed on the lid of the trunk at a later date by my parents?"
"Of course, once you are ready, all that is needed is invoking the spell, 'Invocare' followed by the preferred name and the trunk will automatically engrave it on the lid."
"Wonderful, what would be the total for the trunk and its additional protections?"
"Your total comes to 85 Galleons." Mr. Thorton replied looking directly at Harry.
"Very well" he stated as he counted the required amount on the counter.
Upon seeing the gold, Mr. Thorton's demeaner warmed once more and said, "A pleasure to provide our service, if you would allow me one hour, your new trunk will be ready for pickup."
"Thank you, I'll return in one hour." Harry stated as he shook the offered hand.
Exiting the establishment, Harry made his way closer to Gringotts to a building located to its left.
Upon a sign above the door, written in big letters, it said, "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions"
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in bright lilac.
"Welcome, dear, how may we be of service today?" she asked.
"Good afternoon, I'm afraid I am in need of a full wardrobe. You see, my father had the genius idea of experimenting with a fire spell so close to the house. Unfortunately, most of my clothes were beyond use by the time he was able to extinguish the fire" he replied with his face downward, shoulder slumped in a pitiful display of sadness.
"Oh, you poor dear. Well, I am glad to be of help today. Do you know what you're looking for?"
"Well, if its not too much of a trouble, Madam, I was hoping you'd be willing to recommend me some options, seeing as you must know so much about fashion." He replied, droopy eyes directed towards Madam Malkin.
"Oh, you flatter me, dear boy. Indeed, though, you came to the right please. Come, let's get you started." She beckoned with a swish of a hand.
One hour later, Harry walked with an entire wardrobe, magically shrunken by Madam Malkin, in his pocket. Ranging from robes to trousers, jumpers to pants, Harry had several options to choose from for any occasion. Included in this, he chose several expensive dress robes in the event he required to maintain a 'Lords image.'
Thankfully, Madam Malkin carried muggle clothing as well as robes in her inventory.
Therefore, in an attempt to blend in with the increasing crowds, Harry changed into a slate grey robes with a black trim.
Now, looking as any other, Harry returned to Mr. Thorton's store. Placed besides the counter, rested his new trunk, looking no different than before, Mr. Thorton invited his closer.
"Just in time, Mr. Evans, I've just placed the last of the enchantments. All that is needed is one drop of blood to complete the blood ward and have it keyed to you. Rest assured that no more blood is needed and that no nefarious act will occur with your blood."
Offering Harry, a small shiny striking needle, he allowed him space to begin.
With a sudden prick, a large drop of dark red blood pooled at the tip of his finger.
Milking his finger, he dropped the blood to the trunk. A muted flash glowed around the trunk before melting away.
"Wonder, may I present your new trunk, Mr. Evans. If I may, I'll will destroy the needle now to maintain your safety."
"Thank you." Harry replied as he watched Mr. Thorton waved his wand over the needle, suddenly, in a blink of an eye, the needle vanished.
"I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Thorton. I wish a good rest of your day." he offered.
"Likewise, young sir."
Leaving the store, shrunken trunk within his pocket, he entered a vacant alleyway to place the shrunken clothing bags inside the first compartment.
Returning to the main street, Harry walked a few store besides Madam Malkin's.
A magic wand…this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.
The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 381 B.C'. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped.
An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes, I thought I'd be seeing you at a later day, Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
"And that's where…"
Mr. Olivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what the wand was going out into the world to do…."
"It's an honor to meet you, Lord Ollivander. Tales of your uncanny ability to surprise your clientele don't do you justice." he mumbled, hiding his trembling hands.
His father had warned him of the wandmaker, but he never expect such oddity to be displayed. His description, "a weird man, made weirder by his perfect recollection of every wand ever sold" was not wrong.
"I wonder what you are here for, Mr. Potter? If I am not mistaken, you still have a couple of years left before entering Hogwarts."
"You are correct, however, under strenuous circumstances, I am looking to purchase a wand earlier than required. This being permitted under the line of succession clause."
"Ah, I see. Clever. Very clever, dear boy. Am I correct to assume you have ascended to the Headship?" he questioned.
"You are correct. I hope, Lord Ollivander, that this secret will remain in confidence until such time I feel prepared to reveal it."
"Worry not, dear boy. Your secret is safe within me. Let me be the first of the families to welcome you and greet you, lord to lord. Hail Lord Potter, be welcomed under mine property and be accepted under the right of honored guest."
"I thank you, Lord Ollivander, and assent to abide by thine rules and protection."
"Well, now that the posh nonsense has been done, let us begin in seeking your partner." he stated, beckoning him to a stool.
"Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm ambidextrous" said Harry.
"How fascinating, well please hold out your preferred arm for now. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head.
As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful substance, Lord Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Lord Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"
Harry tried – but he had hardly risen the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
"No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden cold emanating from within the wand. Freezing his hand, Harry dropped it before it began to harm him.
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering,
"Curious…curious…"
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather in this wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you would have such a negative reaction to this wand. I confess, I believed that this would be a fit for you. Alas, it was not. Never fear, we still have more to test."
Continuing as before, Ollivander had Harry try another dozen wands without a satisfying result.
"I wonder, Lord Potter. I have some abnormal wands in the back of my shop. An experiment of mine, to see their results," he mumbled as he walked to the back of the shop before vanishing behind the maze of shelves.
"What makes them abnormal?" he replied with a raise of his voice to ensure the wandmaker heard him.
Returning from the back, he carried a half dozen boxes in his arms.
"In my youth, before taking over my father's shop, I decided to test the effects of two cores in a wand, instead of the traditional one core. Most of them did not survive their creation, only these six remain. If you may, I'd like for you to examine them, tell me what you feel?" he stated as he placed the boxes in front of him.
Hovering his hand over each wand, the first two proved as empty as the other, the third, however, sparked a calling within him.
Feeling a sense of yearning, he grabbed the third wand and lifted it.
He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and dark blue sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.
A gust of wind emanated around him; a clap of thunder echoed within the confines of the shop.
Clapping, Ollivander praised, "Bravo, Lord Potter. At last, your partner has been found."
Feeling rather surreal, Harry gazed upon his wand in wonder. Made from a dark colored wood, it resembled black, it held a smooth finish from its hilt. Etched on its sides, was a swirl of lines beginning from the hilt to the point.
"Blackthorn wood, 11 and a half inches, firm but flexible, made with a Thunderbird and Phoenix feathers for its core. Perfect for a courageous hero, Blackthorns are well known for their affinity to the combat arts but just as well for its protection. It speaks high of you, Lord Potter, that it chose you."
"What's the importance behind having both a Thunderbird and Pheonix feather?
"Creatures known for their affinity to water and fire, they are polars of one another. One mortal, the other immortal. One appearing in a clap of thunder while the other in a flash of fire. They've been described as being opposites to one another. For them to blend well together, well, its never been successfully accomplished until now."
Wand in hand, Harry continued to observe it with a close eye. He noted, within the swirls, a faint hue of violet would glittered with movement.
"If you would indulge an old man, Lord Potter. I would ask that you continue to test the rest of the wands." he recommended.
Seeing no reason to not, Harry continued his examination. Appearing no different than the rest rejected wands, there were no reaction until he arrived to the last wand.
Similar to the Blackthorn wand, this one seemed to call to him.
Opening the box, the wand seemed to jump into his hand.
A clear white glow flourished from the tip of the wand, it spread across his arm and covered his entire body until it stopped in the fringes of his scar.
"Mmm, it is as I suspected. These wands are bonded." Ollivander mumbled.
"I'm sorry, bonded?"
"During my experiment, I could not help but noticed the tendency of that wand to move beside your Blackthorn wand. I ignored it, thinking it to be a side effect of its creation but I held my doubts. I believe that these wands were meant to be wielded by the same person, as such, they would call to one another in an attempt to be found together. I'm happy to see that I was correct."
Listening, Harry observed his new wand.
White as bone, it was shorter than his black wand, contained notable ridges and curves through its shaft. It was plain, without etching nor sculpturing.
"Aspen, 10 and three-quarters, rigid, it contains the whisker hair of a Wampus and the tail hair of a particularly docile unicorn. Whereas your Blackthorn wand is better suited for protection and combat, this wand will show preference for charms, in particular to healing."
"Now, under Ministry law, the possession of two wand is a crime. Fortunately for you, in your capacity as Head of a Most Ancient and Noble House, you are exempt from this rule and permitted to carry a secondary wand. Regardless, I would caution you to keep one secreted away. One never knows when you'll need a hidden ace." he finished with a glint in his eye.
"Of course. Would you have any available wand holsters for sale?"
"I do, please come over here." he asked, shuffling towards a wall, "I recommend you purchase this one. Enchanted against summoning charms, imbued with a disillusionment charm, and charmed against damages, it is worth its weight in gold."
"Wonderful, I'll take two."
Walking out Ollivander's shop, he directed his pace towards the book store.
A shop, called 'Flourish and Blotts', where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these.
In here he purchased a few books on magical history books, charms, potions, and magical gifts. Included in this purchase was a rather fascinating book called 'Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More)' by Professor Vindictus Viridian. Having a mound of ideas, he could not wait to read over this book.
Upon leaving, he entered the local Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. In here, he purchased a beginner's kit to begin practicing simple potions within his room.
The last of his tasks, purchasing a mail box that would collect his mail through a fascinating enchantment that would teleport his mail from the Post Office after being screened for any curses or jinxes, was quickly achieved. This, upon the recommendation of Hrothgar, would ensure he began receiving his mail is a secure fashion.
Hunger evident after a long day, Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron to eat a rather filling turkey and ham sandwich with crisps and a lovely new drink, called Butterbeer (don't worry, no alcohol was present).
During his meal, Harry mulled over the events of today. A particularly interesting discovery related to the status of his godparents.
{Flashback}
"I'm afraid to report that your godmother, Alice Longbottom, is currently a long-term resident of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries after suffering the debilitating effects of the Cruciatus Curse, a particular vile piece of magic that would inflict untold pain to its victim. Your godfather, however, is a resident of the prison Azkaban for the betrayal of the Potters leading to their death and the mass murder of 13 muggles."
"Betrayal?!"
"According to the Ministry, Sirius Black was detained for the suspicion in the death of 13 muggles on the nights that the Potters were murdered. This alleged betrayal was due to the presumptive knowledge of Sirius Black being the Secret Keeper to the Potters home."
"I cannot help but notice you keep saying 'alleged,' 'detained,' and 'presumptive' instead of incarceration. Why is that?"
"It is the opinion of myself and Gringotts that no evidence has been submitted, nor has any sentencing been formalized, that points to the guilty verdict of Mr. Black."
"You don't think he did it?" he pointed out.
"I knew the Black Heir. Being close friends with your father, you would need a scalpel to separate them from one another. No, I suspect that he is innocent of these allegations." he affirmed.
"In my verification, it had me listed as the Heir Presumptive for House Black. Why would that be?"
"Upon your birth, and after completing the godfather ritual, Sirius Black declared you his heir in the event of his death. After the death of his mother, Sirius Black is set to become the new Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, and you as his heir, the Heir Presumptive."
A flurry of thoughts, Harry wondered what this would become.
"Whatever the truth may be, Hrothgar, I need you to find out everything you can find about the truth of my parent's death, investigate the arrest of my godfather. Remember, money is no object," he stated, looking directly into Hrothgar's eyes with intensity.
{End Flashback}
Whatever the outcome, Harry needed to know the truth of his godfather.
If he was guilty, then Harry would ensure the harshest of punishments would be inflicted on him, making his current stay in Azkaban (a horrible "piece of hell on the mortal plane," as described by Hrothgar) seem like a vacation.
However, if he is innocent, then this outrageous slight against justice needed to be correct.
For now, Harry would await for any news from Hrothgar.
Seeing his aunt's car at the end of Charing Cross Road, he entered the back seat and looked out the window with a pondering look.
"Any complications?" asked his aunt.
"No, no problems whatsoever."