Make A Wish: The Legend of Mister Black

Original Story by Rorschach's Blot

Rewritten by CassieAsterisk


DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any related properties. If I did, I like to think I'd be a bit more careful about what I say on social networks.

This is a REWRITE of the excellent story by Rorschach's Blot, readable right here on FFN. I started this as a bit of creative writing practice and found that I quite liked the result; so after asking the almighty Blot themselves for permission, I decided to cast my doggerel into the sea of the Internet for others to enjoy. If the Blot or others tell me I can no longer do so, then I shall stop.

That being said... enjoy!


Chapter 1: A Life Worth Dying For

It was mere minutes after the Dursleys had left King's Cross, and as the car trundled through the streets of outer London, an oppressive silence- broken only by Vernon's muttered cursing about the traffic and how he was missing the cricket- hung over all the occupants; not least one Harry Potter, who sat in the back seat alone. The Boy-Who-Lived, freshly bereaved, was in a deep depression as he contemplated the next few months in the company of his 'caring' relatives.

It was just another twist of the knife that was losing his godfather Sirius Black, as if that wasn't reason to grieve already.

And then there was the prophecy. That damned bit of prose that had read like a sentence of death, that all but doomed him to fight against the Dark Lord- and most likely die horribly in the attempt. Harry couldn't see the prophecy ending any other way.

He turned away from the window, wishing for anything- anything at all- to distract him from his own thoughts before he burst into bitter tears again. Casting his eyes among the junk that Vernon had casually thrown back there earlier, a leaflet caught his eye.

The Make-a-Wish Foundation, huh? Harry thought bitterly as he skimmed the surface of the booklet. Wish they could grant my wish… to be free of all this prophecy bullshit.

Then an idea came to Harry. An insane, unthinkable, stupid idea, that would boggle even the inscrutable mind of Dumbledore… but in his grief and anger, Harry found himself not particularly caring what Dumbledore or his cronies thought any longer.

If he was fated to die, like they believed, then he was going to do it at a time of his choosing… and he was going to make damn sure that he left behind a worthy life. A life full of deeds and experiences that he could never know if he was stuck working like a slave at Camp Dursley.

He owed nothing less to his parents, to Cedric, Sirius… everyone who'd suffered and died for him in the past.

"Stop the car," Harry asked his uncle quietly.

"What was that, boy?" his uncle asked, the purple already traveling up his neck at the mere sound of the boy's voice.

"Stop the car, please," Harry asked with a bit more force. "Let me out here."

Vernon gaped at the audacity. "And why would I do that, boy? I give the orders around here," he blustered.

Harry sighed. Same old Vernon- the man took every word his nephew said as some kind of attack on his authority. At this point, Harry was well and tired of it; but as much as he'd like to show Vernon the error of his ways in a more… physical manner, the man needed gentle manipulation if Harry was to succeed here.

"Uncle Vernon, let me lay out the choice you have here," Harry explained, glaring icily at the fat man. "You can let me out now, I give you this-" Harry brandished a crisp £50 note- "and with any luck, I never darken your doorstep again."

Vernon eyed the note hungrily, not even asking how his hated nephew had such money, and Harry knew he had his foot in the door.

"Or?" the fat man sneered.

"Or, I come home with you and spend the next few months being the burden you always see me as," Harry explained. "And of course, you run the risk of other 'freaks' coming to your door with a reminder to stay courteous to me during the summer."

Vernon didn't reply, but found a clear spot at the side of the road and pulled in. As soon as the car stopped rolling and the handbrake engaged, the £50 note was snatched from Harry by his uncle's sweaty mitt.

Harry had to stop himself from grinning. It was a gamble, relying on Vernon's own greed and impulsiveness; given time, the corpulent bastard would have realised that letting his nephew go would mean 'freaks' swarming Privet Drive like smug on a Malfoy.

But Vernon Dursley was not a man burdened with foresight; silly things like future consequences meant little to him. All he saw was a £50 note and the chance to be forever rid of his's wife's freakish relation, and he jumped on it like he would a cake made of bacon.

"Fine," Vernon growled. "But don't expect us to wait around for you when you change your mind, boy."

"Perish the thought," Harry replied as he unbuckled his seatbelt and made to open the door. "Though I'd consider it a great favour if you were to take your time getting home. Maybe take Aunt Petunia for a nice meal, or something."

Vernon didn't reply beyond a grunt, which Harry took as assent- and it was, in fact, the last thing that his uncle ever said to him, for as soon as Harry's trunk hit the ground outside the car, it sped off with nary a backwards glance.

Harry smiled sadly. He was past the point of no return, now, and while he would never grieve the relationship that never was with his relatives, the next part would be harder by far. After writing a quick note in pen, on a scrap of paper pilfered from Vernon's car, Harry opened Hedwig's cage and tied it to her leg before bringing her out on his arm.

"Take this to Hermione, girl," he instructed his familiar and most dear friend. 'Then stay with her until I come to get you, OK? I'm going away for a while, and I want you to be safe."

The other sad fact was that Hedwig was rather distinctive, being a snowy owl; she was the only one he'd seen at Hogwarts, at least. Taking her along would just give him another thing he could be tracked down by; not that he would say as such to his trusty owl, of course.

Replying with a sad hoot, Hedwig climbed up his arm and gave his ear an affectionate nip before taking off from his shoulder. Harry almost shed a tear at the show of unconditional love from his dear owl as she flew away to deliver his message; but he couldn't stop to cry now. Not when he was so close to being free.

He waited until Hedwig was out of sight before turning and walking to the nearest bus stop; his next destination, the Leaky Cauldron.

His summer had begun.


Taking a deep breath, Harry moved through the entrance doors of the wizarding pub and moved as fast as possible through the bar area and to the back door, beyond which was the hidden entrance to Diagon Alley.

He only let go of the breath after waiting for several moments in front of the brick wall portal, expecting his plan for an enjoyable summer to go up in smoke as the patrons realized just who had walked past them. Thankfully, if anyone had noticed, they didn't make any kind of fuss, and it was a relieved young wizard that tapped the sequence of bricks and walked through to the Alley proper.

His first and most important stop was Gringotts; as tempting as it was to simply disappear off the grid, Harry wasn't prepared to do that just yet, and knew he would need funds sooner or later. Upon entering the bank he immediately moved to the nearest open teller, who regarded him with a gimlet eye.

"Yes?" the goblin greeted, in that curt manner that all goblins seemed to wear when dealing with wizards. A few years prior, eleven-year-old Harry thought it quite rude; now, having experienced the fickle tendencies of the British magical society, he rather sympathised with them.

"I need some financial services that I'm hoping you can provide," Harry explained, looking up at the teller. "Namely account access while abroad and wizarding-to-muggle money conversion?"

"Key," the goblin asked simply, and Harry handed it over quickly, having already gotten it out earlier. Checking it for a moment, the goblin nodded before turning to a set of drawers on his left and beginning to rummage through them.

After a couple of minutes, the goblin handed him a small leather pouch, with a golden Gringotts logo on it.

"This pouch is enchanted," the goblin explained. "When you place your vault key inside, it will connect to your vault and allow you to withdraw whatever sum you have in mind at that moment. Tap it twice with your wand and it will convert the gold to the local accepted currency, three taps for local Muggle coinage. The administration cost is one Sickle per withdrawal. Will that be all?"

"Uh, not quite," Harry replied absently, staring at his new acquisition before turning back to the teller. "I need some kind of anonymity; nobody is to know what goes in and out of my vault. Can that be arranged?"

"It already is," the goblin chided with a touch of offense. "Gringotts prides itself on its confidentiality."

"That's good," Harry said, deciding to give the bank a little extra incentive. Better safe than sorry, as they say... "I'd hate to have to move my accounts elsewhere. What would the Daily Prophet say?"

The goblin's wide eyes and sudden stillness told Harry that the implied threat had been spotted and acknowledged. "I… see. Rest assured, wizard, that none save yourself will receive any information about your account unless you deem it necessary."

"Good! Good," Harry nodded. "Well, unless you've anything else to tell me, I must be going."

"No, Mister Potter," the goblin said carefully, his face as if carved from stone. "I don't believe we have any further business."

Resisting the urge to smirk, Harry turned and made to leave the bank. The pouch was just what he needed, and with it, Harry was starting to believe that his summer plans might in fact be feasible after all.


Outside Gringotts, Harry was wondering to himself what the next step would be; and as luck would have it, his gaze alighted upon a particularly colourful shop that he'd somehow never noticed before. The sign above its door marked it as "Ye Olde Portkey Travel Agencye" in bright blue script, and much like muggle travel agents, posters for various destinations were visible through the glass.

"Perfect," Harry said to himself as he moved towards it, walking through the door without hesitation. A jingle rang through the store as Harry turned his head to look for the shopkeeper.

Out of a door behind the counter walked an old man with white hair and a thick beard. Harry mused that he looked kind of like Dumbledore, but as Dumbledore was on Harry's shitlist at the moment, he forced down that thought.

"Ah, just in time," the old man mused oddly. "What can I do for you, good sir? Planning to travel, are we?" Harry was glad of the fact that the shopkeep didn't seem to notice exactly who he was talking to- or at least, made no show of noticing, anyway.

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "Honestly, I didn't have anywhere in mind… I don't know, I was just going to drift around and see where I found myself, you know?"

"Ah, I see," the old man smiled pleasantly. "Recent graduate from one of the schools, eh? Wanting to expand your horizons, explore your newfound freedom?"

"Sure, let's go with that," Harry smiled back, a tinge of sadness in his face. The old bloke was right on the money about seeking freedom, but if only he knew what Harry was seeking freedom from.

"Then I do believe that we have just the thing for you, young sir," the old man replied, as he pulled from behind the counter a leather backpack of decent size.

"A backpack?" Harry said, rather dumbly.

"Not just any backpack," the old man replied with an enthusiastic grin. "This is my patented UBK: the Ultimate Backpackers' Kit. Everything the young wanderer could ever need in a single bag; multi-compartment, reinforced frame, with near-infinite storage capacity and- of course- featherlight charms."

"Wow," Harry breathed, recalling Moody's old trunk and the various magics upon it. "Any other features?"

"Oh, yes," the old proprietor nodded. "Within is a portable stove, cookware, a Wizarding tent with furnishings, extreme weather gear, the lot. With this on your back, you could travel from the bottom of the sea to the top of Mount Everest in relative comfort."

Harry found himself nodding. It almost sounded too good to be true, but he detected nothing but sincerity in the old man's voice. Still, though, he recalled one of the lessons that had been seared into his mind following Sirius's death. Trust, but verify. Constant vigilance.

"Can I try it for a second?" he asked, gesturing toward the backpack.

"By all means," the shopkeep confirmed, opening the backpack for Harry to reach inside. "Just think of whatever you need and if it's in there, the pack will bring it to your hand."

Harry thought of the portable stove as he placed his hand within the bag, and just as the old man had said, his fingers met the cold metal of the stove, and Harry pulled it out of the bag partially before shoving it back in. He tried this with several more items- snowshoes, a sun hat (complete with corks!) and even a deep-sea diving helmet- all appeared from the bag's depths.

"Well, I'm convinced," he nodded, and the old man beamed. "Anything else you have for a potential drifter?"

"Oh, quite so, sir," the shopkeep confirmed. "The bag has the essentials, but… I think that there's quite a few more things you could use in order to get the most out of your experiences." He eyed Harry's rather ragged attire and his smile faltered. "Perhaps, er, a new wardrobe or two…"

"Show me what you have," Harry confirmed. "Though if we could be relatively quick about it? I'd rather set off as soon as possible, you know?"

The shopkeep nodded and began to dig out items from the various cubbies and bins around the shop. First were the glasses, which were advertised as self adjusting and capable of instant translation of any language into the wearer's primary tongue. Harry was impressed by the way they transfigured themselves into a near-exact copy of his old hornrimmed specs as soon as he put them on.

Next was the Orville O. Omniglot Traveller's Essentials Set, as the shopkeep named it. It was a set of antique silver jewellery- earrings, tongue piercing and a ring- that painlessly attached themselves to their respective body part. Once worn, they conferred the ability to speak, write and understand any language known. Harry could only gaze in amazement as he was once again educated on the uses of magic.

After that, Harry had to raise an eyebrow as the old man held out to him an ratty, eye-watering orange coloured boiler suit.

"Go into the changing room and put this on," instructed the shopkeep. "Trust me, you'll like it."

Shrugging, Harry did as he was told, swiftly donning the suit. As soon as he finished doing up the zip, he gasped as the 'boiler suit' warped and changed, until he was wearing something different entirely; in place of the ragged hand me downs he was wearing prior, now he wore a plain T-shirt and jeans combo that fit him near-perfectly. Even his shoes had changed shape, now a pair of comfortable hiking boots sitting upon his feet.

"Allweather's Auto-Adapting Attire," the old man crowed. "A classic bit of kit for the wandering wizard. Changes in a trice to suit your current environment- Frigideiro!"

As the old man's spell washed over Harry, his clothing once again changed, becoming a thick white parka and thermal trousers. Even his underwear had altered, if the odd feeling around his nethers was any indication; most likely thermal, Harry noted with satisfaction.

"Self cleaning and repairing as standard. And if you don't like the colour, or even the texture, it will change according to your desires," the shopkeep said, cancelling his Freezing Charm.

"This is great," Harry admitted. What he wouldn't have given for some of this kit during the Triwizard… or the Department of Mysteries.

"And finally… this," the shopkeep said as he placed a small book on the counter with a snap, thankfully distracting Harry before his thoughts could turn sour. 'Possibly the most important bit of kit I'll be showing you today."

Harry eyed the title of the small, leather bound book. The Compleat Guide to Magical Travel, it read, in plain black font. No author was visible.

"This book saved my skin many, many times when I was your age, and doing what you're about to," the old man wistfully recounted. "A veritable trove of useful info, that is. Just make sure you read the warnings in the front! Different countries have different rules about underage magic, and you don't want the Aurors dogpiling you as soon as you cast a spell, hmm?"

Recalling the hell that was last year's trial fiasco, Harry shuddered and nodded. "This does sound like everything I could ever need… but I get the feeling that I'll stand out with all this, and I'd really rather blend in as much as I could," he said, biting his lip anxiously.

"A valid concern, indeed," the shopkeep said. "You'll want to immerse yourself in the cultures you'll be visiting. This should do the trick," he said as he handed Harry a simple bronze bracelet with the letters S.E.P. engraved on it.

"My original creation, that one," the shopkeeper proudly announced. "Projects a powerful notice-me-not of my own design around you. Unless you do something outlandish, that thing will hide you from any attention you don't want."

"Fantastic," Harry crowed, relieved. If this worked as well as the old man seemed to think, he'd be able to go damn near anywhere without any interruption from either Dark or Light. "I guess I'm set, then. Any idea where I can get a Portkey to set off to the continent?"

"Well, we are a travel agency," the old man smiled wryly. "Gather up your items, while I enchant one up for you."

Harry spent the next few minutes gathering his gear, putting his new jewellery in and generally preparing himself mentally. When he woke up this morning he wasn't really anticipating a holiday… but the more he thought of it, the more excited he became. As he'd said earlier, if he was going to die, he was going to live first.

"Here we are, lad, one way trip to Holland," the old man announced as he pressed a small figurine of a tulip into Harry's palm.

"Thank you," Harry replied sincerely. "Really, thank you. How much was all this, anyway?" he said as he reached into his pocket for his Gringotts pouch.

"No charge," the old man replied simply.

"What?" Harry's eyes widened in shock. "But-"

"That Portkey is untraceable," the old man continued, "and it'll be activating-"

As Harry continued to sputter, he felt the tug at his navel that indicated imminent portkey travel and disappeared.

"About now," the shopkeep said to the empty space where the boy once was. "A small reparation, I think, for the abominable manner in which you've been treated by the British Wizarding World. I hope you find what you're looking for, Harry Potter, because you deserve it."


Kindly review; it makes the good juices in my brain go brrrrrr.