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The owl swooped down over sleeping London, a letter, signed and sealed in emerald green clutched in its talons. Even if it had had only the stars to see by it would still have been able to fly true, but it wasn’t necessary. London sleeping was almost as bright as London awake. But light or no light this delivery was a tough one. The post owls prided themselves on being able to find anyone but it didn’t make it easy when the address was simply …
London, somewhere…


But Dumbledore had given her special instructions for this delivery, and she never wavered in her flight, swooping down past a row of shops, past bakers, bankers and opticians and curving cleanly into the alley behind them to alight on a streetlamp. Her big brown eyes took in the whole scene, the brick walls, the large dumpster bins and the small boy, wrapped in a coat too large for him by half, trotting down the alley from the other direction.

The boy stopped next to one of the dumpsters and quietly lifted the lid, running his hands past papers and coffee grounds. He began picking out broken glasses, cracked lenses and the like, transferring them to a pocket of his coat. When he had a full pocket he did something peculiar, he scratched a cross mark into one of the walls of the alley, then sat down opposite it and began putting first one, then another of the lenses to his eyes. After an hour of this, the small boy's face broke into a smile at a particular half-cracked lens, he grinned as he spun it into the air like a coin, and rolled it across the back of his fingers.


A moment later the boy was rummaging in his torn and tatty backpack and eventually drew out a small parcel. When he unrolled it on the ground the owls eyes sparkled in the glimmer of four more lenses, one a mirror-match of the one the boy held in his hand, this he took and replaced the others carefully in his bag. The next to come from the bag of tricks was a frame (selected from a few in the bag) and a tube of glue. Two pinprick dabs of glue to each lens and the boy carefully laid his prize on the floor to dry, then crawled behind the dumpster and rolled himself up in his coat.

The owl waited until the child was asleep, then calmly hopped off its perch and placed the letter beside the child, he would find it in the morning. By the yellow halogen lamp it read...
Harry Potter
London, somewhere

*


Harry Potter flickered between waking and sleep for the longest time. Slipping in and out of dreams he would not remember on waking, until he fell into a deeper slumber and curled himself tight into a little ball, a well of warmth with his hands tucked in his armpits and his head ducked down. Shifting and gliding from dreams of the past, of leaving the Dursleys.

Harry Potter always thought of as just leaving. He did not run away! You can only run away from home, and Privet Drive had never been home. He had decided that. He knew he had another home, he dreamed of that too. Not with images or anything tangible, just of a sense of warmth, and also pain, he didn’t understand that. Other dreams pushed in on his night time reminiscence and he touched on other things, the pies in the nearby bakery, the work to do tomorrow and tonight’s work, still drying, on the ground, until…

“Get up! Get out!”

Not Harry’s rudest awakening, but far from pleasant. Harry uncurled like a spring, just stopping to grab his work on the ground before pelting off down the alleyway, chased by the irate baker. Rounding a corner Harry ran on, past surprised, mildly startled and downright shocked pedestrians, past lamps, dogs and pigeon flocks, even past and through the cars as Harry dashed across a busy road. It no longer mattered that he’d lost any pursuers three blocks ago, it was just good to run.

Harry stopped in Regents Park and ducked to drink from one of the fountains and snatched a few coins from the bottom. Soon hopefully he would have money coming to him (at least, as much as he ever had) and he could take some small measure of it to fill what was more often than not lately a gnawing hole in his middle (at least it was summer, winter was worse). Harry walked down Euston road for a while, not caring or seeing where he was going until he reached the station itself. The sun was higher by that time and people were beginning to come and go from the building.

“Not commuters yet though.” thought Harry “not for hours.”

Harry set his hat down where no one could avoid him, or pretend not to see him, and slipped three coloured balls out of his coat. Shifting them all to his left hand, he flicked his new glasses on with his right. The balls became edged in crystal clarity as the lenses slipped over his eyes. Harry stood in the square and laughed for a while, laughed into the morning sky while the people around him stared or frowned, then, in a twinkling, Harry swept all three into the air and spun them around his hands faster and faster. He laughed as he fountained the balls up above his head. People began to take notice as he added a fourth ball, and a fifth. People walked past and turned to stare for a moment before flipping coins into his hat or even waited there watching him for a while before moving on.

Harry smiled, this time not for the act itself, but for the coins. This was why he had had to make glasses and why his stomach was emptier than normal. He hadn’t been able to manage more than three balls since Christmas. Just to show himself he could, Harry added another ball and split the balls into two circles (“Oooh!” Said a small girl passing by. The mother smiled at him, but didn’t drop anything). The two circles became one again as they began to wobble (“Out of practice” thought Harry) and he pocketed two of the balls back away, he had to keep this up for a while.

The sun was high in the sky before Harry moved from his spot. He scooped his winnings to an inside pocket and went off to buy lunch. He bought sandwiches at some newsagents with no real name and ate them slowly on a park bench and drank more water from a fountain. On the way back to his spot Harry passed another food shop, the cakes in the window looked even better than the first ones had. Harry walked past, thrift was in his bones.
*


When Harry got back to the station he realised something was wrong. In the exact center of the square was the biggest man Harry had ever seen. From the toes of his large leather boots, past his heavy furred overcoat (Bet that’s warm, thought Harry) all the way to his face, so covered , variously, in beard, moustache and dirty black hair that only small parts of skin were visible, the man was easily eight foot tall. The very appearance of the man was so striking that for a long moment Harry didn’t see what the man was doing and then he became even more curious. The tall man seemed to be looking for something, he would consult a piece of (very old and yellow looking) paper then look around, staring at people, then look worriedly back at the paper.

“Maybe he’s lost” Thought Harry. But the tall man didn’t seem to be about to move on, neither did he seem to be the type to ask directions. Harry was torn for a moment between apprehension at the imposing figure and a chance to snap up a bit more money from helping a lost tourist. But a moment later his indecision became redundant as the tall man turned to look at Harry and his face broke into a huge smile. The tall man ran over to where Harry was standing (breaking several paving stones) and stopped in front of the startled child looking, in turns, happy and relieved.

Yes?” Volunteered Harry, “Can I help you?” he hazarded, then (in a last ditch effort to regain normality) “are you lost?”

“Nope,” Said the tall man, spreading his mouth in the widest smile Harry had ever seen. “I think I’ve found what I’ve been looking for.”

“And that is?” But Harry already dreaded and expected the answer.

“Well you o’ course! Didn’t you get… Hey Wait!” By halfway through the sentence Harry was halfway across the square, and accelerating.

Harry dodged across a side road and began haring down first one back street then another.

“One good thing about being chased by a giant…” thought Harry “You know when he’s behind you!” The pavement cracked and buckled as the tall man chased Harry, he didn’t seem to run much but he only had to take one running step to Harry’s three and he didn’t have to dodge through crowds either, people fell over themselves to get out of the way. And all the time they were running the tall man kept yelling

“Wait! You got to have yer letter! You got… Out a my way you! … to read it! Stop!”

Harry pelted off a main road and down an alley, he was moving so fast he almost shot past the thing he had been searching for. Harry skidded to a halt and grasped both hands round the cast iron drainpipe (his little trick was less useful now most pipes were plastic but it had still put him above and away from more than one bit of trouble), his feet went against the wall and he pulled himself hand over hand upwards, two of his balls slipped out of his pocket and fell back down but he ignored them, he could get more (well, he could probably get more, and in a pinch anything round would do) and pulled himself onto the tiled roof above him. Harry lay there for a second, finding his balance (and his breath) before sliding back to the edge and looking over. Three stories down (“It had looked so much larger from the bottom” thought Harry) the tall man stood hunched over, catching his breath in huge, leviathan, gulps that disturbed the dust on the ground. The man managed to stand up after a few moments and began rummaging in his coat. After a few tries at various pockets he managed to pull out what looked like a sealed envelope and thrust it into the air.

“You got… to have… yer letter.” The man said breathlessly. He wiped his hand across his face and shook the sweat off on the ground. “Blimey you’re fast.” And with that the tall man dropped to the ground and sat there mopping his brow.

“Who are you?” Called Harry “and why are you chasing me?”

“I was chasing you ‘cos you bloody ran away wasn’t I!” Said the tall man, pulling off his coat to expose a dirty white shirt and suspenders. “Why’d you do that anyway?”

“Because I’ve never met you before.” Said Harry. “ Why would someone I’ve never met before be looking for me at Euston station! Also…” added Harry as another thought hit him “how did you even know I’d be there!”

“We’ve met before Harry, y’just don’t remember. Not that I’m surprised at that, you were small enough to fit in my hand back then, and you were easier to catch.” The tall man said smiling. “I knew you when you was a baby. Knew your parents too, friends.” The mans head drooped for a moment then came back up quickly. “As to how I found you, well, I had some help with that.” The man reached into his coat and dug out a pink umbrella with frilly lace edges, it looked almost like it should be in a cocktail nestled in his big hands.

“An umbrella?” Said Harry “Oh of course!” Harry stood up and began strutting along the edge of the roof (“Careful” cried the tall man”) “Why didn’t I see it before? An umbrella, a magical umbrella that points you on your way! The umbrella of light, The umbrella of seeking!” Harry spun on one foot and began walking the other way. “The pastel, pink umbrella of plenty!” Harry threw back his head and laughed. “You’re nuts mate! An umbrella can’t help you find anyone.”

“You think so do you?” Said the man, still smiling, “Then I think it’s high time you read your letter.” The man put the letter on the ground in front of him (pausing for a moment when he realised he had been using it to mop his brow) then stepped back and pointed the umbrella at it and mumbled under his breath.

“Hey!” Harry jumped back and almost fell over as one corner of the letter burst into purple flames.

“It’s all right! It’s all right!” Cried the man, stamping out the fire with his boot. “ It only got the envelope and that was pretty wet so it’s all right. I’ll try again.” Harry watched in stunned anticipation as the man stepped back again, raised the umbrella carefully and mumbled something slightly different towards the envelope. For a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, one edge of the envelope lifted up, dipped back down again (“steady” mumbled the man) then righted itself and rose by one corner as if it was drawn up by an invisible thread. The letter rose higher and higher until it drew level with Harry’s face. He stood up and the letter obligingly rose to accommodate him. Harry carefully reached out and waved his hand over the letter, then under it, then all around just to be sure. He finally drew his hand back and whispered

“How…” Harry leaned in to get a closer look and suddenly, momentarily, forgot he was on a rooftop. His feet slipped out from under him and he tumbled over, skinning his legs on the edge before falling like a stone. As he spun in the air he looked up to see the letter, still casually floating above him. “Weird day…” Thought Harry, then large hands caught him.

“What’d you do that for?” said the man. Setting Harry back down on the ground where he stumbled and sat down on a delivery pallet. “You coulda’ been hurt, or worse!”

“How?...” Harry pointed to the letter now gently drifting down from the roof. “no strings…”

“Oh, that’s easy stuff.” The tall man waved his hand disparagingly “Even I can do that, you’ll learn that in your first week, its one of the simplest charms.”

“Charms?!” Harry felt like running away again but his legs wouldn’t move. “Like, as in, spells?”

“Ah…” said the man “I was afraid of that. You’re aunt and uncle probably meant to tell you when you was older. We didn’t know if they had.”

“You know my aunt and uncle.” Harry looked at the man and tried to work out the chances that this person was friends with his aunt and uncle. Low, he decided, very, very low.

“Nah, I never met um. But we knew that was who was taking care of you after your parents died.” His parents… Harry tried to remember what his aunt had told him about them. Very little, just that they were the wrong sort of people and died in some accident. A fire wasn’t it? Or maybe a car crash? Anyway Harry had privately decided that if they were people his aunt disapproved of then he probably would have liked them a lot. Liked them better than his aunt and uncle at least.

“That was a long time ago.” Harry snapped back to the present. “and I’m better off without them taking care of me!” The tall man gave him a shrewd look, taking in his heavily worn clothes and shoes. “Well…” added Harry “at least now I don’t get slapped if I don’t have meals ready for them on time.” Harry grinned “Who knows how they managed without me? Probably starved to death trying to work out how the oven works.” He laughed and was pleased to see the tall man laugh too. “Mind you it’d take a while to starve Dudley. Fat reserves like a camel!” Harry did a quick fat-cousin impression, waddling along the alley, and the man laughed harder.

“We’ll wherever you’ve come from you’re going somewhere better.” Said the man when he finished chuckling. He fished the envelope back off the floor and handed it to Harry. “This should explain most of what you’re wondering about and I’ll fill in the blanks.” Harry took the letter carefully and looked at it before opening it. It was an old fashioned one, made with yellowing parchment and sealed with a coat of arms in wax, melted wax now of course. Harry wiped the sticky mass away with his sleeve and opened the letter. Inside were three pieces of paper and what looked like a train ticket. All made of funny old paper. He stared at the ticket, it had gold leaf an it and had a large crest (“probably the same one that was on the letter”) embossed into it. Harry wondered what kind of train required a ticket like this, and where such a train would go to. (“Either a land of rich people…” thought Harry “…or a chocolate factory.”)

“Read the letter, read the letter!” Urged the tall man impatiently. Harry tucked the ticket into his pocket and pulled out one of the sheets of paper. He opened it. His eyes slid from one side to the other. He had read each line about three times before he finally believed that what he thought he read was actually what was on the page. Harry held the letter in front of him and tried to calm his voice before saying,

“A school?”

“Yep,” Said the tall man smiling “Hogwarts, best school in the world for people like you. Course the other schools’ll tell you different, but anyone who knows what there talking about says Hogwarts is the greatest. Course we have Albus Dumbledore, none of the rest of em can say that.”

“Who’s he?” Said Harry, still desperately trying to avoid the one part of the letter that had him shaking most. “Someone famous?”

“He’s the headmaster.” Said the tall man, drawing himself up importantly. “He gave me this job himself. Great man Dumbledore. But you’ll be seeing him when you reach Hogwarts.” Harry’s eyes were drawn to the postscript on the bottom of the letter, written in a different handwriting than the rest of the text, and with different ink.
P.S.

Due to your special circumstances an escort has been provided for you to explain and help you through the process of preparing for your first school year. If this letter has not come to you via one Rubious Hagrid then you will be meeting him shortly. I wish you all the best for the start of your first school year.

Albus Dumbledore


“Rubious Hagrid?” The tall man nodded.

“Yep that’s me. Gamekeeper, caretaker and keeper of keys at Hogwarts.”

“And…” Harry took a deep breath, there wasn’t much else he could ask before he asked this so he should just get it over with. “…Hogwarts is a school of magic?”

“Of course.” Said Hagrid. “As I said, best school in the world.”

“Magic like you just did? Making things float and explode?”

“Well, yeah.” Said Hagrid “What did you think it meant? Those tricks muggles (“muggles?”) use to fool each other?”

“And you think I can do that?”

“With a little training o’course, that’s what Hogwarts is for.” Hagrid put his hand on Harry’s shoulders “Come on, we’ve stood here long enough and we need to be getting your school stuff. But first we should get you washed up and in some proper clothes.” Hagrid led Harry down the alley. Harry followed placidly.

When your entire life shatters like glass and is replaced something glittering and new, sharp and scary. When your life changes in an instant you can either pull back, hold on to the old, try to pick up the pieces and risk destroying the new crystal future you have found, for the sake of safe waters of the past. Or you can drop, laughing into the new life, with its shiny possibilities. And you either ride it through, or get swallowed under.

Harry laughed as he walked out of the alleyway, and into shiny futures.
________________________________________


Lets all take a moment to thank Memory King for betaing this chapter.

Harry Potter and the Roofs At Night: Chapter 2: Jack

Harry raked his hands through his shorter hair, trying to make it flat. The hairdresser had nearly shoved them out of the shop when they arrived, a conspicuously tall man and a child with uncombed, unwashed, un-anythinged hair. Hagrid had paid her in notes that looked very old.

“Did he make them with magic?” Thought Harry suddenly. “Could I make them with magic?” The clothes and the shower at a gym had both been similar oddities but apparently the largest oddity was yet to come.

“That looks alright now.” Hagrid had said coming out of a clothing store. “Now for the real shopping.”

“This stuff?” Harry fished the list that had come with the letter out of his pocket. “Books, wand, cauldron… toad?”

“Nah, no toad.” Laughed Hagrid. “But all that other stuff you’ll need for Hogwarts.”

Harry hurried alongside Hagrid, his mind still buzzing with questions. But there was no way he was asking about magic in a crowded street full of muggles (or was it muddles, or mugwerts. Something like that anyway.) And when they finally turned into a doorway Harry was so busy looking at where they were that they were pushed to the back of his mind. They had stepped, hopefully deliberately (this didn’t seem like the sort of place that would sell books, or make potions other than the general alcoholic sort) into a dark, oak beamed, pub full of solid, old-looking furniture. The drinks behind the bar had odd names and some of the liquids fizzed or bubbled. In the dark light Harry could have sworn one of them was glowing faintly. The sign outside had said “The leaky cauldron”. It certainly fitted one of the criteria.

As Hagrid led Harry across the floor, weaving around tables Harry began to notice other things that didn’t quite fit. Like the clothes people were wearing, half of the people were in normal, but hideously inappropriate and mismatched, clothes. But the other half wore what looked like long flowing robes in various colours. The smaller items were stranger, no watches or walkmans, but instead one man held a marble in his hand. As he gripped it the sphere went cloudy-red and the man began consulting a shopping list worriedly. Another man was showing off what looked like a sheep’s skull with odd symbols painted on it to his friends (“Less than a sickle (“sickle?”) and new they go as high as five!”). In a corner two ginger kids who looked like twins, not much older than Harry himself, were swapping some sort of trading cards.

“Well…” thought Harry. “At least that’s normal.”

“The usual Hagrid?” For a moment Harry didn’t see where the voice had come from. Then he realised they had reached the bar, and the tender was talking to them. “Also there was someone in here selling wyvern eggs. Probably just painted ostrich ones but you never know.”

“Nah, nah.” Said Hagrid waving one of his big hands. “Got no time for a drink or to look at stuff for myself. On Hogwarts business.” He patted Harry on the shoulder. “Important.”

“Fair enough so… ohh…” The barman was looking at Harry, or more accurately, at his forehead. Harry put his hand to it and realised that, with his new haircut, the old scar on his forehead was no longer hidden.

“Got it when I was little.” Said Harry, unless the bartender was wondering. “I’ve always had it.” Did this guy have a scar fixation or something?

“Of course you’ve always had it lad!” Said the Bartender, half amazed, half amused. “You’re Harry Potter!”

The room went dead. Suddenly every eye in the room was turned to him. Somewhere around a glass tipped over, spilling its (fuming and bubbling) contents on its owner. No one noticed.

“Harry Potter.” Breathed one of the people nearest him. “Can it be?” It took Harry a second to work out the question was directed at him and another to decide how to answer.

“My names Jack.” He said, affronted. “Why you all staring at me?” Sound seemed to come back to the barroom as people turned back to their drinks, mumbling and in one case shouting (“Oh no! its all over my shirt!”). And Harry turned back towards the bar and looked up into the incredulous face of the barman and then further up into the confused face of Hagrid. “I got the scar falling off my first bike, odd shape isn’t it?” Harry smiled.

“Yeah, that right… Jack.” The barman turned around chuckling under his breath while Harry turned to face Hagrid.

“Would you mind if we got out of here.” Harry said quietly. “Please.” Hagrid nodded quietly and led Harry to the back door and opened it for him. It was only When Harry got out that he began to breath properly again. Harry’s hand shook as he wiped cold sweat off his brow. What was that all about?

“Harry?” Hagrid said quietly. “Um… why did you just do that?” It took Harry a second to compose himself enough to answer.

“They knew me somehow, or at least knew my name.” Harry shuddered. “If a room full of strangers knows your name its either very good news or incredibly bad news.” Hagrid fished out a water bottle and handed in to Harry, who gulped it down. “Plus they were all staring like they expected me to do something. All I know how to do for an audience is juggle. And somehow I don’t think that was what they were looking for.” Harry splashed some of the water into his hand and slicked down one side of his hair, right over the scar. “Hagrid, why were they staring at me?”

“Ah… well… you see that’s…” Hagrid dry-washed his hands nervously. Then straitened and walked over to a wall pulling out his umbrella. “That can wait till later, it’s not something I want’t discuss in a dark alley.” Hagrid tapped bricks faster than Harry could follow and stepped back. “There…” Said Hagrid, obviously keen to fill every silence lest questions re-arise. “Here’s where you can get your school stuff, Diagon alley.” The bricks spread apart around the area Hagrid had tapped, opening out to a window into another world.

A long winding street, full to the brim with odd robed people, and odd shops filled with odder merchandise. Colourful signs swung from the overhanging stories above them, showing that the shop below sold broomsticks or fireworks. People sold things out of barrows on the edges, odd vegetables and wooden toys that danced or spun. For now Harry was content to follow Hagrid, draining in the sights and the sounds of the place. He was almost disappointed when Hagrid stopped in front of a large colonnaded building and went inside.


________________________________________









The inside of the building was as majestic as the outside, with two long desks running the length of the high vaulted room. Light came from windows high up on the walls. Along each desk sat curious creatures consulting lists or counting out piles on coins. There were bags of coins behind the desks too, and the only sounds were the clink of metal on metal and the scratching of quills. Harry suddenly had the odd sensation that he had entered the cathedral of money, the church of cash, and knew, acutely, that he hadn’t been to worship in a while.

“Hagrid.” Harry said quietly. “Why are we here?”

“Here to make a withdrawal.” Said Hagrid, as if it should be obvious. “Can’t buy your schoolbooks with muggle money can we.”

“This is a bank!?” Exclaimed Harry, and was shushed by a nearby creature. He continued in a quieter voice. “I don’t have any money to withdraw, certainly not from a place like this.”

“Oh, but you do.” Said Hagrid, smiling. “You’re parents set some money aside for your education before they died.”

“My parents?” But the rest of the question was lost as they reached the desk they had been headed for.

“Yes?” Said the creature, in a bored voice.

“Mr Harry Potter (sorry Harry) here to make a withdrawal.”

“Key please.” This creature obviously wasn’t impressed by the name, if anything it looked more bored than before.

“Key, right…” Hagrid dug through pocket after pocket, spilling various things onto the floor and the desk. Harry picked up the things he could recognise, like scissors and a dog collar, and left the other bits where they were, some of them were moving. “Ah!” Hagrid produced a key, that had probably been shiny gold before encountering Hagrid’s pocket, and put it on the desk. “There we are. Also there’s one other thing.” Hagrid leaned in close to the creature and handed him a sealed piece of paper. Harry thought he recognised the curvy signature on the front. “It’s about what’s in vault 713.”

“Of course.” Said the creature, reading the note. For the first time it seemed interested in what it was looking at. The creature (“They’re goblins Harry, sorry I didn’t mention that. I keep forgetting you’re new to this. Goblins, and this is Gringots.”) summoned over another like it but younger and with a slightly less laconic expression. This new goblin introduced himself as Greeklunk, rolled his eyes at the back of the departing goblin and led them through one of the doors in the back and down to what looked like a mine car.

“Um Hagrid?”

“Yes Harry.”

“I’ve never been in a muggle bank so I have no comparison but I’m fairly sure mine-carts don’t figure into it.”

“Oh Gringots runs under half o’ London. If you had to walk to the vaults it’d take all day. Goes down pretty far too. The top security vaults are down there, guarded by curses, and traps and dragons…”

“Dragons sound like a good security method.” Said Harry, climbing into the cart. “Of course it could be a problem if you actually want to withdraw anything without being char-grilled.”

“Oh dragons aren’t as bad as all that. That’s just anti-dragon prejudice.”

“Do they breathe fire?”

“Well yes.”

“Are they ten foot long?”

“Oh most are much bigger than that!”

“With huge claws, teeth, muscles?”

“Um…” the cart took off with a jolt. “I see where you’re going with this Harry.”

“Just playing around.” Harry said as the cart gathered speed. Soon the walls were passing at a blur, other tracks winding off to either side. The cart passed through vast caverns and through pin-hole passageways, tipping so far on the bends it threatened to come off. Harry stood face-first to the wind and closed eyes, letting the gusting noise swirl around him as the carts movement buffeted him. After a second he turned to Greeklunk, just one question on his mind.

“Does it go any faster?”

“One speed only.” Said Greeklunk wistfully. He shared a quick smile with Harry and turned his face into the wind too. After a second he added with a wide-mouthed goblin-grin, “But we can go round some loops if you like!”

“No!” Hagrid’s muffled yell came from the corner where he sat hunched over. “Blazes Harry, are y’ trying to kill us?”

“Are you alright Hagrid.” Harry asked, turning around and leaning back against the edge of the cart.

“I’m fine, I just hate these gringots trolleys.” Hagrid said, blanching “And hold on to something!” Harry had just spread his arms out like wings to better feel the wind, but obligingly put them back down. “You make me dizzy standing like that.”

The cart eventually slowed and pulled up next to a vault. Harry hopped out of the cart to examine this new surrounding followed, much more slowly and with thought for his stomach, by Hagrid. Greeklunk led them to one particular vault and turned brought out the key Hagrid had given the desk goblin. The lock squeaked as Greeklunk turned it with the key and there was the sound of large bolts drawing back.

“Here you are Harry.” Said Hagrid as the vault swung open. “Your inheritance.”

Harry’s mind rebelled. Not true, it insisted to its dishonest eyes, the pictures your sending me just can’t be true. There is no way. Just no way… Harry barely noticed as Hagrid walked into the vault and took a few coins from the piles of gold and more generous handfuls from the silver and bronze piles.

“This should be enough to go on.” Hagrid stepped back out of the vault and had to physically move Harry to allow Greeklunk to close the door. Harry was silent as they stepped back into the cart and for a while just stared at the walls rushing past until finally he felt he had his own thoughts in order enough to try and get answers for them.

“Hagrid? My parents left money here, so they must’ve been magic too, right?”

“Well of course they were! Lilly and James Potter. Head boy and girl of Hogwarts they were when they were there.”

“Magic runs in families?”

“Normally it does yes.”

“My aunt and uncle?” Harry asked incredulously.

“But not always.” Hagrid added nodding. “You’re mum was the first on her side of the family with it.”

“And they were stinking rich?”

“Comfortable Harry, comfortable.” Hagrid sat up to talk face to face. “I suppose they never were strapped for cash but hardly stinking rich, no, no.

“But, that vault?”

“Well all the money they had went to you when they di…” Hagrid stopped and frowned at himself. “I’m sorry Harry, I should’nt’ve blurted that out.”

“It’s all right.” Harry said shrugging. “I don’t remember them.”

“That’s not all right!” Said Hagrid with a mix of anger and sadness. “If anything that makes it worse!”

“Tell me a little about them then.” Harry said, careful not to let one shred of eagerness enter voice. “It might take your mind off the cart for a while longer.” Harry laughed as Hagrid suddenly looked around and ,seeing that he was sitting up, not holding on and had momentarily forgotten his nausea, let out a yelp of surprise and curled back into a corner.

After a moment he began to talk and Harry let the words wash over him. Hagrid didn’t seem very good at telling stories, his mind jumped about with many a “and there was this other time…” and seemed to jump from his fathers first year at Hogwarts, to his parents wedding, to some game called Quidditch his father apparently played, to just describing his mothers face. In the middle of a blow by blow description of a fight between his father and some other kid (Snipe?) Harry realised they were no longer moving. Glancing around he saw a dim, disused, dingy and dank part of the bank caves with just one large vault in sight next to the cart. Thinking back Harry realised they had not moved in some time and he glanced over to Greeklunk who smiled back at him, waiting at the control levers. Harry mouthed

“Thank you.” at him. Then said out loud… “Hagrid? I think we’re here.”

Cut off in mid flow, Hagrid shook himself out of his reminiscence and stood up. As Greeklunk led them to the door Harry noticed that it had no keyhole and no handle. “Deep down in Gringots.” He thought. “And even higher security than they put on piles of gold?”

“What are we here to get?” Harry asked warily.

“Best you don’t think on it too much Harry.” Said Hagrid. “Special mission from Dumbledore . Very secret.”

“Something magical?” Harry asked. “Another umbrella perhaps?” Hagrid looked at him oddly for a moment before realising it was a joke. Greeklunk ran a finger down a part of the doorway and it dissolved like dust into the air. The goblin then stepped back warily as if he didn’t want to be closer to the contents of the vault than he had to be. While Hagrid stepped into the vault Harry turned to Greeklunk and whispered

“Do you know what’s in here?” The goblin shook his head.

“And I don’t want to find out.” The goblin shuddered. “The vaults down here are the top security. I haven’t been here long enough to see more than one or two. Sometimes its just money, people who want it as safe as possible and don’t mind the extra charge, but sometimes…”

“Worse?”

“Much worse.” Greeklunk leaned against the wall and put an odd stick in his mouth and began to chew it. “There was one guy a few days ago, Rich toff from one of the old wizarding families. All he took out was money but I swear, in the back of the vault there was other stuff. Chains, knives, a rack, not new stuff mind but some of it looked… used.” Greeklunk trailed off into silence, chewing softly.

“You allow people to store stuff like that here?” Harry asked.

“That’s not the worst of it.” Continued Greeklunk, shaking his head. “That stuff could easily have been full of dark magic. In fact, considering the source, it probably was.” Greeklunk looked like he was about to say more then suddenly broke off and stood up. Muttering to himself he began to pace. “You won’t tell anybody I said that will you Harry?” Greeklunk said, sounding worried. “Only transactions are meant to be confidential and everything. I shouldn’t have let myself run like that.”

“It’s alright, it’s not as if you mentioned names or anything.”

“I only wish the higher ups would see it like that.” Greeklunk shook his head. “Ah… time to go.” Hagrid stepped back out of the vault stuffing a small grubby parcel into his pocket.

“Something small” Thought Harry. “Something small but very valuable and very secret and possibly very dangerous. Something magic. Something…” (he glanced into the vault as the door reappeared) “…valuable enough to rent out an entire vault just for it. What are we the couriers of?”

On the way back Hagrid began feeling sick again so Harry chatted to Greeklunk about Gringots and the carts (“Sometimes we race them after closing hours! Er, better add that to your list of stuff not to mention again Harry.”). Finally the cart reached ground level again and they got out, waved goodbye to Greeklunk and stepped back into the torrent of sound in diagonally.
________________________________________





“Right, first things first.” Hagrid looked up and down the street and stopped when he saw a shop that appeared to have a needle-and-thread sign outside its door. “We need to get you some robes.” Madam Malkin’s was empty except for the proprietor who fussed over Harry like a mother hen, standing him up on a stool and pinning and tucking the long black robe she threw over him.

“You’ll be going to Hogwarts of course.” Madam Malkin’s voice was muffled by the pins and clips held in her mouth. Hagrid, standing in the back of the shop mimed drinking and pointed back to the leaky cauldron, when Harry nodded he stood up and walked out the door. Harry suddenly felt a little vulnerable. Not from people, Harry knew how and when to run from trouble, but from this world. He was in a foreign country and had just lost his translator.

“So everyone keeps telling me.” Harry smiled wanly. Madam Malkin stood up and ruffled his hair.

“Don’t worry.” She said in a comforting motherly way. “It can take you like that if you’re new to this. You’ll soon enough get into the swing of things.”

“How did you know I was new to this?” Harry asked (or did everyone know him here? He quickly glanced up but his scar was still hidden by hair.)

“I see a lot of Hogwarts students come in here for their first robes.” Madam Malkin moved around to his other side to begin working on that. “You get so you can tell the ones who are muggle-born just by the way they look at anything magic sideways. But in a years time you see them come back carrying broomsticks and making the stools fly just like the rest. You’ll fit in.” She knelt down to begin on the hemline and Harry was left feeling more stable than he had all day.

“Just a matter of getting my sea legs.” Thought Harry, idly taking two balls from his pocket and juggling them one-handed. “Get stable in this new world and you’ll be fine.” Harry added another ball and kept on with one hand, using the other to get out his list. “Still need quills, still need parchment, still...”

“I wish I could do that.” Harry looked up to see a girl about his age standing in the doorway of the shop, an adult (judging from the froth of brown hair they were both endowed with, probably her mother) stood talking with one of the shop attendants and fiddling with gold coins she didn’t seem familiar with. Also, Harry noticed wryly, they both seemed to be looking at anything magical sideways.

“Do what?” Harry said as the girl was led onto an adjacent footstool.

“That.” The girl pointed at Harry’s right hand and he realised he was still bouncing the juggling balls.

“Oh, that.” Harry suddenly felt like impressing someone and added another ball before moving to both hands and separating them out into two loops. He caught one ball in each hand then flipped his wrists and let the others fall onto the backs, he balanced them there for a moment before slipping them back into his pockets. “That’s nothing.” Harry grinned and winked.

“I tried to learn how to juggle once.” The girl seemed to speak as if everyone should sit up and take notice. “I got a book out of the library that was supposed to teach you but I kept dropping the balls.” The girl seemed to realise something and turned to him (making the person pinning up her dress swear and suck a pricked finger) “Unless of course you used magic. Its probably easy for you to do if you do magic. I never knew I was magic until the letter came and I’m so glad but I bet I’ll be behind everyone else, that’s why we came out here the first day we could so I would have a chance to get lots of books for background reading. I just hope I don’t end up looking stupid.” The girl seemed to stop more from lack of breath than from lack of words, she didn’t look like she ever ran out of words.

“I don’t think there’s too much danger of you looking stupid” irritating maybe but not stupid “and anyway I’m the same, I was woefully, blissfully and surprisingly ignorant about magic until the letter came and warped the world.” He grinned and waved his hand towards the window into diagonally “but it can’t be anything but fun, especially wizard school, especially spells.” Harry laughed.

“Were not going there to have fun, were going there to learn.” The girl sounded scandalised.

“Maybe you’re going there to learn. But I’ve always had the opinion that life’s for fun, and if you can’t find something to laugh at in any situation you’re not trying hard enough. Anyway…” Harry swiftly moved on as the girl went through several stages of shock. “… we’ll hardly be able to avoid having fun if we’re doing spells all the time, making stuff fly, making stuff explode, making stuff into other stuff, the whole thing should be a blast.” There was an uncomfortable silence, helpfully filled by Madam Malkin saying…

“Alright dear, you’re done now.” Harry stepped off the stool and went to leave, just as he reached the door he heard…

“By the way I’m Hermione Granger, What’s you’re name.”

“Harry Potter.” The seamstress gasped and stabbed her finger again, Madam Malkin looked up in surprise. “See you at Hogwarts.” He walked out into the street leaving two surprised and two confused stares behind him.

Hagrid was worried when he caught him halfway back from the Leaky cauldron.

“You should’a waited in the shop.” Hagrid said taking him by the shoulder. “I was about to come get you. Kids shouldn’t be walking around alone.” Harry was about to mention that that was exactly what he had been doing the last three years of his life when Hagrid started off towards another shop and Harry had to follow or be swallowed by the crowd.

On the round of the shops Harry met three more prospective Hogwarts students, a pair of twin girls in the apothecary’s who laughed when he juggled crocodile eyes and laughed even harder when he was thrown out of the shop for doing so, and a boy called Blaise Zabini in Flourish and Blotts who didn’t seem to laugh at anything and sniffed in utter disdain when Harry bought second hand books.

“There’s plenty in that vault to last you know Harry.” Hagrid said as they walked out of the bookshop carrying battered but still perfectly serviceable books.

“Easiest way to end up with no money is to spend it when you don’t have to. Besides, these are still good.” The book he was holding picked that moment to spill its first few pages onto the cobbles. Harry picked them up without speaking and set off down the street fast enough to make Hagrid jog to keep up.
________________________________________




Ollivanders came next and Harry thought for a moment Hagrid had taken his advice to heart. Looking at the thin premises with faded windows and peeling paintwork belied its blurb which made out that it had made fine wand since 382 bc.

“Yes…” Thought Harry, “…in this shop. And you haven’t repainted since then.” But he walked in all the same and walked up to the counter as Hagrid took a seat by the door.

The inside was full of shelves, piled high with long thin boxes. It reminded Harry of a cross between an old second hand bookshop and a disused shoe store. The sliver of light from the window illuminated the motes of dust in the air, Harry blew into it and was rewarded by a swirling pattern, spotlighted in the murky room. He was just wondering if he should perhaps ring the bell when he heard a voice out of the darkness.

“Good afternoon.” The voice was quiet and felt like old velvet but it came so suddenly that Hagrid jumped like a spooked rabbit and Harry just kept enough of his self-control to avoid jumping himself though his heart felt like it had leapt on its own.

“Good afternoon to you.” Harry said, keeping his voice steady while thinking “sneaking up on me, huh? Don’t let him see he got to you. For all he knows you heard him coming.” Out of the gloom behind the desk an old, white haired and pale-eyed man stepped, cocking his head like a heron.

“Ah, Mr. Potter.” The old man couldn’t have seen the scar, none of the other people he’d met had through the hair. “I was sure I’d be seeing you in my shop sometime soon.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Harry leaned back from the mans eyes and said. “I’m here to buy a wand.”

“Why else would you be here?” The man seemed faintly amused. He drew a tape measure out of a pocket and it sprang out of his hand, measuring Harry’s arms and fingers. “Wands are what I do. I made all the wands here and I remember all of them, even the ones I’ve sold.”

“Wouldn’t some sort of card catalogue would be more efficient?” said Harry but Ollivander wasn’t listening.

“It seemed only yesterday your parents were in here buying their first wands.”

“Well it would if you’ve been around since 382bc!” Getting more annoyed as the tape measure wrapped itself around his head.

“You’re mother was a unicorn-hair girl, set in willow. Good wand that, I remember the day I made it. Your father liked a wand with dragon heart-string, more powerful. Well I say he liked but its really the wand that chooses the wizard.” Ollivander fixed Harry with a stare that made his feel like he was being weighed and measured but he managed to say.

“Fascinating, but there’s only one wand I really want to talk about. Mine. Let me chose it or let it chose me, either way seems fine.”

“Very well Mr. Potter.” Ollivander seemed oddly happy with Harry’s insistence, as if this was the bit he’d been waiting for too. He snapped his fingers and the tape measure curled back up in the palm of his hand. “Lets try...” he ran his long fingers over a nearby shelf then nodded to himself and picked a box that was (to Harry’s eyes) identical to all the others. “… Pine and Phoenix feather, short one at five inches.” Harry took it and looked at it, it looked like a fat pencil. “Give it a wave.” Encouraged Ollivander. Harry swished the wand and jabbed at air to no effect before Ollivander snatched it back off him.

“No, not that one. Lets go in another direction.” Ollivander climbed up a ladder on the far side of the shop and dropped down another box. “Dragon-heartstring and beach. Twelve inch and thin.” He called out. “Try it.” Harry waved the glorified toothpick unenthusiastically before handing it back up to Ollivander who replaced it on the shelf and kicked the ladder over to another area.

More wands passed by without effect and Harry was beginning to feel worried (and a little hungry) when Ollivander passed him another wand.

“Phoenix feather and Holly Eleven inches.” Ollivander handed it to him just like he had all the others but Harry thought he had seen a glimmer in the old mans spooky eyes. Harry raised it apprehensively and swished it like a whip. Nothing happened, and silence filled the small shop. Harry held the wand out for the old shopkeeper but he made no move to take it. He was staring at it like he did not quite understand.

“Try it again.” Was all he said.

Harry obediently swished the wand a bit more and jabbed it in the air. It refused to do anything for him.

“Doesn‘t seem to work.” Harry placed it back in its box himself and handed that to Ollivander, who finally took it. The poor man looked quite confused.

“Dra… Dragon-heartstring.” He said after a moment, as if struggling with something. “And oak.”

A few wands later and one shot ribbons of light in the air as Harry swished it.

“Andaman padunk.” The wand maker said almost to himself. “and phoenix feather. Just nine inches. But this is yours!” He held up the other wand in its box. “This is the one you’re supposed to have. This wand has at its core, a certain feather. The bird that gave that feather gave only one other that was made into a wand. Yes, thirteen and a half inches, yew. That wand Harry, gave you that scar.” He pointed at Harry’s forehead. “That wand belonged to he-who-must-not-be-named I’m sorry to say. You and… and… and he…” Ollivander lapsed into silence and Harry said.

“But that one didn’t work. This one did.” He liked the look of the wand he had in his hand. The wood was faintly red and the grip where he held it was a little rougher making the thing feel stable in his small hand like none of the others had. “How much for this one.”

“Take it.” The old man suddenly looked just that, old. He waved them out as he turned and walked into the back of his shop, without taking his eyes off the wand in his hand.
________________________________________









Harry left the price of the wand on the desk and left the old man to his thoughts. When they were outside Harry took the lead and a surprised Hagrid followed him. Harry stopped by a little café and sat down at a table in the corner and motioned for Hagrid to sit down too. When he did Harry said…

“Alright. Now I need to know what’s going on.” Hagrid nodded and sighed, mumbling something about not knowing why Dumbledore thought he was the one who should tell him, then launched into the story. People passed by them but Harry was wrapped up in the story that was, he supposed, his history. Then finally when Hagrid finished he took a deep breath and said…

“They think, that something I was or did stopped this dark lord? And the reason people are staring at me is because I’m some sort of celebrity-hero? And everyone in your world knows this? Including the people I’m going to be going to school with? And this dark wizard may still be out there somewhere? Have I got this right?”

“I’m sorry Harry.” Hagrid shook his head. “There’s a lot to take in on top of what you’ve already heard today. But you asked, and I would’ve had to tell you anyway seeing as you’ll be going off to Hogwarts with people who know.” Hagrid suddenly looked around them, some of the shops were already shut and the café owner was looking at them pointedly. “We’d better get going.”

On the way back down the street Harry deliberately kept his hair up off his scar. People stared, he would have to get used to it.

________________________________________
Chapter 2: The toaders

Hagrid spoke to the barman at the leaky cauldron before leaning down to speak to Harry.

“I’ve got you a room here at the cauldron.” Hagrid pointed back up the stares. “I don’t know what yer gonna do in the long term but for now until you go to Hogwarts you can stay here.”

So that was how it came to pass that Harry slept at the leaky cauldron that night, tired from a day that had held more surprises than, well, than the rest of his life put together. Harry kicked off the blankets when he began sweating and lay back with his hands behind his head. His tired body fought his buzzing mind as it churned through the days revelations. But as the clock crept past eleven Harry’s body began to win and his eyes drooped.

He dreamt of wands and wizards and rocketing carts that flew past his eyes chased by broomsticks. But most of all he kept turning and turning the story Hagrid had told him through his head just as he had when he was awake. Again and again a dark figure killed a man, then a woman then touched him on the head with his wand. Sometimes the man was Hagrid, his vast bulk blowing away like dust in a flash of light, sometimes the man looked like Harry, but older, stockier. The killer was worse, sometimes it was just a dark force, a wave. Sometimes it looked human, like a villain off TV, decked out in fangs and a cloak as it killed a woman who looked like Madam Malkin. Sometimes it had red eyes. Once, it was Harry.

Harry jerked awake and saw that it was still dark outside. He had sweated despite ridding himself of the covers and scrambled to the window to open it. Dim light filtered in from the edges of a sky not quite ready for sunrise. Harry turned and looked over his room, barely glimpsed the night before. It was panelled in oak and the furniture was all of the heavy wooden sort. The bed had a canopy around it that Harry had failed to close last night, he noted in passing that the under sheet was twisted as if the sleeper had squirmed in the night.

“Running from something” Harry decided grimly. That thought and others made him decide to forgo trying to get some more sleep before dawn and wandered over to where he’d dropped his bags by the dresser.

He idly looked through bags, sorting stuff into piles and chuckling as they brought back recollections of various episodes of the previous day, the quills the shopkeeper had tried to give him free when a waft from a fan blew back his hair, the potion ingredients Hagrid had had to go back in to get after the crocodile eye episode. When he finally had all he owned in piles in front of him he pulled over a chair and sat down in front of it, considering his dilemma. The largest pile by far, dwarfing his new robes in weight if not in size, was the books.

This really was a dilemma for Harry. Having not had cause to read anything longer than a sentence or two in three years Harry was painfully aware that those books would be seriously heavy going. Checking his ticket again (from another pile) Harry counted days and came up with thirty eight. He counted them again and came up with thirty seven. He did a little rhyme in his head to remember how many days august had and came up with thirty eight again. He wondered how much a room for more than a month had cost and whether he could carry all his books about on the streets and realised that Hagrid had probably paid in advance to stop him doing just that. The groundskeeper was surprisingly shrewd about some things.

Harry switched his attention back to the books and began wondering instead if a month would be enough. He’d be blown if he was going to this school without knowing a jot more than he knew now and looking like a raw newbie. Harry’s stomach grumbled and he realised wryly that lunch had been a long time ago and although a lot had happened in the mean-time dinner hadn’t been part of it. And worse he realised with a chuckle, breakfast probably wouldn’t be served for hours yet.

“Wow,” he thought grinning “All it takes is just a huge pile of gold and suddenly you can’t miss two meals. Weakling.”

Harry lay back for a moment and closed his eyes, then swung forward and pulled a book off the top of the pile. After a moment he replaced it, shuffled through till he found the one with the word beginners in the title and started on that. After a moment he put that back too and found the one that said grade-one. After a moment he leaned back and put his feet up. He had finally managed to understand the first sentence in one of his books. It was a start.

*

Harry was well into the book when he realised that light was streaming through the windows and the sounds of the city were filtering through loud and clear. Harry stood up, put the book in his bag and went off to explore Diagonally. The barkeeper watched him go but didn’t try to stop him.

“Hagrid probably told him to watch me.” Thought Harry as he walked out the back door, turned, walked back in and asked the barkeeper how to open the wall.

The way revealed to him, Harry stepped out onto the bustling street. Harry bought a folded-pastry thing at a cart and was surprised to discover it was pumpkin. He walked along staring in windows at the various oddities until he reached Gringots. Gaining this familiar ground Harry climbed to the top of the steps, sat down and finished his pastry where he could see everyone come and go. Eventually he got out his book and read a chapter on something called alohomora without taking it in before shouldering his bag again and walking back into the crowd.

Harry followed a pattern like this for the next few days, going out in the morning and soaking in the sights of Diagonally until he was sure he knew the place by heart, The standard book of spells (Grade one) by Miranda Goshawk was finished and replaced back by A beginners guide to transfiguration by Emeric Switch which was itself replace after a much longer interval (the book was longer and had none of the helpful diagrams Miranda Goshawk had added to her book) by one about Fungi.

Harry was just grinding through a particularly dull passage about moss after a long days walk when he heard a tapping on the window. A brown and cream flecked owl with long legs stood on the windowsill. The window was open but the owl just kept sitting there, cocking its head at him until Harry motioned the bird to come in. It ducked under the window frame and hopped onto the floor where it scuttled up to the desk and raised itself up to it in one flap. Careful to avoid disturbing any of Harry’s stuff it walked over to him and held out a letter it had clutched in its claw. Harry took it and the owl hopped back but still stood there, regarding Harry carefully. When he looked it in the eyes it ducked its head and took another step back but didn’t leave. Harry felt into his pocket and found the remains of his ham sandwich lunch which he opened and placed near the owl. The owl looked at it but seemed too nervous to take it. Shrugging, Harry opened the letter. In writing almost as bad as his own Harry read…


Dear Harry
Happy Birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be there in person but what with the school year just starting there’s lots to do at Hogwarts. There was a classroom on the third floor full of flesh eating slugs. Anyway I sent you your present. (Harry checked inside the envelope and read on bewildered) Unless you’re wondering why the owls still hanging around it’s because she’s yours. (Ahh, thought Harry, glancing at the nervous bird) The cage and stuff should be coming soon too. If you want to write to me just give her a letter, she’ll know where to find me. Once again Happy Birthday.

Hagrid


Harry folded the letter up carefully and turned to look at the owl. It really wasn’t that large in the body but had long spindly legs that looked like they belonged on a wader. Harry slowly put his arm out and scratched the side of the owls head. She went stiff for a moment then relaxed and cocked her head under his scratching fingers. After a little while the owl managed to pluck up the courage to take a bit of ham off the table and swallow it whole. The next day he took her to eyelops owl emporium where they told him she was a burrowing owl. In light of this he named her Digger. The clerk said that that was the most unimaginative name he’d ever heard. Harry stuck his tongue out at him and left the shop.

About a week after that Harry snapped shut the cover of the last book in his pile. He put it carefully on top of the others and sat there for a while collecting his thoughts. Then he leaned forward, placed a hand firmly on the underside of the pile and turned it over. Digger hooted from her cage as Harry sat back down to read.

*

September the first bloomed bright and early but Harry was already up. His bag was stuffed to the brim with his school clothed and books and his cauldron tied on the outside and he carried Digger in her cage in one hand. Harry walked Diagonally one last time to say goodbye to the people he’d met on his walks, Greeklunk at gringots, the fruit seller he chatted to when he got bored of his books and finally to Tom the barman before walking back out into the muggle world.

Kings cross was not far away. But with an owl in a cage and a full bag even a short way can seem too far and Harry was tired when he reached it.

“Half an hour to go.” Harry checked his ticket. “Easier to wait on the train than out here”. He walked down the platform past platform eight, past platform nine, past platform ten, back past platform ten, stop, look left, look right.

A profanity slipped from Harry’s mouth that made a passer-by grumble and frown. There was no platform nine-and-three-quarters, at least not one he could see. Harry had walked the lengths of platforms nine and ten before he saw an odd sight moving towards him. A man dressed in a black cape, attracting many stares from passers by, herded a white-blond haired child towards the platform. They were followed by a tired looking man carrying a large travelling chest and (and this was the bit Har