Prologue
Harry had never seen a goblin before, and he had certainly not been prepared for it.
The goblin was unlike any other creature he had ever dreamed of — with its pointy nose and ears, long fingers and slanted eyes — and yet Harry’s mother seemed perfectly oblivious to its strangeness. She had, in fact, showed no sign of surprise or bewilderment to any of the fantastic sightings which had awed Harry on their way to the bank; instead, she prompted herself to the nearest vacant counter and smiled sweetly, as she always did.
"Hello, there!" she said cheerfully.
On the opposite side, the creature scribbled on a piece of parchment that seemed bigger than Harry himself.
"Yes?" a grave voice muttered back.
"I have some muggle money that I would like exchanged, please."
"Are you registered at Gringotts, ma'am?"
She frowned. "Why, uh… Yes, I believe so."
"Do you have a key?"
"No, sir, I don’t."
"Name?"
"Lily Evans."
Harry noticed his mum had started fidgeting with her fingers while the goblin consulted a leathered book. An older woman had just positioned herself in line behind them, looking a bit impatient with her two identical sons, who had not stood still for a single second since arriving.
"I’m afraid I would need your key, ma'am", the goblin declared at last. "It is an obligatory requirement for any wizard or witch who wishes to utilise the bank’s services."
"But I’m not trying to enter my vault", Lily protested. "I only wish to exchange the currency…"
"Yes, ma'am, you’ve said that already. It is still the bank’s policy to request that you present your key…"
"I don’t have it. I… I must have lost it years ago! It’s been over a decade since I last came here."
"Unfortunately, miss…"
"Is there an issue here?" the older woman took a step towards them. She looked at Lily, concerned. "Are you alright, dear?"
"Yes, thank you", Lily answered. "I only need to exchange my muggle money, but I don’t have my old key with me, and it seems I can’t do anything without it, and…"
The woman nodded and headed towards the counter. As she started speaking to the goblin, Harry noticed her two sons had stopped playing with whatever object they kept passing to one another and were now staring at him with funny looks. He suddenly felt very much aware of his messy, uncombed hair and his knobbly knees, accentuated by the baggy summer shorts he was wearing.
There were now two goblins assisting the first, and mum and the older woman both had frowned brows.
"Oh, this is going to take a while, isn’t it?" the woman mumbled. Then she smiled and cleared her throat. "Fred, George!"
The twin boys rushed to her side, grinning from ear to ear.
"How about you take young, uh…"
"Harry."
"How about you take young Harry to the quidditch store, huh? His mum and I are likely to stay here for a while, and I’m sure Harry must be very eager to see that new broom model you were telling me about…"
The twins were already halfway out the door.
"Come, Harry!" they called.
Harry glanced at his mum nervously.
She nodded. "You can go. I’ll meet you there once we sort this out."
She wouldn’t have to tell him twice. Harry ran after them, eager to explore the shops. He had tried to stop at every store when they had first arrived, but his mum had insisted they went to the bank first — otherwise they wouldn’t be able to buy anything. But Harry was used to not being able to afford trivialities, and mostly he only wanted to look. It really felt like an entire new world he had just been dunked into.
The twins were already many steps ahead of him, but he located them easily enough — sometimes he would lose sight, but soon enough the pair of bobbing ginger heads would pop back up again. He reached them when they were already at the front of a huge window, talking excitedly of a shiny broomstick that floated on the other side of the glass.
"... wicked!" one of them was saying.
"Go on, Harry, take a look! Stunning, eh?"
Harry squinted. It certainly didn’t look like any of the old brooms that mum had back at the inn — no, this one was sleek and shiny, its long tail perfectly combed, not a twig out of place. "Woah", he whispered.
"Right", the closest twin answered. "I’m Fred, by the way."
They looked exactly alike, but Harry made an effort to try and remember their names correctly, at least for that day. Fred in the green shirt, he tried repeating in his head.
"Ever flown a broom before, Harry?" George, the other one, asked.
"No."
"Your mum’s a witch, right?" Fred asked.
"Yeah", he said. It was still weird, hearing people call his mum a witch. Alan Norris, who was in his class, had once received a week’s detention after calling their teacher one. But, ever since they had arrived at that hidden alley, everyone seemed to refer to his mum as exactly that: a witch.
"And you dad, too?"
"Well, I… I don’t know", Harry admitted.
The twins looked confused. "Why not?"
"Oh, shit", George said. "Is he dead?"
"Probably. Mum never talks about him." His mum’s eyes always filled with tears the few times he had asked, so he thought it safe to assume so.
Fred suddenly gasped. "Oh, that’s brilliant!"
Harry hadn’t had time to even react before Fred corrected himself.
"Not about your dad, sorry, Harry— I just had a great idea." He had a crazed look on his face. "We should visit a Seer!"
"What’s a Seer?" he asked.
"Someone who can tell you about your future and your past."
"Mum says they’re all full of it", George pointed out.
"Remember that story uncle Bilius was telling us about?" Fred insisted. "About the Seer who told him about his family’s old treasure?"
"You’re not thinking of going to Knockturn Alley, are you…"
Fred turned to him. "Wouldn’t you like that, Harry? Don’t you wanna know more about your father?"
Harry’s eyes were huge. "Could she actually tell me about him?"
"Don’t see why not! Unless you got some curse on you, or something."
He chuckled half-heartedly. "Not that I know of…"
"Then let’s go!"
Fred headed off. George followed him only a second later, and then so did Harry. His heart was almost beating its way out of his chest, but he felt a thrill rushing through his entire body. Could he actually be on his way to find out more about his dad? Perhaps he had been a great wizard of sorts, who had gone off in some dangerous adventure to never return. Harry had recently learned about the existence of dragons, and he could already imagine his dad bravely battling one — though he had to picture some blurry, older version of his own self when he did it.
The three boys paved their way through the busy streets until the shops started turning darker and dusty, and the roads turned narrower and quieter. The further they got from Gringotts and the quidditch shop, the drier Harry’s throat got, but he kept following the twins. He was almost suggesting they turn back when Fred suddenly stopped, examining one faded wooden sign.
"I think this is it", he said, following the sign through a small door and up a set of stairs.
The stairs ended at a single door frame garnished with heavy, green velvet curtains. There was no bell or anything to knock on, so they crossed the curtains into the room.
It was as dark as night on the inside. Harry couldn’t tell if there were any windows: tapestries hung on every wall, and some of the pictures threaded on them were so hideous he had to force himself to look at anything else. There were hundreds of glass jars with what seemed like human parts, others with beetles and all kinds of live insects, and only a few black-wax candles floating close to the ceiling — so close, in fact, that he feared the whole room would very soon catch on fire.
"Hello, sweeties", a hoarse voice said from a corner.
The three of them jumped and turned at the same time. As Harry’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he was finally able to make out the silhouette of a woman resting against an armchair. Her face was still mostly hidden by the darkness, but her eyes seemed to glow on their own.
"I am Madam Warren. How may I assist you today?"
Fred and George immediately turned their heads to Harry, and he swallowed. "I…" he started. "I would like to know more about my father."
"Hmm", she groaned. "Don’t we all?"
Harry stood still, not knowing what else to say.
"Come, dear, sit." A small wooden table and bench were conjured out of thin air in front of her. "And sip."
Harry obeyed. A tea set had also appeared on top of the table, and Harry only stared into the drink. It did not seem at all like a good idea to drink tea in a stranger’s room.
"Sip", she said once more, her voice sharp and commanding. And so he did.
It was, thankfully, regular tea. Harry was so relieved that he even thought, at that moment, that he would have liked it better with sugar and milk, but of course he knew better than to voice any of it out loud.
"All of it. Until you can see the leaves at the bottom."
Harry presented his almost empty cup to the Seer, and she was apparently satisfied. As she examined it, she pointed at a pile of cards that now sat atop the table.
"Turn three cards for me, will you, dear?"
It went on for at least half an hour. Madam Warren put Harry to a series of tasks, which varied from drinking tea to placing a dried finger on an eerie alphabet board. She seemed most intrigued by almost everything he did, so he didn’t think to question it. When he threw a handful of small, glossy black rocks on some astronomical map, she was finally satisfied.
"Perfect", she cheered. "Right, Harry. We’re done."
Harry stood stiff — he didn’t remember telling her his name.
"Now, before I tell you what I’ve found, I shall require my payment."
He panicked, looking at Fred and George. He didn’t have any money on him — wizard or muggle — and he felt stupid for not even having thought of it. What if Madam Warren decided to kidnap them for not being able to pay her? What if she sold them? What if she decided she’d rather use their remains when attending her next clients?
"Don’t worry, dear", she laughed softly. "I only require a strand of your hair."
"A… my hair?" he repeated.
"That’s right."
He halted, unsure. He didn’t have much of a choice, did he? So he only plucked one strand and handed it to her.
"Thank you", she murmured. "Right… Now where were we? Oh, your father, wasn’t it? I’m afraid, Harry dearest, that I could not find anything conclusive on it. I…"
"What do you mean?" one of the twins interrupted. "We’ve been here for half an hour!"
"The Inner Eye does as it wants", Madam Warren vouched. "It is not always clear to us Seers."
"What was the payment for, then?"
Her eyes glowed. "I shall give you names. Three."
Harry waited.
"Remus Lupin", she began. "Sirius Black. James Potter."
He blinked twice. "But… they’re three. Is one of them my father?"
"That you will have to discover for yourself, Harry."
"But how am I supposed to do that?"
"I’m sure you’ll find a way."
"But… he’s alive, then? The three of them are?"
"Yes."
Her tone was final, so Harry thanked her and got up. As they made their way down the stairs, he kept repeating those three names. Remus Lupin… Sirius Black… James Potter. He had not heard any of them, ever. Could one of them actually be his dad? Could it truly be that he would have the answer to the question he had spent his whole life asking?
But, most importantly, he still had a dad. He was somewhere, out there. Alive.
And he now knew enough to actually find him.
"Harry?"
Harry shook his head, clearing it back to reality. "Sorry. What was that?"
"We were saying… The Black family is quite famous. They’re probably the wealthiest wizarding family there is."
"Oh, that would be too cool, if you were related to the Blacks!" Fred beamed. "You could go back to the shop and buy any broom that you liked!"
Harry smiled, but quickly brushed the thought away. "I still don’t know if any of them is in fact my dad."
"Well, write to them, then!" said George. "Yeah, you should do that! It’s the only way."
"Great thinking, George. To the Owlery!" Fred called, already breaking into a run.
The Owlery was located back in the packed, well-illuminated main street, much to Harry’s delight. Fred and George had enough change to buy Harry a small piece of parchment (which he had to tear in three) and the slowest owls available, but it was more than enough.
Please join us in the 10 year celebration of the Gentian Inn, located at Springvale Road, Seaview, Isle of Wight. 30 and 31 of August, Harry wrote. He considered, for a moment, sending only that, but he knew that the three men might end up ignoring the invitation entirely. He thought of adding his name, but of course it made no sense — his name probably meant nothing to them. So instead he wrote his mum’s name, Lily Evans, in his best imitation. He had had plenty of practice signing school reports and sick leaves with her signature already.
"Right, then", he said, after writing those three names — Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and James Potter — in each invite. "I guess this is it."
Fred and George helped Harry tie the rolled parchments into the owls, and they all watched as the trio of birds flew out.
Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, Harry repeated again. In only a few weeks, he would be meeting them.
And he would finally find out which of them was his dad.