Heir of Magic

Mr. And Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They had a perfect house kept clean by their freak of a nephew, a lovely, strapping young boy who railed on his freakish cousin whenever he got the chance, and they prided themselves on knowing all about their neighbours and community while keeping their own abnormality a secret. The few who knew about their freakish nephew never had much to say about him, for once he turned eleven, the Dursley’s told them he was sent to a boarding school to fix his attitude. Never mind the fact that he was going to a school of abnormals and abominations, only deigning to return and infect their lives during the break of every summer. 

Yes, the Dursley family was quite normal, despite their delinquent nephew. After all, every family has a black sheep, don’t they? 

This particular late May afternoon, though, was turning out to be even more freakish and abnormal than usual when the young Harry Potter was around. He had been working all day, cleaning, cooking, and scrubbing all over the house, not even allowed to eat the leftovers until Vernon had deemed his work sufficient. They were having a business dinner soon, with one of Vernon’s coworkers and his wife, and the house needed to be spotless. Harry, of course, was not invited, and would be spending the entire evening locked in his room, while his owl would be locked in the shed out back. The Dursley's did not want a repeat of the events two years prior. 

Today, though, Hedwig was still up in Harry’s room, and Harry himself was on a footstool, scrubbing at the windows of the sunroom. All throughout the day, he could have sworn he saw floating lights and sparkles in the back yard. But every time he went to look, they were gone, and he was yelled at for “tuning out”. Thankfully, Vernon had only flogged him once, because “you still need to finish cleaning, boy.” Petunia notably only sniffed, telling him not to bleed on her floor, or he’d be scrubbing the whole house again. 

Harry was almost done scrubbing the windows, a job he usually only had to do once a year when he was back at Number Four. It was past dinnertime, and the Dursley's were sitting in the lounge watching television. It was at this moment, just when Harry was finishing the last window and the sun had just set, when he saw the floating light again. He looked to the left, out towards the backyard, and leaned over to try and see it more clearly. Except, his stool was already balancing on the wicker couch, and it followed him as he leaned, crashing down to the floor and throwing Harry into the glass-topped table. 

Not only did he make a racket, but there was a heavy glass paperweight that bounced when he landed, and crashed through the glass table, shattering it. Harry couldn’t hear much over the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears, but he could certainly feel all the glass shards digging into his back and sides. He thought he could hear screaming, and thought it might be his own, until he felt a grubby hand squeeze his neck for dear life, lifting him up only slightly before slamming him back into the glass-covered ground. 

He blearily opened his eyes, and couldn’t see much past the red, extremely angry face of one Vernon Dursley. He felt a sharp stab of pain in his side, just before he felt his cousin’s shoe collide in the same spot. 

Ah, he thought, good ol’ Dudley. That was probably a piece of glass his kicked into me. 

Harry had long ago learned to compartmentalize and hide in his own head, with a ‘family’ as painful to live with as the Dursley’s, it was the only way he could remain sane. He distantly felt a sharp pain in his neck and back, and burrowed even further into his mind. The only thing that could bring him back now was time, and he barely registered being lifted up again and roughly tossed into a small, dark space. 

The broom cupboard, he realized, only just barely registering the darkness and the sound of the many locks once again enclosing him in the eerily familiar space. He hadn’t been locked in the cupboard since before his first year at Hogwarts, and he’d been working on getting over his claustrophobia. With his mind recessed to a place he hadn’t had to go in years, his body just laid there, stretched over his old cot bed covered in glass and bruises. 

He might as well have been absent from his own body, not being able to register anything about the world around him or his own pain anymore. His eyes didn’t register a floating white light blink into existence in front of his face, nor the twinkling sound of bells as the light floated all around him. He only vaguely registered something had changed when his body began to relax, mind drifting off to sleep. He certainly did not notice the shards of glass magically floating out of his body, the floating light touching each wound and closing it painlessly. Instead, his mind drifted off into a deep calm nothingness, until he was ready to awaken, or be awoken. 

When he did wake up, he was confused, and scared since he did not remember why he would be in his old cupboard. But once he remembered the incident, he calmed down a bit, relaxing into his old cot. It was then that he noticed a pile of berries and nuts on the floor, and next to it, the floating light. He quickly put his glass back on, which had fallen off his face when he was thrown into the cupboard. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he recognized the magic creature from his Care of Magical Creatures book. 

“A fairy? In Surrey?” the tiny glowing humanoid trilled a little, and though the facial features of fairies were not recognizable to humans – even wizards – Harry thought they seemed to be saying “I know, it’s terrible here.”  

It was next that he noticed the pile of glass sitting on the other side of the fairy, most sticky with blood, and a number of them were quite large. He realized then that he didn’t feel any pain, and reached to his side where he had felt Dudley kick him. Feeling nothing, he lifted up his torn shirt – There was a faint scar, a line were the glass must have been, but the wound looked like it had been closed for months.  

“Were these all in me?” 

The fairy trilled again, though they seemed a bit sadder this time, and floated up to Harry's outstretched palm. 

“Thank you. For removing them...I assume that was you.” 

The fairy nodded their head, though with such a small body it was hard for Harry to really tell. They then chirped again, floating back to the pile of food. Harry’s stomach growled, and he realized that even if it was the same night (which he very much doubted), he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Nothing new with the Dursley’s, but still not ideal.  

He took a handful of the food, thanking the Fairy, and ate in contemplative silence. If he were lucky, the Dursley’s were only going to keep him locked in here for a couple of days. If he were even luckier, he had slept most of those days away.  

Though, he thought, knowing my luck it’s the same night. And they’re going to keep me locked up for the rest of the week. 

He finished off the berries and nuts – there hadn’t been many of them and he suspected the Fairy had gathered them from the Dursley’s fridge. The more he thought about it, the more scared he was of what they might do. Sure, he had broken things here and there, but nothing quite so big or important. Dudley and Petunia both used that table a lot, Dudley to watch his shows and Petunia when she wanted to read in the sunroom.  

He felt a phantom pain in his side, causing him to remember the fact that Dudley had kicked him right where a piece of glass was already poking out of him. And if the size of the scar was anything to go by, it had been one of the bigger ones. The more he thought about it, and the longer he looked at the pile of bloody, sticky shards of glass, the more he realized how deadly this might have been.  

If the Dursley’s really did just leave him for a week, with no medical attention? He would get infected at the very least, die from blood loss at the worst, if the wounds had been big enough or deep enough. 

“I have to leave” he said, looking at the Fairy, who was flying next to his head. “staying here really might just kill me.” 

The fairy, of course, said nothing. But they did fly over to the door, and after a second Harry heard the locks opening one by one, before the door slowly swung open. Deciding not to think too much about the consequences of a Fairy being able to do such magic, he quickly swept out into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief. He still hated that cupboard. He quietly crept his way into the kitchen, noting that it was, unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately now), 4am that same night. Petunia was always the first one up, and she never left the room before 6am, so he had time to get everything and leave.  

His new Fairy friend – because, really, they were helping him escape and healed him, that counted as a friend in his book – floating softly in front of him, guiding him through the quiet house. Without making any noise, even holding his breath so as not to chance fate, Harry made it into his room and grabbed his trunk and wand, before the fairy shrunk them down so they could fit in his pocket. He grabbed everything he had left: the photo album of his parents, the school books he had stashed under his bed, every trace that there had been someone other than Dudley living in that room. With that done, he moved out to the backyard to fetch Hedwig, who seemed to somehow sense what was going on, as she was entirely silent. 

“Hey there girl, we’re finally going to be getting out of here.” They flapped their wings slightly, but still made no noise. “I’m not sure I can carry you, I’m not even sure where I’m going to go. Do you think you could find Sirius? Let him know what's going on?”  

Soon enough, Hedwig was flying off with a roll of paper clutched in her claws, telling Sirius that he was leaving the Dursley’s. The explanation could wait until Harry was safe, until both of them were safe. But regardless, once Harry turned the corner of Privett Drive, he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders. He had been free for a while at Hogwarts, and did indeed feel semi-protected there. But now? He felt free and safe, even though he was technically on the streets, anything was safer that Privet Drive. 

Living on the streets, huh? Still...better than that house. He thought. Trying to think of were he was going to go, he pulled the cloak Mrs. Weasley had insisted he buy closer around his shoulders. May nights in England weren’t cold by any means, but the adrenaline was wearing off from his escape, and he began to feel a little chilly. The fairy trilled again, floating around his body, and he felt the familiar flow of magic that a warming charm usually had settling over him. 

“Thanks,” he croaked, and shook off the rest of his lingering doubts.  

Fairies were not seen very often in this day and age, though they were distant relatives of house elves and goblins and were well-known to still be alive and thriving. They just didn’t reveal themselves to humans anymore – either magical or mundane – and despite many theories why that is, it was widely accepted that Fairies were still extremely kind and helpful to those they did interact with. Harry and Hermione had discussed it with Hagrid at one point, who admitted to seeing the odd fairy or two in the forbidden forest. They had come to their own independent conclusion that Fairies didn’t like the way the world had turned out very much, and only revealed themselves to help someone else or to fix something they saw they could fix.  

Needless to say, in Harry’s mind the fairy showing up and helping him was proof that he really did need to escape from the Dursley’s.  

“I don’t know exactly where to go now. Perhaps Diagon? But I don’t have my Gringotts key, I’m pretty sure Dumbledore has it.”  

At the mention of Gringotts, the fairy jingled again, seemingly excited. And though it took a minute for him to figure out what they were excited about, when he did figure it out Harry knew there wasn’t really a choice about where to go now.  

“Alright, alright, Gringotts it is then. But I don’t think I have the money for the Knight Bus, and even if I knew how to disapparate, I can’t use magic without getting in trouble with the ministry.”  

The fairy simply trilled in response – Harry really wished he could understand what they were trying to communicate – and floated down to the pocket of Harry’s robe. He dug around, feeling the shrunken trunk, his wand, and then felt his fingers brush something cold and metal. In shock, he grabbed onto the coin, and brought out a single golden galleon. I must have accidentally left it in there after a Hogsmeade Trip, he thought.  

With galleon (and wand) in hand, he brought up his arm and waited for the crack of the Knight-Bus popping into existence. Ernie was – thankfully – more tired than he had been last time and was not looking too closely at Harry. He accepted the coin, counting out the eighteen sickles of change, before simply tuning back to the front and practically dropping against the glass barrier. Chuckling lightly, Harry settled in for the bumpy ride, holding out his palm for the fairy to rest on. He knew first-hand how disorientating the knight bus could be just standing up, he didn’t want his new friend to get plastered on a window. 

Thankfully, the fairy got the gist, and was more than happy to rest in Harry’s hand while the bus twisted and turned, as well as squeezed, its way to the Leaky Cauldron. By the time they got there, it was well on the way to dawn, and there were a few people out and about on the street. Though thankfully, none really spared a look at Harry or the fairy now back to floating above his shoulder. Perhaps they have some sort of notice-me-not charm? It would make sense, for why they haven’t been seen in so long. He thought, as he made his way to the countertop of the pub. 

“Good morning, welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. It’s 1 galleon a night, breakfast will begin being served in half an hour, and prices will be posted on the chalkboard.” Tom, if Harry remembered his name correctly, idly spouted off the typical spiel as Harry sidled up to the counter. 

“Actually, uh, Tom? I need some help getting to the Alleyway. I’m not allowed to use magic outside of school yet.” Harry twisted his hands slightly in worry, he wondered if Tom would say anything about him being alone. He needn’t have worried though, once Tom looked up to actually see who he was talking to he was very...excited, to say the least. 

“Mr. Potter, of course of course! Though knowing you, the ministry would probably just look the other way, eh?” He laughed, and Harry joined in awkwardly, but they did make their way out to the back ‘room’ that led into Diagon Alley proper.  

Thankfully, Tom didn’t ask any more questions, seemingly content that he got to help ‘The Boy Who Lived’. Mentally, Harry scowled as his own use of that name. He hated it, honestly, hated the symbolism and the attention it brought, as well as how it often forced people to overlook the tragedy of that night. But he simply brushed the thoughts away as the brick wall opened to reveal the magic alleyway where all of England’s wizard-folk did their shopping. 

“Thank you, Mr. Tom, I appreciate the help.” 

“Anytime, Mr. Potter, any time!” With a smile and a new skip in his step, Tom made his way back to the pub and left Harry to wander into the winding alley. Although it was coming on daybreak, there were a decent number of folks up and about walking around the street. Likely shop owners and workers getting ready for the day, Harry thought, pulling up his hood to hide his face. He wanted to at least try and get as much done as he could without being recognized. If he really wanted to succeed in...running away, then he couldn’t be recognized and sent back. He quickly and quietly made his way over to the tall white building of Gringotts, dodging the people walking about and breathing a sigh of relief that they didn’t seem to recognize him, or even acknowledge his presence. 

He had expected to have to wait, as the doors were closed, but when he approached the grand wooden doors and the stationed goblin warriors outside, something quite odd happened. The fairy that had been floating along next to Harry let out a little trill, and the goblin guard nearly twisted their necks in their haste to look towards the source of the sound. Though he couldn’t see their eyes under the helmets, he was still rather paranoid that they perhaps recognized him, as they opened the doors almost immediately afterwards. 

Shooting a slight glare at his floating companion, Harry put his fist over his heart in a little bow in proper-goblin fashion, signaling his thanks, before moving inside. There were no tellers in the bank stands yet, but there was a group of them near the other end of the room, mostly staring at him as the doors shut behind him. Or at least, he thought they were staring at him, but since the goblins outside had heard his Fairy friend’s trill for all he knew they could see them, and that’s why they were staring.  

He made his way up to the group, stopping a good distance from them and giving the proper bow, “Good morning master tellers, I was hoping to speak in private to someone who could help me with a unique situation.” Harry was extremely glad that Bill Weasley, someone he now considered a brother like Ron, had coached him in the basics of Goblin manners. The entire group seemed a little wide-eyed at his greeting, but that may have been the fairy floating above his head once again. 

One goblin, an older fellow, stepped out from the group, offering his own bow and greeting, “Good Morning, young wizard. Apologies for our rudeness, it has been quite some time since we have seen a fae-touched child grace our halls.” 

Harry looked up at his friend in confusion, before settling his confused gaze back on the elder goblin. He remembered learning a little about the fae as a whole during his History of Magic class. Although the overall category was quite broad, he vaguely remembered the term ‘fae-touched’, though not what it really meant. 

“Apologies, Master teller, my schooling has been...lacking, in a sense. I was raised in the muggle world, so I only know so much.” 

The goblin smoothed his features very quickly, but Harry still saw the flash of shock and incredulity in his eyes. “Well, you have very good goblin-manners for one raised outside the magical world, young wizard. I am Rodgrip, grandmaster teller of the Gringotts London branch. Is there a particular vault or vaults with which you need assistance? Who you end up talking to will vary from family to family, and they can answer most – if not all – of your questions.” 

Harry winced slightly, and though he knew he hid it well, he had a feeling that grandmaster Rodgrip at least could tell. He had been hoping he wouldn’t have to reveal who he was, at least not yet – and thankfully Rodgrip seemed to at least have a sense of why he was hesitating. 

“Gringotts has a policy of being very discrete with all of our patrons, no matter who they are. Nobody here will speak of your identity to outsiders.” 

The fairy trilled again, and harry looked up towards it, before acquiescing and taking his hood off. “My name is Harry Potter, grandmaster Rodgrip. I believe my vault is number 687 – though one of the issues is that I don’t have the key.” He frowned, “I don’t believe I’ve ever touched it myself, actually.” 

Though he couldn’t see it, all of the goblins – who were staring at either Harry or the Fairy in both wonder and sadness – had a flash of anger cross their features, before smoothing out again.  

“Well, Young Mr. Potter, Master Griphook will escort you to your family’s account manager. There are certain procedures that will have to be done, but whatever your plans are rest assured we will have them met before you leave today.” the elder goblin then turned to the group and spoke in what Harry assumed was goblin-tongue, before they dispersed. Two quickly ran away behind the doors leading into the depths of the bank, and the rest – barring Rodgrip and the goblin Harry now recognized as Griphook – went to the stations scattered down the hall.  

“If you will follow me, young Mr. Potter and master fairy, we’ll bring you to Master Gorluc who manages the potter vaults.”  

Harry smiled at the acknowledgement of the Fairy, taking a step forward as if to follow the goblin, but then stopped as his mind caught up to what he had heard. “...vaults? As in plural?”