Survivor

A few solid knocks on the door woke him up, and he came to in the midst of a cold sweat. It was a nightmare, a truly, terrifyingly realistic one. They weren't common at all back at Privet Drive. Dreaming was something he never used to do. Now that he was finally free, apparently, his mind was more inclined to run wild.

Lucky him...

Harry tried to stand on his shaking legs, but they were far too weak to hold his weight, and he collapsed loudly against the side of his bed. What the hell was wrong with him? He was in an even worse state now than he was back with his relatives, and he didn't think that was possible until now. Jason slithered over the edge of the bed and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. He spoke no words; he just gave his support and his company. He knew the drill by now. Talking wasn’t needed at the moment; It was his presence that would ultimately make the boy feel comfortable. 

Harry’s introspective thoughts immediately turned outward when he heard a female mutter something from the other side of his door before the deadbolt clicked open. He knew it was Iris the second he saw that distinct blonde color peak around the opening door.

“Are you okay? I was coming over to see if you were up, and I heard a noi-”

Her voice came to a stop when she saw the way Harry was leaning against his bed in a similar manner to how he was curled up against the alley wall three days ago. She spent most of that day and the two days afterward sitting around with the boy. Iris could tell that he was uncomfortable with being in a rather small room alone with her, but he never asked her to leave, so she didn’t. It was bizarre and alarming to see such a reaction twice in such a small amount of time from someone so young. 

Harry and Iris stared at each other for many tension-filled seconds before she decided to say something, “Would you like breakfast?”

Breakfast? He almost actually huffed at the awkward attempt to change the subject, and he found himself giving an affirmative response even though he fully expected to answer negatively just a few seconds ago. She smiled kindly at him and walked across the room to the small stove, took out her wand, gave it a wave, and began preparing breakfast after a few clumps of groceries popped into existence on the counter beside her. Harry watched carefully as she pointed her wand at the oven and whispered a word in a language he didn’t understand. It was to his massive surprise that he watched the stove burner glow red, heating up at a rapid pace.

His spiking emotions mellowed out in favor of wondering at the truly alien things that just happened right in front of his eyes. He struggled, for a bit, to stand up, and once he was on his feet, he began to slowly approach the woman while she opened a cabinet to the right of the stove in order to retrieve a pan. He noticed her eyes twitch toward his walking form before immediately going back to the task at hand as if completely unconcerned by his presence. She hadn’t seemed afraid of him when they spent those days together after the alley, but it was still odd for him to see someone try so hard to be comfortable around him despite his supposed freakishness.

“How did you get the food?” he asked curiously.

She averted her eyes from the heating pan for a moment to consider his question.

“When you pay for a room here, you pay for breakfast as well. Tom has a portion of uncooked food waiting in sections for each room that is occupied. All I did was summon the food he laid out.”

That only gave him even more questions than he had before. Jason crawled over to the corner of the kitchen, stretched on top of the counter, and coiled up silently to keep an eye on everything while Harry tried to wrap his mind around what he just got told. 

“Summon?”

She waved her wand twice, and four eggs floated out of a four-egg-carton which opened on its own. She flicked her wand toward the eggs after they were hovering over the pan. Each of them simultaneously cracked down the middle to let the yolk fall perfectly into the center of the pan. Iris waved her wand to the side, and the eggshells lazily floated over to the garbage can and fell lifelessly inside of it. 

“Summoning is a type of magic that lets you pull something to your location. The one I used this time was one that lets you move an object to you instantaneously. It's less efficient magically than a normal summon, and you have to cast a spell on the place you want to summon from beforehand, but it's much more convenient in moments like these.”

Harry’s questions were growing by the second, “There are types of magic?”

Iris looked at him oddly, “Well, of course. Did you think there wouldn't be categorization?”

Harry shrugged subtly in response, “I've never heard of this stuff before. I always just want something to happen, and it either happens or it doesn't.”

Understanding dawned on Iris, “Oh, yeah! I forgot you weren’t aware of how magic worked, what with your parseltongue and odd transfiguration.”

Holy hell, Harry’s head was starting to hurt. Iris had the decency to look a little abashed at throwing so much unknown jargon at a boy who knew nothing of her world. 

“What're those?”

“Do you remember when I told you about Hufflepuff and the houses of Hogwarts?” she paused until Harry nodded at her question. “Well, all of the houses were originally made by the four founders of the school. There was Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, and Rowena Ravenclaw. All four of them were very powerful, and each of them had very unique abilities. One of Salazar Slytherin’s was his ability to speak to and command snakes. Anyone can use the language, technically, but the ability to innately understand it and use it to exert your will over a snake is hereditary. That's not even considering that normal people would have to learn it from someone else, so it's a power that's only realistically usable by descendants of Salazar. The language is called Parseltongue.”

Harry felt like his eyes were just opened to an entirely new world. His abilities were extremely rare, but he finally knew for a fact that they came from somewhere. He wasn’t alone. People before him have had his abilities, and, surely, there would be people after him who would have them too. The knowledge that he was far less of a freak than he thought made him feel very good about himself. Iris smiled sadly at the look of happiness that her words brought him, and she felt even more ashamed of herself for how she'd reacted in the alleyway now that he displayed just how important acceptance and normality were for him.

“Transfiguration," she decided to say next. "Is a branch of magic that deals with turning one thing into another.” Harry quickly snapped back to give his complete attention, eating the words up like a starving man would a feast. “There are lots of types of transfiguration, but one of them deals with transfiguring yourself into another living thing. Your accidental magic at Diagon Alley’s entrance would be classified under transfiguration if it were purposeful.”

Harry wouldn't have believed anyone if they'd told him he would feel this good about his unnatural powers just a few minutes ago. His ability to turn into that beast was one that others must have as well if it had such a distinct classification. He thought, for a moment, about keeping some things about his “transfiguration” to himself, but she shared her knowledge with him, and he was in far too good of a mood to hold back when more knowledge might be shared upon his divulgence of the truth. 

“I… I didn’t do that by accident.”

Iris stopped her cooking to stare at Harry with wide eyed surprise. 

“You did it on purpose?” she said with a higher tone to her voice than normal.

Harry twiddled his thumbs just a bit, uncomfortable with her shock at his abilities and nervous about telling the truth. 

“I wasn’t sure what you were going to do once you knew I was alone. He likes to come out when I get emotional. Sometimes, I just let him have his way.”

Iris was absolutely amazed by his confession, both because of how extremely rare it was for someone to show such an aptitude for magic before going to school and the fact that he'd told her about it at all. She made sure to keep her reaction completely hidden. She would not have him retreating back like he almost did yesterday by treating him differently for his abilities. 

“That's very rare for a child," she said, trying to speak clinically. "But many adults who specialize in transfiguration generally learn the same thing you seem to have stumbled upon naturally. It's called animagery. It's a type of self-transfiguration where you allow your body to change into an animal that represents an important aspect of yourself. It's very prevalent among modern transfiguration masters, and it has been used for a very long time. Native Americans, for example, referred to ‘animagi forms’ as ‘spirit animals’, and almost all of them learned how to use animagery from very young ages. In that respect, I guess, you're quite similar.”

Harry spent so much time mulling over everything he was told that Iris had enough time to finish cooking the eggs and start cooking other things to go along with them. The kinds of things he could do were so widespread that entire other cultures did the same thing under different names. Harry was suddenly much more glad about his decision to keep Iris around for the week than he was when he made it. 

“How are you doing all of that with the food?”

Iris chuckled at him for a moment, making him quirk his eyebrow at her in response. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Isn’t that why you're here?” He asked with a smirk that surprised her immensely. Iris was beginning to think that humor was something the boy didn’t possess. She was apparently very wrong. 

“Touché," she responded just a little playfully. "I'm using levitation charms.”

Harry stared at her work with barely concealed awe. He had, of course, brought things to himself and made them float with his mind. Never before, though, had he ever done it with so many things at once or with such grace. The control it must've taken to control so many separate things at the same time was mind-boggling.

“You’re using it on so many things though!”

Iris allowed herself to look a little proud as she said, “Most wizards and witches wouldn't have as much control as I do. They would need to say their spells out loud, and they wouldn’t be able to control so much so precisely. I, however, use it so much in my work that I gained a level of mastery beyond most people.”

Harry hesitated for just a moment. He was fine with asking questions about magic since she volunteered to act as his encyclopedia, but personal questions were things he didn’t normally care about. He supposed, though, that it was enough about magic to warrant his curiosity.

“... What do you do?”

“I’m a painter,” she answered with a smile.

He made an odd face that forced a small laugh from the woman. “You need to use levitation to paint?”

She made a face too until she understood with a giggle. As an artist, she obviously studied how muggles did the same job in their world. It made sense that someone who grew up there would have a very different idea of art than a witch.

“Every artist has different methods, and all of them result in very different styles. I happen to like applying paint manually, but levitation makes it a lot easier for me to control the brush and allows me to use more than one or two at the same time,” she watched as the boy struggled to come up with what those different styles might be. Instead of leaving him to his own imagination, she decided to do something she would never do under normal circumstances. “I could let you watch the next time I do a piece… If you would like.”

Harry shuffled his feet just a bit and averted his eyes to the floor. “Didn’t you say the stuff you do is a secret?”

“I did. Are you going to go around telling other artists how I make my works?”

Harry shook his head lightly and secretly reveled in the amount of trust she was putting in him. He was so sure that he would be proven right about her inability to treat him with respect, but he was startled and a little bit scared to realize that she was proving him wrong every step of the way; from answering all of his questions to trusting him with personal information, she was being nothing less than a perfect companion. It was honestly starting to make him feel a bit bad about the coldness he had been showing her since their less than desirable encounter in the alley. 

“Well then, I see no harm in letting you watch.”

Harry looked earnestly at her and felt a sudden desire to show his gratitude for the things she volunteered to do for him, “Thank you.”

A light, fluttery feeling spread through his chest at the touched smile she gave to him. 

“You’re welcome,” She waited just a bit to see if his mood was going to turn sour again. When it did not, she decided to ask a question. “Are you feeling up to shopping today?”

Harry said yes, but his attention was on the breakfast that Iris was hovering over to the table en masse. The boy was not used to getting nearly as much food as he had been eating over the past few days, but his stomach was acting as if he had never known what it was like to go hungry. He was in his seat, grabbing everything that he could reach with his tiny arms and piling it on his plate. Eggs, toast, sausage; nothing was safe from him. He took a bite of the food and looked at Iris in surprise. 

“It’s almost as good as mine.”

Iris laughed with a hand placed offendedly on her chest and gave him a wide smile, “You think you can beat this?”

Harry stopped eating to look at her with a deadpan expression, “please, I could beat this in my sleep. I’ve been cooking since I was old enough to reach the stove.”  

Iris schooled her face to keep from reacting to the strange, alarming thing she just heard. He probably didn’t even realize he let something out that could be considered personal information. It was much better for her to act as if nothing was strange about it until he came to her looking for something more than light conversation.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to make breakfast tomorrow because I don’t buy it for a second,” she said to him.

Harry was almost glad to find that he didn’t feel anything negative about being asked to make food. This wasn’t the same as his aunt’s commands backed by the threat of force; this was a challenge. What did give him negative thoughts was the realization that he did not know anything about how to use even the most basic of appliances in this household. Iris had basically been doing everything for him throughout their short time in the Leaky Cauldron.

“I don’t know how to use the stove here.”

The challenging gleam in her eyes did not change at his admission. It, in fact, only grew with it.

“It's a good thing we're getting you a wand today, then. You don’t really need to know spells to work wizard appliances. You’re going to eat your words tomorrow.”

Harry snorted, and Jason looked at him with shock in his expressionless face, “Doubtful.”

About halfway through breakfast, Jason got bored from his spot on the counter and went over to Harry, crawling up his leg and disappearing under his shirt. The two finished the rest of their food in companionable silence, and they left the room to head to Diagon Alley soon after they finished. 

Even after spending a few days getting used to the area, Harry was still unable to come to terms with the way wizards did architecture. The two stood before a run-down building with paint peeling away from spots on the wall in various locations. Harry read the sign to himself. 

“Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.” 

Well, that was one way to establish credibility. He followed Iris into the shop and immediately found a very old man sitting idly behind a desk on the other side of the room beside a staircase. Rows of shelves lined the walls and stood in the center of the shop with piles of long, slender boxes stacked to the brim inside of them. Harry watched as the man looked up at the new arrivals, smiling almost madly when their eyes met. A squirming feeling roiled in his stomach while the man examined him at a level that seemed far too intrusive for his liking. The man’s pupils dilated slightly while he looked around the boy as if something particularly interesting floated above his shoulders. 

“And… who might you be?” the man asked in a slow, whimsical drawl.

“Harry Potter,” was the answer he got. 

Iris seemed distinctly undisturbed by the man’s oddness, so Harry didn’t allow it to bother him too much. He was here for a wand. As long as he got what he came for, the man could play whatever games he wanted.

“I must say… I gave both of your parents their wands, and their auras were massively impressive, but yours, my boy, is of another class.”

The bustling crowds outside filled the shop with muffled background noise while Harry took a few seconds to absorb what was told to him. As always, the desire for knowledge won over his paranoia.

“I have an aura?”

The man Harry assumed to be Ollivander grew amused at the question, “Oh, I would say so. All magical creatures have auras. To have one quite as dense and animated as yours, though... let us just say that it does not happen often.”

Perfect, just more ways that he would be different. He didn’t even know what an aura was, and they were already driving walls between him and the world he just joined. 

“So,” the old man said while tapping his fingers hyperactively against his desk. “You are here for a wand, yes?”

Harry nodded his head politely, and the odd wizard was off before he could think of something to respond with. He flew around the room as if his mind was racing in a hundred directions at once, and he couldn’t decide which direction to follow it. The man muttered to himself so quickly that Harry couldn’t catch what he said. His eyes flicked from Harry to the mountains of boxes around him, and he snapped his fingers in victory when his eyes brushed past a reddish box on the wall. He flicked his wand at the box and caught it as it sailed toward him with a speed that Iris was yet to show him. The man presented it eloquently to the wandless boy and opened the box so he could see the wand inside. 

Harry pulled the stick out of the case by the handle and frowned at the lack of feeling he got from it. Iris’s wand felt wrong, but it still gave him a rush of power that he expected from the one just picked up. He could tell that this wand was not going to work with him at all before Ollivander told him to give it a wave, but he did anyway and found himself vaguely expecting the vase’s demolition before it shattered into pieces across the room.

Ollivander rubbed his chin with his long, wrinkly fingers as his eyes swam with intelligence and exuberance. “No, no, of course not. Dragon heartstring is much too blunt and unyielding; your aura is magnificent and strong, but it's subtle too. It was wrong of me to mistake your power for being headstrong.”

He put the covered wand back where he got it from, and the man walked to the other side of the room before sliding yet another wand from the stack. This box was blue and rather long. Harry placed his hand on the handle and removed it from the box. 

“10 inches, Unicorn hair, slightly giving but not enough to be considered flexible. It matches you much better.”

Harry had to agree. The rush he got upon contact with the wand felt like what he got from Iris. Pools of power that once remained unobtainable were within his reach, but that annoying feeling of something being held back from him made his face screw up in frustration. Ollivander made an excited, “Ah”, and took the wand back without another word.

“I daresay, Mr. Potter, you may be one of the most interesting picks I've had to make in a long while. The unicorn hair liked you, but it wasn’t determined enough to bring out the best in you. What a plethora of different characteristics your aura has.”

The man was pacing around the room with clouded eyes, but Harry’s curiosity was piqued too much for him to remain silent. “Wands have auras too, sir?”

Ollivander grinned like a lune. “Well, of course, Mr. Potter. How do you think they choose the wizard?”

Harry didn’t answer the rhetorical question. Instead, he stayed silent and let Ollivander continue his pondering.

“Extremely determined and great power to match, but a desire to fit and be accepted despite that talent. A flexibility practically unseen in powerful auras, but a stubbornness to match it. So many contradictions, yet they blend so cohesively together.” Ollivander’s eyes brightened to a degree that seemed unhealthy as his heart almost beat out of his chest. “Could it be? Could it truly be?”

The man was off in a blast of speed that should've been unattainable for one so old, but he was back in a flash with a deep blue box that Harry didn’t see anywhere else in the shop. 

“This, my boy, is a very… different wand.” He removed the lid of the box and almost split his face with the grin he made once he saw Harry’s wide, cloudy eyes. 

Harry’s mind was obscured by thick, rumbling thunderclouds that crackled with energy and power. His hand shook in anticipation as he reached out to the 15-inch wand. Harry could almost see the golden power which pulsed along with the growing speed of his heartbeats. It called out to him so very strongly that he could hardly have kept his hands off of the wand even if he wanted to. The second his index finger touched the smooth handle, he knew this was the one. Harry felt like he was drowning in an ocean of pleasure-inducing power as he pulled it from its case. His pupils dilated as if he was under the effects of hard drugs, but everyones’ attention was so transfixed on the green sparks flying from the wand’s tip like a waterfall that they had no chance of noticing the effect it had on him. The wand brought out so much power within him that he felt like he was about to explode. The only reprieve from the rolling storm within him was the outlet of power cascading down his arm and into the wand he held. 

The way it made him feel was addictive, but the lack of control he felt from it was enough to force him to put it in his pocket and rip his grip away from its handle. Harry tried to calm his pounding chest and slow his ragged breaths, but it seemed like he was going to be doomed to deal with it until it went away on its own. He looked up to Ollivander and was surprised to find that the man looked almost as maddeningly excited as he felt. 

“Curious… Very curious.”

Harry was not in the mood to let the man play his games anymore. He wanted answers. “What’s curious?”

Ollivander noticed the tone in Harry’s voice, and the man apparently made the decision to cut to the chase. “These days, Mr. Potter, wand makers act mainly as separate entities. I know of the kinds of wands other makers create, but I haven’t interacted with them for many, many years. It was the wars, really, that created this distance. Most countries wanted to keep their power to themselves in the face of trying times, but it wasn’t always that way. See, between the end of the first world war and the start of the second, I was a young man just entering into the art of wand crafting, and I was in very close correspondence with many prominent wandmakers to help refine my craft.

"We shared our different techniques, and we attempted to polish each of our skills with the skills of each other. One thing we refused to share, however, were the secrets behind our most specialized wands. Each of us had a particularly powerful creature we used for wand cores that require very specific and incredibly advanced skills to create. Mine, of course, was a phoenix feather, Thiago Quintana found a way to use white river monster spine, and Shikoba Wolfe used the tailfeather of a thunderbird. They share very close relations to phoenixes, but they make exceedingly different wand cores. When Shikoba died, she took her secrets to the grave, and a Thunderbird wand core has never been made since. What you are holding now, Mr. Potter, is most likely the last unpaired thunderbird wand in existence. I have had it in my possession since I went through her shop upon her death with the hope of keeping her wands away from the Dark Wizards who killed her during World War II. It has not found an interest in a wizard or witch since I brought it back to my shop so many years ago.”

Harry was truly becoming sick with all of the rare things happening around him. He was apparently rich, exceedingly powerful, completely ignorant of wizard culture, and now he had a one-of-a-kind wand. 

“It's tricky and complicated," Olivander told him. "But it's exceedingly powerful. The acacia wood around it makes it even more so. They were sought after by many transfiguration masters back in the day, and they're paranoid to a fault. They were said to detect danger before even its owner did, and they were known to cast curses first and ask questions later even if the wizard or witch wasn't fast enough. It's extremely fitting for your aura in hindsight. I should've noticed your similarities far sooner than I did. I suppose I simply never expected to find a good match for it, so I allowed it to slip from my mind in order to ignore my disappointment.”

Harry was more than ready to leave the shop. His wariness about the man’s odd personality was beginning to turn into a tinge of fear at being dissected so thoroughly. Was his entire being really on such blatant display to those who could see him like that? If it was, he didn’t want to be within a block of any of them; and if it wasn’t, then he certainly didn’t want to be around someone who would dig so deep without his consent. Before he could turn away and walk to the door, however, Ollivander chose to say just a few more words.

“I think, Mr. Potter, that I will be expecting great things from you… It's not every day that a witch or wizard gets chosen by a thunderbird.”

Harry paid the wandmaker’s price, flew out of the door, and managed to get halfway down the street far before Ollivander had the chance to even consider saying another creepy, cryptic line. The streets were much more crowded than before, but Harry was shocked to find himself rather comfortable despite being in an environment that he knew he vastly disliked. It was only when he noticed the gentle, calming thrum of blue, roaring power that he discovered why. 

His wand was confident that there wasn’t a problem, and it was feeding him its surety. It scared Harry a bit to think that the wand was influencing him much like the stranger did in his head, but the feeling was very different. His relationship with the stranger was very one-sided. There was no exchange; the man simply swayed him in whichever way he wanted, and Harry was stuck with the results. He felt a connection with the wand, however, that was much more mutual. The wand could feel his anxiety and fear. It took his feelings into account, checked to see if there was anything to them, and gave its opinion. The calming effect it had on him was not a result of its desire to control him but a genuine expression of its confidence in his safety. 

It was because of this that Harry allowed it to settle his nerves, and he let himself relax just a little in the crowd. If both he and his wand could not find anything threatening around him, then it was unlikely that anything would bring him harm. Perhaps it was because of the connection it formed with him, but he was already becoming fond of his wand despite their almost nonexistent time spent together. It was nothing less than completely natural to let his emotions and worries bounce to the wand while accepting the same things in return. Was this what it meant to fit with a wand for every witch and wizard? Was this kind of rightness and belonging something that every single magic user knew throughout their lives? Harry could scarcely believe that he lived without it even though he had been doing exactly that until a minute or so ago. So much power radiated within him that he felt he could destroy the shop to his left with the flick of his wand even though he wasn’t touching it at the moment, and he felt no guilt in bathing within that degree of confidence.

“You have your required items list, right?”

Harry nodded at Iris’s question and gave her the paper without protest.

“Well, I know what we are going to do first. You need some new clothes.”

He didn’t argue. He had been letting her make pretty much all of the decisions before today, and there was no reason to take the reins now. Iris led him down the street until they came to a stop before a shop called “Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.” The shop was absolutely packed with kids of all ages, and Harry suddenly regretted putting off his shopping until today. He looked nervously at the door, and his wand promised that there was nothing threatening in there. Jason whispered his encouragement as well, and Iris looked completely at ease with the situation. Those three things were enough to convince him to push the door open and walk into the shop despite his own reservations. 

The noise of rowdy children and adults completely out of their depth when it came to controlling them rocked Harry’s ears upon entering the shop. People were shuffling through racks of clothes hanging from the walls, but some were standing on small platforms near the back of the room getting measured by a woman who looked to be in her fifties or sixties. Iris directed him to the back and quietly told him to wait for the person on the platform to get finished. Harry’s brow began to sweat a bit at the thought of letting some stranger put her hands all over him, and his wand was not able to convince him that things were going to be okay this time. Jason nudged his torso with his head and moved from his shirt down into his baggy pants, coiling closely against his right leg. She wouldn’t be able to tell he was there while taking his measurements like she would if he was wrapped around his chest. 

It seemed like years had passed before the boy in front of him finished, and Iris signaled him to walk up to the platform with an encouraging smile that did nothing for him. He approached the platform and turned to face the room, but his eyes remained glued to the woman smiling kindly at him while approaching him with the measuring tape. 

Madam Malkin saw something odd in the boy’s carefully guarded stare. It was concealed well, and she wasn’t sure of the source of it, but she knew she was looking at a child who was very uncomfortable with what was about to happen. It wasn’t hard for her to figure ut out in all honesty. She had been doing this for many, many years. She would have to be blind to not see discomfort after measuring and dressing so many children and adults alike. 

“What is your name?” She asked as she slowly circled the boy, making preliminary judgments about the boy’s body type and form.

“Harry Potter,” he replied tersely.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” she said with a very formal air. “This is nothing more than a professional measuring. I'll touch you no more than I need to, and we'll finish this as painlessly as possible.”

 Harry gave no reaction to her hidden claims about his state of mind, so she continued.

“This will go much faster if you cooperate as much as possible, and we can get you into something more appropriate for our alley.”

Harry nodded stiffly, but he did not resist as she requested him to raise his arms. Her measuring tape flew around his body at very efficient speeds, and he relaxed a bit when he realized that she really was attempting to avoid contact as much as possible. He was about to let go of the breath he was holding when another person’s presence made him raise his walls again. 

“You look like shit.”

Harry looked to the right to see a blond-haired, pale skinned boy walk up to the platform beside him and raise his arms to allow a second worker to do his measurements just like the old lady was doing to Harry. He analyzed the boy’s intentions by gazing into the blond's gray eyes and taking in his arrogant smirk. The boy was talk, nothing more. Harry’s wand came up with much the same appraisal. Responding to the insulting claim or hitting back would do nothing, so he slid his eyes away from the obnoxious prat and gave a seething Iris a pointed look that told her to hold her tongue. 

Apparently, the blond boy wasn’t used to being ignored.

“What, you couldn’t get anything better than those dish rags?”

Oh, lord, Iris was going to say something, and no amount of threatening glares would stop her. The other boy was just about to run out of steam too. Of course, he was out of his element, and he just had to be guided by a woman who was far too loyal to deal with petty insults when they were directed at undeserving people. It was a shame that she had to be so damn perceptive yet unable to use it to her advantage. Instead of letting her, an adult, start a fight in the store with a literal child, he chose to do the only thing that would keep her silent: speaking up for himself.

“That's why I’m here; isn't it?” He said to the boy while cursing Iris’s hotheadedness with his blatantly scathing stare. 

The boy scoffed at his statement and sneered at his clothing.

“Let me guess, your parents are one of them .”

He was still glaring at Iris, so he noticed when her eyes widened in startled recognition at his newest insult. Apparently, this was a common slight to throw around in the wizarding world.

“Maybe I could give you an answer if you stopped playing games with pronouns.”

The boy looked as if he could barely stand to have the word sully his mouth when he spat out, “Muggles!”

Iris looked as if she was about to explode, but Harry was literally willing to do anything if it meant keeping her from escalating this conversation further. 

“Would it matter if they were?”

The boy huffed a laugh as if the question he asked was insane. That was fine by Harry. As long as Iris refused to make a scene, he was willing to take whatever words were thrown at him.

“Of course, it matters. My entire family is pureblood, and I am, no doubt, going to be in Slytherin.”

It seemed that the boy’s anger was lost when he started bragging about himself and his family. Harry looked back toward the boy for the first time since they met. 

“Is being a pureblood a requirement for getting into Slytherin?”

“Might as well be,” the boy snapped back. “Halfsies can make it in there, I guess, but the other kind hardly knows anything about our world. Shouldn’t even be let in at all in my opinion. They don’t even know Hogwarts exists until they get their letter.”

Now, this was a conversation worth his time. He already had a guide who gave him a positive, pure view into the wizarding world. This was an opportunity to get a lens from the other side. How could he not take advantage of someone so blatantly waving their opinions in his face?

“Oh? And where will the lesser ones be placed?” he asked with a completely faked tone of respect in his voice. 

“I’m sure one or two will go to Gryffindor,” the boy’s suddenly garnered support seemed to spur him on and push him to new bounds. “But most of them will be sorted into Hufflepuff . They take anyone these days. A house full of degenerates if you ask me.”

Iris looked ready to have a meltdown. It was fortunate that the old lady finished with his measurements and let him step down from the platform not soon after. 

“What kind of clothes are you looking for?” she asked him kindly, seemingly choosing to ignore the distasteful conversation that her two clients just had.

Harry didn’t have a clue, so he looked to Iris for help. Realizing that there were more important things to do now than be mad at a prejudiced child, she did the job she signed up to do today. Thank the gods above.

“A couple of dress robes, and a few casual ones. We'll wait to purchase school robes by owl when he gets sorted this year. The stylistic choices are up to you.”

The old woman smiled kindly, “Okay then. They will be ready in about thirty minutes, and we'll hold them for 24 hours.”

Iris nodded, “We'll be back in an hour or so.”

Harry and his guide left Madam Malkin’s with haste, and the blond boy made no effort to continue their talk. 

“Oh, those pureblood elitists really grind my gears,” she seethed once the door was closed. 

Maybe it was just his experience with the Dursleys that curbed his reaction to disgustingly awful people saying disgustingly awful things, but he didn’t particularly care about what the blond had to say beyond the knowledge it gave him of how people like him thought. He learned to accept that some people were destined to be arseholes very early in life. He would have to be daft to expect that to change just because they had extra powers. 

“Where do you want to go next? Maybe the bookstore?”

Harry looked at her like she was insane, “You want to get books next? We’ll have to carry them all day!”

Iris giggled at his tone, “Don’t worry. A shrinking charm and a feather-light will make them about as cumbersome as carrying around a sunflower seed in your pocket.”

Just how many problems could be solved with magic? She really had the power to turn at least 50 pounds of books into something that weighed effectively nothing while shrinking it to the size of a plant seed? It seemed unbelievable, but she hadn’t lied to him yet. Taking her at her word, he opened the door to a shop called Flourish and Blotts. 

He smiled at the sheer amount of books lining every wall and filling every bookshelf. Reading had been his one escape from the Dursleys. He read everything he could get his hands on in his shitty little cupboard, and not even close to all of them were fiction. Eventually, he found himself enjoying the activity rather than using it to numb himself to his problems. He looked around, wondering what he should get first. He had so much money to spend, and he was determined to spend a lot of it here. Knowledge was power, and this place was stocked full of it. He just had to reach his hand out and snatch them.

“All you have to do is go to the front desk and ask for the first-year texts. Hogwarts is the only magical school that takes students around here, so bookstores like this place will have packages for shopping students. Will you be okay by yourself for a second if I go to the loo?” 

Harry was not amused by the silly question, but she certainly seemed to be upon seeing the look on his face. 

“Just checking,” she said while raising her hands into the air in surrender, but her smirk told a very different story. 

Harry still wasn’t amused. 

He watched her leave and quickly approached the counter. A middle-aged man who looked like he was about to drop dead any second came to meet him on the other side of the desk. The man’s disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes spoke of his exhaustion. Harry was almost relieved to find a kindred spirit among the overly lively and colorful wizards and witches he had been forced to look at all day. 

“What can I do for you?”

Straight to the point, huh? Harry could deal with that.

“I need the required texts for first-year students.”

The man did not avert his dead eyes from the boy as his hand went beneath the desk and pulled out a plastic-wrapped box the size of Harry’s palm. The green-eyed boy looked at it in pure disbelief, and the bookstore owner sighed as if he could not be in any place worse than the one he was at that very moment.

“Muggle-born?”

Harry nodded; he might as well be.

“It's just a few charms to make them lighter and smaller. Read some of your texts when you get home, and you’ll start to understand what we did to them. Just tap them with your wand to cancel the spells. We made it easy for you. Make sure to keep your wand well away from them until you get to your house.”

Harry would be sure to remember that piece of advice. He placed it in the opposite pocket of the one he kept his wand in. 

“Two galleons and five sickles.”

Harry gave the man three galleons because gold coins were the only ones he took from his vault, and he received his first batch of change from the wizarding world in return.

“Have a nice day,” said the man in a tone that gave absolutely no sincerity to the command.

Now that Harry got the books he needed, he had the chance to do what he actually wanted: get the books that were interesting. The only problem was the shop’s abysmal sorting. Bookshelves towered so high that Harry could only realistically reach the first two shelves, and there was no categorization that he could recognize. He wandered around the store aimlessly for a bit before he finally noticed five little stands in the back of the room that held large books on top of each. 

Duly noting the entrance of a rather rambunctious crowd of shoppers, Harry carefully walked up to the stand and opened the book. He was relieved to find that it seemed to be an inventory list of some kind that alphabetized every book contained within the shop. It was unfortunate for him that it gave him absolutely no information on where to find even a single one of them. It must have been several minutes that he sat there, staring at the pedestal without a single clue about what he was meant to do before the sound of light footsteps put his nerves on edge. His wand gently telling him that there was no threat kept him from whipping around like he was tempted to do.

“You know, if you stare at the book with any more of a stupid look on your face, it might just feel bad enough to work on its own.”

What was up with people in this alley and their desire to start a fight today? Harry turned around and found himself looking at a very short, redheaded girl with a deadly smirk on her face. There was a kind of laughter in her eyes that dulled the blade sitting on the tip of his tongue. This was not like the blond-haired boy. She was doing this for lighthearted fun; the other kid was doing it to satisfy his ego. Still, he had never been one to back down from an honest challenge, and the crowd that protected the other kid from his comeuppance was not present to save his opponent this time. 

“And I suppose a big girl like you would know how to make it work, right?”

He smiled kindly at her as if his question was genuine, but they both knew that it was meant to be taken as return fire. It was her choice to start this little game. How embarrassing it would be if she couldn’t keep pace with someone who knew how to play. He was very skilled with backhanded compliments and subtle insults. It was all he could get away with when he was stuck with people who would punish him for even a whiff of disrespect. The girl shrugged lightheartedly at his question.

“That depends on if someone as clueless as you can manage to use their wand properly.”

Harry almost had to hold himself back from laughing at the trap she just walked herself into. He might not have had any friends in school, but there wasn’t a mundane sixth-grader alive who didn’t know how to make one of those overused dick jokes. It was only through sheer determination and willpower that he kept his retort to himself in favor of something much more appropriate. One thing he was yet to learn from Iris was the social norms of her society. If they looked like they lived in the medieval age, then it was perfectly reasonable to assume that their social customs were medieval as well. If that was the case, a joke about how well he could, in fact, use his “wand” would probably kill the poor girl and anyone who was unfortunate enough to overhear him slaughter her where she stood.

“And someone as knowledgeable as you doesn’t have one of their own to use?” he went with instead.

He could tell he hit a nerve with that comment. It wasn’t his goal to actually hurt her feelings, but she seemed to take it in the spirit of the game and refused to become truly offended. 

“You’re muggle-born, aren’t you?”

Harry was starting to get irked by the number of times everyone had to point that out. Was he really so different that even a girl as young as the one in front of him noticed that he didn’t belong?

“You know, everyone has been asking me that today.”

Harry was surprised to see that she noticed his attempt to dodge the question, but she didn’t push for a straight answer despite his evasion. 

“It isn’t hard to pick them out when they stare at a book for four minutes like it's the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.”

His general irritation at his lack of knowledge evolved into a bit of genuine anger. 

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t if they put up some bloody signs. I swear, it's like they try to make everything harder than it has to be just so they can use magic to solve the problems they created for themselves.”

It wasn’t until a few seconds later that he realized he lost their confrontation with his aggravated outburst. He, in fact, probably wouldn’t have realized he lost for many more seconds if the girl’s smirk didn’t turn into a giggle. Her playfully demeaning eyes turned into slightly sympathetic ones once she realized that Harry was honestly worked up by how much trouble this place gave him without Iris there to do everything in his place.

“The books are connected to the catalog with a summoning charm,” she said as she walked gently up to his side before looking up at him to not be staring at his chin. “What book do you want to see?” 

He was near the back of the book, and after flipping a few pages, he was shocked to find a word that he heard just this morning: Zouwu. He was more than a little confused about how it was that his dreams were giving him information that apparently held legitimate merit within the wizarding world, but he supposed that whoever was in his head must be rather well informed. His need for knowledge almost demanded him to pick the book, “Zouwu, Mythical Mamallians.” It bothered him that someone within his own mind knew more than him about something that supposedly reflected an innermost part of himself. This was something he needed to rectify, so he pointed at that title without any hesitation. 

“You have to get out your wand,” the girl said while the teasing tone she took with him at the beginning of their conversation came back with a vengeance. 

He took his wand out once again, and he was immensely satisfied to find that the feeling rushing through his body was not quite as overwhelming as it was during their first meeting. His wand must have been slowly acclimating to him during the time it spent within his pocket. 

“Just tap the name of the book you want, and it will summon the book from the shelf.”

He tapped the book and flinched just a bit when a minuscule fraction of the oceans sloshing within him snuck down his arm, through his wand, and into the book. Seconds later, a book somewhat thinner than he expected floated toward him and waited obediently for him to grasp it.

“Mythical Mamallians,” she said simply, “It’s a series of books about powerful magical mammals. Lots of kids here like these kinds of books. They have really good pictures.” 

Harry nodded his head and found himself agreeing with her assessment as he flipped through the first few pages.

"Thank you," He said sincerely to the girl who decided to help him. 

"Don't mention it," she said with a noncommittal wave of her hand. "You were making enough of a fool of yourself to convince anyone want to help you. It was only unfortunate for you that I was the first to see."

She really enjoyed taking the mickey out of him. If he was ever worried that the wizarding world would be devoid of clever arseholes, he was certainly not worried anymore. Now that he knew that a tap of the wand was all he needed to summon books, he began flipping through pages of the book at a rapid pace while looking for some of the things he heard from Iris this morning.

“The Art of Animagery? Transfiguration, the basics? You must really like your books.” The girl said with an exasperated look in her eyes. 

Harry only nodded as he continued to tap on book names. Fountains of knowledge and power filtered over to him in the form of an army of floating books, and he smiled as they piled up on the ground beside him. Iris would take care of it when she got back. All he had to do was pick whatever struck his fancy. 

“These are going to cost a lot of money. Did your parents exchange enough for all of this!?”

That question sent a pang through his chest. In a way, he guessed, they did give it to him. It was hard for it to feel like his parents gave it to him, however, when their absence meant that he had to scoop it off of the floor of his vault by himself. What an empty gift it was to be rich because of parents who no longer existed. 

“You could say that,” he said as he skirted yet another question.

“You’re very slippery,” She observed once he managed to avoid yet another one of her questions.

Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame her for speaking her mind. It wasn’t as if he expected anything different. 

“You’re very curious,” he shot back without hesitation. 

“Hey,” She said back with sass flooding her tone, “is that any way to treat the lady who spent her time helping you?”

It was true that she helped him. Help was not something that he was used to strangers giving him. It was most likely that which convinced him to say to this girl what he withheld from the blonde.

“My parents are dead,” he said with a screen of neutrality covering him in every way.

Harry very suddenly regretted his bluntness when her mischievous smile dropped like someone just threw a rock off of a cliff. She looked devastated over her previous comments once she realized just what nerve she was unknowingly striking.

“I’m sorry,” She said with nothing but sincerity in her voice. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said as he returned to selecting books and attempting to forget the entire conversation.

“No,” She said as she tugged on his sleeve roughly enough to regain his attention. “I was only trying to tease. I didn’t think anything serious was going on. I shouldn’t have been so careless. I’m sorry.”

Now, Harry was regretting that they had a conversation at all. 

“Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault. It was a long time ago.”

“Still,” she said, at a loss for words.

Well, Harry felt confident in saying that the banter was officially ruined. He was just feeling as if he might be able to fit in somewhere too. 

“Seriously,” He said in a last-ditch effort to salvage the bits and pieces of their lighthearted conversation. “I’ve had a long time to deal with this. You did nothing wrong.”

She looked doubtful, but anything was better than the look she had on her face before. He was saved from the awkward situation by the arrival of Iris and her ever-cheerful attitude.

“Merlin, are you going to buy the whole store!?” She exclaimed.

Harry gave her one of his rare, genuine smiles to show his gratitude for the rescue she had just given him. 

“Can you bring what I have here to the counter for me?” he asked as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of galleons. “I think I’m satisfied with this.”

“Satisfied?” Iris asked incredulously. “I would hope so! You have enough books to last you through your third year as it is.”

Iris looked between the two children before swishing her wand at the books and leading the gigantic pile to the front of the door. 

“I’ll take these to the front. There’s no rush. We have all day and not too much more to do.”

She walked away without another word, leaving Harry to the hungry wolves that were the tattered pieces of his recently ruined conversation with the girl who so kindly chose to give him direction in this god-forsaken bookstore. Speaking of which, the girl standing beside him was looking curiously at the blonde woman who had just taken his soon-to-be-bought books to the checkout desk. 

“Is she a professor helping you shop or something?”

Harry looked amusedly at the woman as she fumbled around with the money he gave her before handing it over to the cashier. 

“No, Hogwarts only gave me a letter and left me to figure it out on my own. I met her at the entrance to the alley. She offered to help me for the week, so we have been staying in the Leaky Cauldron for the last few days.”

“A whole week? That’s awfully nice of her.”

“Yes,” Harry said after a long pause. “It is.”

“What are you getting here?” he asked after his curiosity finally managed to overtake his desire to leave the shop and be done with today. 

She laughed at his question before lifting her arm and sweeping it across the room, “You haven’t noticed all of the redheads running around?”

Well, now that she mentioned it, he did see quite a few. 

“Are all of them your family?”

“Mhm,” she said, lightly bouncing on her feet to provide emphasis. “All of them got their letters a few days ago, so we’ve been here all day getting their stuff for school.”

“Them?” Harry walked away from the pedestal which held the bookstore catalog while he asked his question. “What about you?”

Harry remembered the way she reacted to his comment about not having a wand, and he figured out why with the answer to his last question.

“None for me,” she answered with a huff. “I’m only ten. I have to wait until next year before I can go, so now, I have to sit here while all of my brothers buy their things.”

The door to the shop opened with the ding of a bell. The entire store went silent for all of 7 seconds. Harry’s muscles tensed out of habit as the sudden silence began to make him nervous. Then, the store exploded with noise. Harry almost leapt out of his skin at the sudden chaos, but he managed to stifle his jumpy reaction once he saw the redhead roll her eyes.

“It must be Neville. He always brings a crowd.”

Harry followed her as she began to walk towards the front desk to get a better view of the shop’s door. Sure enough, there was a gigantic crowd full of raised voices and camera flashes. 

“Mr. Longbottom,” 

Longbottom? Harry thought to himself.

“Is it true that you donated 2,000 galleons to St. Mungo’s hospital on your birthday to help with the wizards and witches still ill-affected by the war?”

A child a bit taller and larger than Harry looked innocently up at what Harry assumed to be a reporter. “Yes, it is, but I shouldn’t get all of the credit here. Don't forget about the 1,000 galleons donated by the kind witches and wizards still moving forward. Everyone’s effort counts, not only mine.”

The crowd adored him. Harry could tell he had them all wrapped around his finger. 

“Of course, Mr. Longbottom.”

“One more question,” The boy commanded with as much steel as he could put behind his young voice. “I still have a bit of shopping to do today.”

One reporter with short, blonde hair pushed her way into Neville’s view. “My readers want to know what house you’re hoping to be sorted into this year.”

Neville flashed a smile that Harry could tell was as fake as the artificial grass most of his Aunt’s neighbors laid down in favor of mowing every week or so like he had to do over the summer. “Why, Gryffindor, of course,” Was his smooth, charismatic response.

All of the reporters glowed at his words and rushed to jot down what he said. After the writers got their last bits of information, they gradually began to filter out of the shop to report to their agencies. That, however, only opened the gates for the rest of the people already in the shop to bombard the boy with greetings and praise. As the black-haired boy turned to face a new arrival to the circle, Harry caught a glimpse of a jagged, lightning-shaped scar engraved just a little above the boy’s right eyebrow.

“Who is he?” Harry asked out loud as he turned his head to face the girl still standing beside him.

The girl must've thought he was stupid for a moment based on the way she stared at him until her eyes lit up in realization. “Right, I forgot. That’s Neville Longbottom. He's probably the most famous wizard in Britain right now.”

Harry squinted his eyes at the boy still appeasing a crowd of very enthusiastic civilians as he tried to see what made him so special. Perhaps he was simply blind. The girl noticed his expression, and he was surprised to find her getting defensive.

“We were at war for a long time with a dark wizard. He'd all but taken Britain before he attacked Neville and his parents about 10 years ago. No one knows how it happened, but the dark wizard was defeated when he tried to kill Neville.” Her eyes turned sad as she took a slight pause. “His parents didn’t make it.”

That probably didn’t garner the type of reaction from him that the girl was hoping for. As someone who lost his parents before he could remember them as well, that didn't invoke within him the immediate, unearned respect that it might from others. He chose to reserve his judgment until later, but he saw the way Longbottom was manipulating everyone around him with those fake smiles and kind words he didn’t mean. It was quite like the way he acted around people, and he wouldn’t trust himself an ounce if he were anyone else. 

The crowds eventually dispersed to go about their day, and the scar-bearing boy began to walk further into the shop before being approached by a plump, redheaded woman. “Oh, Neville, it's good to see you. I was afraid we lost you there for a bit.”

Neville smiled with a little more genuineness behind his expression. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Weasely. I just decided to get my wand after I got lost in the crowd.”

Harry looked questioningly at the girl beside him. “he came here with us today. His Gran has work.”

So they knew each other. That would explain the defensiveness. His attention went to another red-haired child who revealed himself while walking up to Neville, clapping him on the back once he arrived. 

“Is that right, mate? What wand did you get?” he asked while his chest pumped out a bit with pride. “Mine is dragon heartstring and larch wood.”

Neville smirked and nodded his head understandingly. “I expected nothing less, Ron.”

“Well, come on, mate, which one did you get!?”

Neville’s smirk only widened as he pulled his wand from a pocket in his robes and twirled it confidently in his fingers. “Phoenix and Holly.”

Ron’s mouth dropped to the floor in amazement, and the woman he assumed to be the boy’s mother clapped happily and congratulated the boy on getting such a rare and powerful wand. He looked to his side and noticed the girl seemed to be awed at the exclamation as well. Harry was decidedly less impressed. Perhaps it was only because Neville was asked by people he trusted, but Harry learned in Ollivander’s shop that wand cores and wood told someone much more about the wand’s owner than he would be comfortable sharing. They revealed weaknesses and strengths if one only looked into the meaning behind the materials used. Perhaps this Neville boy was less like him than he'd originally thought. He would've never trusted anyone with that knowledge willingly, not unless they had proven themselves to a godlike degree. 

Neville allowed himself to be congratulated by everyone around him before looking over to the two people who hadn’t spoken to him yet with his right eyebrow raised. Neville walked up to him with the Weasley boy standing at his side and a curious gleam in his eyes. He settled comfortably in front of them and looked Harry up and down with the same unimpressed conclusion that he'd come up with when it was the other way around. It was inconsequential though. He couldn't care less about the boy's opinions of him, not after someone had already accepted him for who he was.

“Hello, Ginny,” Longbottom said as he continued twirling his wand around in his fingers. “Who's this? A friend?”

Iris finished her transaction and walked up to Harry before handing him the rest of the galleons that weren’t needed for the purchase. He was slightly surprised to find that Iris seemed completely uninterested in the apparently very famous celebrity standing before her. He quietly took them and stuffed them into his pants. He was not comfortable at all with the amount of people standing around him. One small girl was quite different from such a large number of unknowns. His wand once again vibrated in his pocket before sending him a calming wave meant to tell him that there wasn’t a threat. Nevertheless, he had no desire to respond to the boy or prove himself worthy in some way. The girl, looking slightly bashful, apparently did.

“I saw him trying to use the catalog, so I gave him some help.”

Once again, someone else was starting a confrontation he didn’t want. Neville smiled in amusement at the statement, apparently finding himself justified in his opinions of the boy. “It’s okay. I’m sure all of this can be confusing for people if they haven’t grown up in it.”

The comment seemed perfectly kind in tone, inflection, and content; but Harry saw a spark of condescension in the boy’s eyes that told him all he needed to know about the sincerity of his sympathies. He was almost curious if this kid had something to be mad at him over, but he was certain that they'd never met before. Maybe the boy was irked that he was with the girl? Either way, he could tell that the boy was poking him. Responding to the insult that was disguised rather brilliantly as a supportive comment would only make him look bad, and there was no need to let Longbottom know he'd seen through the veil in the first place.

“Yes, it has been confusing.” Time to see if he was right. “But it all seems to work out when I have such great friends to help me.”

Iris looked positively touched by his sudden proclamation of friendship. The redheaded girl looked at him oddly, having just met him moments before. Neville, however, looked completely unaffected, even a bit satisfied that the scraggly boy didn’t manage to catch his painfully obvious slight. Well, it seemed as though the boy’s dislike for him went deeper than the girl who happened to help him in a bookstore. Harry wasn’t sure if he should take solace in the fact that he wasn’t being judged based on such shoddy reasons, or if he should be even more curious about what could possibly be putting the boy off. 

The plump woman came up to the quintuple and looked at the girl with a slight frown. 

“Ginevera, I was looking all over the store with you. Where did you go? I told you not to wander far.”

The girl sighed and rolled her eyes sarcastically. She apparently had a very smothering family. Especially for a boy who grew up taking care of only himself, such a suffocating parental figure would annoy him too. He was something of a special case, though, so he wasn't totally sure if his agreement with her irritation actually lent any credibility toward her feelings. 

 “Just like I told Neville, mum, I was just helping a muggle-born find his way around the bookstore.” 

Harry watched the girl’s mum soften a bit, but he felt very uncomfortable when her eyes swept over to Harry and froze. Every second she spent staring at him as if she was looking at a ghost turned his uncomfortable feelings into fear. The ice in his veins drew the stranger from his dormancy just as surely as it did with the Dursleys. 

“Come on, Harry,”  he taunted. “Don’t you want to know what is going on in her pretty little head? All you have to do is look.”

Yes, he very much did. Even despite his wand’s belief that he was completely safe, it was impossible for him to trust this woman enough with a face like that to keep his mind to himself. It wasn’t hard to stare into her eyes when they were about as wide open as they could get. He dove into the very essence of her mind through the windows in her pupils. He got pictures of a tall, lean man with shaggy, black hair and a beautiful, red-haired woman with violently green eyes. He watched the two of them move around a kitchen with a crowd of people he didn’t recognize. He saw a very pregnant version of the redhead sitting on a couch in the middle of a wooden, old-fashioned house. 

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to understand. This woman knew his parents in some capacity. Instead of making him feel ecstatic like it would've just a few days ago, this knowledge made him extremely suspicious of her. The things Griphook told him about the importance of his presence in the wizarding world and the fact that he was left alone so long despite his heritage gave him more than enough reason to expect malicious interference from third-parties. Did she know what happened to him? Was there fear in those eyes behind the surprise, or was that his imagination? He didn’t feel anything besides shock when he looked into her mind, but he was hardly an expert at this. It was only because of the stranger that he could do it at all. 

“Mum?” the girl beside him prodded.

The stream of emotions and information cut off abruptly as the woman shook her head and looked back at her daughter. “Yes, sorry, I zoned out there for a second.”

Apparently, she was content with keeping her knowledge private despite the fact that he was already in the wizarding world. That was very interesting.

“Very interesting, indeed, Harry.”

He was forced to rid himself of his suspicion and fear for the moment in order to make the stranger’s voice go away. If the man wanted to give him access to others’ minds, then that was fine with him. He would not be allowing the man to start influencing him like before though. Now that he knew what to expect and how the connection worked, he could consciously deal with the emotions that brought the stranger out if he didn't need him.

“Are you all done here?” the woman asked her children and Neville.

All of the boys around him nodded their heads, and Neville did as well. “I already ordered my books by owl, Mrs. Weasley. I only needed to come along today for my wand.”

The girl beside him perked up just a bit and bounced enthusiastically. “Can I get a book on hexes, mum? Please!?”

The woman shook her head and tutted a few times.

“We have four boys in school now,” feeling as though she should say more, Mrs. Weasley carried on. “You don’t need books on hexes anyway, Ginny. It is hardly a subject for a young girl.”

The girl’s disappointment was palpable. The rest of her family, though, only seemed to find amusement in the situation. Even without the beast’s help, Harry still had an impressive ability to utilize his senses. It was because of this that he just barely caught the voice of two people he assumed to be Weasleys whispering behind him.

“Not like she needs ‘em anyway, eh, Fred?”

“Yeah, George, wouldn’t want her learning more after her escapade with the bat-bogey.”

He could almost feel them shiver at the very thought of it. 

“Well, children, we must be off. Your father is expecting us for lunch during his break,” she then pointed her gaze at her daughter with an intensity that demanded obedience. “Come along, Ginny.”

Neville gave Harry one more deceptively benign look before turning away with the redheaded boy right on his heels. The rest of the very large family began to filter out behind their mother, and the girl slowly followed as well.

“See you around,” she said without looking back.

“Wait!” Harry exclaimed despite himself. She paused before turning around to look at him again. “You never told me your name.”

She gave him a glare. Apparently, she wasn’t in the mood for foolishness anymore.

“You heard it from my mum and Neville, didn’t you?”

Harry smirked in response to her angry demeanor. Well, that was just too bad. She started the teasing, and he wasn't about to back down now just cause she got tired of it.

“true, but that didn’t come from you, now, did it?”

The heat she was shooting at him immediately came to a stop, and a small smile worked its way onto her face. She stuck her hand out and took a step forward to close some of the distance she'd created.

“Ginny Weasley.”

Harry took a step forward as well and once again surprised Iris today by taking the hand offered to him and giving it a firm shake. “Harry Potter.”

The door closed on the shop in the time they spent exchanging names, and that told Ginny that it was really time to go. She gave a nod and a smile before turning and hurrying to follow her family wherever it was they decided to go. Harry watched her leave, oddly confident that he might have actually managed to make a friend in the wizarding world. It was amazing how much easier that was without Dudley there to ruin things for them. 

“Damn!” He suddenly exclaimed with a slight frown.

“What?” Iris asked concernedly.

Harry began walking back to the bookstore catalog with Iris trailing behind him. “I forgot to ask how to get a hold of her.”

“Really?” Iris said as she watched the boy flip through the pages in the book. “I wouldn’t think you’d make friends so quickly.”

Harry flipped to the “N’s” in the catalog and smiled as he fell upon a slew of books made about Neville Longbottom and his triumph over some Dark Lord called Voldemort. Knowledge was power, and he now had quite a bit on a certain insulting celebrity.

“Why would you think that?” he asked back.

Iris looked curiously at the books floating toward them. That boy sure did like the bookstore. “Well, you know, you were about to blow up an entire street when we met merely because I offered to help you.”

Harry did not want to talk about this at all, but it was bound to come up at some point during their week of shopping. He signed up for it, in a way, when he accepted her help after Gringotts. If he was going to back out now, he would have just said no in the first place.

“Yeah, but I didn’t. Just because I didn’t trust you to help me doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate it once you did.”

“I see,” Iris said while she started levitating the books that came to her. “Well, I’m glad that you've come to like my assistance. Were you planning on thanking her for the help she gave?”

Harry kept flipping through the catalog in search of some information on this supposed Dark Lord. “Not like it matters now. I didn’t get her address, so it’s not like I can contact her.”

Iris gave him that mischievous grin that meant she knew something important that he didn’t. “You got her first and last name, though, didn’t you?”

He did get her name, and he also remembered the girl’s mother calling her Ginevra, so he was confident that he possessed her true name as well as the one she preferred. He gave Iris a nod as an answer.

“I know you already have Jason, but I think it is time for us to visit the Eeylops Owl Emporium.”

Harry was completely unsure how knowing someone’s first and last name would help him get into contact with the Weasley girl who helped him, but he was far beyond the stage of distrusting the information given to him by Iris. If she was telling him that it was possible to send her something with nothing more than a name, then there was something that would allow him to do it. Instead of questioning her for more information, he simply smiled back and flipped to the “H” section of the catalog. He knew exactly the way to pay back the debt he owed. 

“Ginny, Fred-George, Ron, Percy, Neville!!!” Shouted Mrs. Weasley from the floor below her own in a heavily practiced string of words. “Breakfast is ready!”

Ginny rose from her bed with a silent groan and stretched silently as she tried to ignore the smacking of feet against the wooden staircase which undoubtedly came from Ron. Not a single person in her entire family except for her mother and Percy was a morning person, yet Ron always found it within him to rush downstairs to raid the breakfast table. Every time she heard him stumble past her door, she considered hexing him with the wand she was given by Bill; and every single time, she could never bring herself to get out of bed fast enough to do it. 

Eventually, she found the energy to roll out of her bed and start slinking down the stairs. Vague scuffling from above her let her know that the rest of her family was probably beginning to get up as well. Finally getting to the ground floor, she turned right 180 degrees before walking around the side of the staircase, took another right to get into the kitchen, and was met with the sight of Ron ravaging the table while her mother finished placing plates along the table’s center. Walking behind Ron, she smacked him in the back of the head hard enough to make bits of food fly from his smacking mouth and took a seat near the end of the very long table.

“oi!” The boy shouted with food still in his mouth. He swallowed firmly and shot her a glare at the same time. “What’s the deal with you?”

“My deal, Ron, is that I have to walk downstairs every morning to watch you stuff your face with food before mum is even finished setting the table!”

He threw his arms up in the air to express his exasperation. “Well, what's the rest of the food on the table for if I’m not meant to eat it?”

“It's there for you to eat once the rest of it is on the table!” she shouted as her red-hot temper began to smoke just a little. 

Seeing that she was getting upset and knowing that she had a wand in her pocket, Ron very wisely decided to shut up and wait at the table for the rest of the family like a normal human being. One by one, her family began to filter down the stairs and take a seat at the table. Neville, the last to the table, took a seat next to Ron, and everybody started digging in. The kitchen, as always, was filled with the jumbled noises of lively conversations going on between different sections of the table. She was about to jump into Ron and Neville’s conversation about professional quidditch to throw an insult at the Cannons just to watch Ron have an aneurysm over it when the arrival of their post sent their family into a rare moment of tranquility. 

Percy, the one who generally sat closest to the window, got up to receive a group of letters tied to the owl’s foot. Shuffling through them quietly as he walked back to the table, he began to hand them out.

“Neville,” he said as he handed one to Ginny for her to pass down to the boy. “You’ve got a letter from your Gran.”

The boy beside her opened the letter and let a smile fall onto his face. “She said that I can stay here until the train leaves for Hogwarts if that is okay with you.”

“Why, of course, Neville,” Mrs. Weasley kindly responded. “You're always welcome here.”

Before the table could once again descend into the chaos of a normal Weasley breakfast, they were all struck silent once again by the arrival of a brilliant, snowy owl. It glided elegantly straight through the window that Errol normally landed on and fluttered into the room before settling on the arm of Ginny’s chair, shaking out its ruffled feathers. Her entire family stared at the owl in shock while she awed at the beautiful black spots spread sparingly across the bird's wings and tail. No one in her family really got owls from other people, least of all herself. Letters were generally left at the end of their driveway for Errol to gather at the beginning of a day and drop off all at once. 

“For me?” she asked, genuinely curious.

The owl cocked its head at her in a way that seemed slightly insulted.

“Okay, okay,” she said while she stroked the top of the owl’s head gently. “You would never mistake who was supposed to receive your mail. That was inconsiderate of me.”

The owl chirped an affirmative and stuck out its foot to let her claim a shrunken box tied to her ankle. After grabbing the box, Ginny took a small piece of her bacon and held it out for the owl to grab in its beak. 

“You can rest in the living room with Errol if you’d like, unless you’d rather fly back now.”

The owl nipped her on the arm affectionately before flapping past the table and cutting around the staircase to rest next to their own family owl. The fact that such a distinguished and expensive-looking familiar decided to rest before flying back meant that it was either expecting a response or flew a very long while to give her whatever was in this package. That made her even more curious as to what it was told to deliver. 

She was very aware of the amount of attention the rest of the table was giving her, but that didn’t stop her from pulling Bill’s old wand from her pocket and tapping the parcel. The thing grew into a rather large, rectangular box, and when she tore open the brown wrapping paper, she was greeted with something completely unexpected: a book on household charms for young witches. George almost spat out his orange juice when he discovered what her “gift” was. 

“Who’s it from, Gin-Gin?” The twin teased with laughter leaking from his mouth along with his glee-filled voice. 

Underneath the book was a letter to her from a very curious boy she'd met just a day ago. Was this meant to be a continuation of the teasing that she'd started in the shop yesterday? He certainly seemed clever enough to give her something that would annoy her so much. 

“It’s from Harry. The boy that I helped in the bookstore yesterday.”

She could see that Neville was now giving his attention along with the rest of the table upon hearing the name of the gift-giver. George couldn't hold back actual laughter once she told him where the book came from.

“Must not know an awful lot about you, Gin-Gin. Enjoy your book on household charms! I’m sure he put a lot of thought into it!”

Her mother reached over and swatted her son on the side of his head with the letter in her hand. “That is a perfectly respectable gift for a perfectly respectable young lady, and you will not be teasing her over it.”

Ginny thought that her mother looked positively giddy over the thought of her daughter finally putting some effort into something she considered appropriate for a witch. It almost made her gag. If that damn boy was aiming to press her buttons, he accomplished his task even better than she thought he probably wanted to. She moved her plate to the side for a second to place her new book on the table and opened her letter to read it. 

Hey, Ginny, the owl that gave you this letter is named Hedwig. I’m sorry if she gave you any trouble. I didn’t realize that she had so much sass in her tiny body when I bought her after I left the bookstore. 

Iris, the witch who has been helping me, told me how to get this to you. I know you have a large family, and I wasn’t sure if you had your own room, so Iris used something she called a charm to switch its cover with one from another book she had on hand. From what your mum said today, I didn’t think it would go over well to give you the book as it was. Rest assured, if any of them actually read the book, it will go over even worse when they discover my attempt at deception, so keep it away from prying eyes. 

Thank you for the help you gave me,

Harry Potter. 

She folded the letter, put it in her lap, and lifted the book off of the table before opening it to the first page. Keeping its contents well outside of her family’s eyes, she read the real title in her head.

'Hilarious and Horrible Hexes: A Comprehensive Guide to Ruining Your Enemy’s Day.'

She could just barely conceal the smile that almost burst onto her face. That was one hell of a thank you. It only made it sweeter that Harry’s trick got George Weasley before it got anyone else. The twins would lose their minds if they ever found out they’d been had by someone so much younger than them. It was a shame that they would never find out if she had anything to say about it. When she looked over to Neville, she noticed that he was looking at both her and the book that she may have opened for just a bit too long with a surprising amount of interest. She gave him a kind smile in the hopes of disarming him, but that seemed to only make him even more curious. Did he somehow know what Harry did? That couldn’t be possible, but Neville was definitely acting as though he knew something that he shouldn’t. 

“I’m going to go take this up to my room.”

Her mom smiled excitedly at her. She was definitely far too pleased with the situation so falsely constructed by Harry Potter. As she began to walk up the stairs, her mum shouted something up to her.

“Make sure you give that young man a thank you!”

Yeah, she was definitely far too pleased with the situation.

Ginny went into her room and placed the book behind her pillow. Removing a piece of parchment from the pile she used for her various drawings, she began to write a letter.

Thank you for the book. Mum might as well have been singing a hymn with the way she reacted to the cover you chose. Don’t worry; they won’t find out what it is. I do have a room of my own, just so you know. Tell Hedwig to deliver letters there next time. I’m sure she's smart enough to figure out where it is. She's a beautiful owl by the way.

Ginny.

The girl folded the parchment and put it in one of the envelopes she had in her room. Normally, she only wrote to Luna. Now, however, it seemed like her range was about to grow. She put the letter in her pajama pocket and opened her door to go down to the snowy owl named Hedwig. It was once she walked out of her room that she noticed Neville leaning on the wall beside her door.

“What?” Ginny asked. 

Neville had never really taken the time to talk to her personally. He was always attached to Ron by the hip. Why the interest now that she was getting letters? The boy lifted his hand to his hair and swept it to the side so his scar showed clearly like it always did. 

“What was all of that really about?”

So he did know more than he should. 

“It was what it looked like. I helped someone when they needed it, and he sent me a book as thanks. Do you think something is odd about that?”

Neville’s smirk was unbearable. “Oh, yeah, a book about household charms. I’m sure he was stupid enough to send you something like that. Any random idiot could tell after ten seconds with you that you couldn’t care less about household charms .”

Ginny was unused to someone around her age interrogating her, but she had more than enough experience with her parents to know how to deflect an accusation like that. “Do you have a problem with him or something?”

Neville’s eyes widened at the question. Did he have a problem with him? Why, yes, he did. He couldn’t place the reason why he was unsettled by the boy, but it had to do with the way he seemed to be tearing apart everyone around him with his eyes, and the way he'd dealt with the confrontation Neville dumped upon him. It was different in some ways, but it was so much like himself that it physically hurt him. Was it so odd to feel uncomfortable around a person that reminded him so much of himself when he was supposed to be alone in this world? Who else could share enough experiences with him to end up like he had? No one he wanted to be friends with, that was for sure, and staying true to himself, there was no way in hell he would ever answer her question honestly. 

“Of course not, but I know that wasn’t what it seemed. I’m not an idiot. You can either tell me what it was, or I can point Fred and George in your direction. You know they’ll find out soon enough if they know something's up.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Harry gave me a book on hexes because he knew I wanted one and mum said no. Is that enough for you, or am I going to have to tell you every single thing we talked about too before you stop threatening me?”

Neville threw his hands in the air with a sarcastic smile. “Hey, no one will hear anything from me. Don’t hang me for being curious.”

Walking past him while flicking a strand of hair out of her face, she said, “Next time, don’t blackmail me if you want me to be happy with you.”

She began her descent of the staircase when Neville’s voice chased after her. “Hey, I asked nicely first!” 

She smiled slightly and chose not to throw anything back even though she most definitely could. Instead, she walked into the living room and met Hedwig where she sat perched on the arm of their couch. “You’re very pretty, Hedwig. Thank you for bringing me Harry’s letter.” Hedwig puffed her chest out with pride while Ginny tied her letter to the owl’s ankle. “You can stay however long you need. Don’t think you have to fly back now just because I gave you a response.”

Hedwig once again nipped her with affection, but she still decided to fly into the kitchen and out of the window to return to wherever it was she came from.