As the rays of the sun hit his sleep shrouded face, Harry's eyes snapped open.
His grogginess faded and replaced by a quick catalogue of what had happened yesterday. He had managed to escape from the aptly named "Durskaban", have a little fun with Dumbledore and his Order of the Fried Chicken, have a little flirt and twirl with a nice older girl, and had the first good sleep he's had in fifteen years. Life was pretty good at the moment and he could almost forget the horrible time he had in Azkaban and the fact that the ministry gutted his property to hand over to Death Eaters.
Yawning, Harry sat up in bed, looked around the room. His silencing wards and his basic protection wards were still up, no one had tried to trespass or anything, so he was happy for now. Jumping out of bed, he waved his hand, casting the tempus charm. A mist swirled into existence and large numbers appeared within the mist. It read six thirty. As good a time as any to start his day.
Jumping into the shower he let the hot spray hit him as he felt his skin redden and his fingers prune up. After toweling off and brushing his teeth, Harry threw on his best muggle-like clothes he had, a pair of good black slacks, dress shoes, black socks, and a crisp white shirt. These had come with his dress robes he had purchased last year. They were slightly too small, but no one who was not looking carefully would know that. Taking a look in the mirror, he calmly reapplied his glamour's, all except the hair lengthening glamour. It was a permanent charm that worked on the hair follicles to change it. Not many charms were permanent, but some, such as hair color, and length could be made to be permanent at the will of the wizard.
Slipping his wand into his pocket, hiding his money bag, and taking the folded voucher from his belongings, Harry rechecked it to be sure he had read it correctly, and placed it in his back pocket. He set off with one last visual check of the glamours.
The common room was nearly empty, with only a few early risers hanging around on the different tables with an old wizard snored peacefully at the bar where Tom was standing polishing glasses. He spotted Harry and waved a hello, motioning him to come over and sit. Harry reasoned it would be ok. He wouldn't drink, but he would probably have something quick to eat for breakfast. Jumping up on the bar stool with a little hop, Harry gave the bald innkeeper a smile as he picked up a menu and looked at the breakfast selection.
"What can I get for you Bob?" Tom asked.
"I think I'll get just a coffee and one of your pastries, doesn't matter which," Harry replied, handing the innkeeper his menu.
Tom smiled broadly, "No problem Bob, be right back." He walked into the side door where the kitchen was located and returned a little while later, holding a steaming mug of black coffee and a slice of homemade cinnamon toast. Harry smiled as he took a bite of the toast and then sipped the coffee. He had never really liked the stuff, but he had grown tired of tea and wanted a change of venue. The coffee was pretty terrible, but he understood why the Americans drank the stuff religiously, it almost immediately kicked you into overdrive. It also explained why Americans were so busy and rude all the time. Getting hyped up on cups of coffee would do that to anyone.
After he was finished, he thanked Tom and left a few sickles on the counter and took off to the alleyway that lead to Diagon Alley. Pulling out his wand, he tapped the correct bricks in order to activate the gate, and stepped back when it activated. As the blocks shifted and opened, he saw Diagon Alley for the first time in nearly two years.
It was a nice street, wider than most city avenues and long, reaching out into the distance where the road led to the circular cul-de-sac at the end where Gringotts was located. Harry could see the imposing building in the distance and see the faint glimmer of gold that were the great main doors of the goblin-run bank. The street was cobblestone and the shops and homes to either side were old fashioned in their coloring and appearance. Further down the alley, Harry could make out the different branchings that lead to the different sub communities that lived within Diagon Alley. Several blocks down on his right side was Soon Alley, the Chinatown of Wizarding London. He had heard that the Changs lived there and owned an armory that supplied goods to the different goblin clans in the UK. Further down to Harry's right was the German sub division of Diagon Alley called Stein Alley. Mostly filled with bars and breweries, Stein Alley was a cornerstone for the different pure blood families such as the Malfoys and the Notts, who owned large percentages of the breweries and bars in that section. Finally, about midway through the arcade, another unmarked alley called Nocturn Alley existed. The alley way was small, but the scum of Wizarding British society called the sub division its home. It was the home of a large chunk of illegal activity or just people who really do not like the ministry. It was one of his stops that he had to make today, but he needed the cash first, so off to Gringots it was.
Making his way down the cobblestone street, he saw the different shops he knew from earlier years, Olivander's to his right, Elops Owlry to his left, the Magical Menagerie a block down, and a few new shops he had never seen before such as Bart's Butterbeer Products, and, of all things, a Starbucks. Ugh, here too? He asked himself with a bit of disgust.
He had remembered that he had to keep an eye out for the Weasley twins' new shop and wondered if he could spot it, since they had not told them where it was or what it looked like, but after seeing it he knew that they were right. He knew right away what it was. As he was walking down the street he came upon an eyesore that clashed dramatically with the other demure browns and reds of Daigon alley. The vibrant yellows, greens, and purples of the nearly completed Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Inc would never be missed by anyone who had even the most minuet sense of vision. The violent colors formed to make a giant W.W.W with two joker's hats hanging off the first and last W's side. The shop itself, a wide two story affair, was rather large, taking up the two of the usual store fronts, but it was clearly not ready to be opened. Only the main sign was ready. The shelves were bare, and some carpentry still needed to be completed towards the back of the store, but having been only there for a month, Harry was impressed by their progress.
Although he had promised himself he would stop by to say thank you to the twins, he decided to put it off. It was very early. So he continued down the cobblestone street, noting the location of several new and old shops he might like to try, and finally came to stand in front of the open golden doors of Gringotts.
Trudging up the long wide grand staircase at the entrance, Harry nodded to the goblin guard holding his wicked half-moon ax blade, who nodded curtly back. It was a typical greeting between strangers in the goblin world. Harry would never smile at a strange goblin and he certainly would never show teeth, which was an open insult and a blatant challenge against honor.
Finally making his way in, he sought out the secretarial desk for a goblin that could direct him to Mr. Bloodhook, the Weasley twins' Gringotts financial advisor. Approaching the desk, Harry nodded to the elderly goblin, who was leafing through appointment books.
"I am looking for Bloodhook. I am an acquaintance of the Weasley Twins and would like to speak with him," Harry said firmly, it was not wise to show uncertainty or weakness to a goblin. They took it as an insult.
The goblin seemingly ignored him for several seconds before drawling out, "Name?"
"Harold James Potter," he whispered, "and under statute 976 section a of the goblin treaty of 1820, I hereby enact secrecy rights as proven by contract through Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Incorporated."
Wide eyes met his steady ones, as the goblin was struck dumbfounded by the knowledge that his human had displayed. No one knew of that clause in the treaties, and it had not been enacted since conception of the treaty. This was going to be an interesting meeting.
The goblin jumped down from his desk, carrying his book with him tucked under his arm, and walked out from behind the counter. Snapping his fingers, another goblin, much younger, waddled into the desk and took up the older goblin's position. Turning back to Harry, the elderly goblin indicated that he wanted Harry to follow him. He led Harry down a long corridor hidden by the teller desks, and down a long stair way into an room that looked like office space. Hundreds of goblins scurried around, moving from cubical to cubical, pushing papers and forms through multiple departments and sometimes getting into fights. The elderly goblin led him into this mess and after a few minuets of battling bodies the height of his waist, he finally made it into an office set into the wall. Walking inside and closing the door after him, the grizzled old creature jumped behind the desk and motioned for Harry to take a seat.
"Mr. Potter. My name is Bloodhook, the financial advisers to Mr. George and Fred Weasley, it is a pleasure to meet you," the little goblin croaked out.
Only mildly surprised, Harry replied with special care to not show his teeth, "It is a pleasure Bloodhook. Anyone who can deal with the Weasley twins has my respect. I am here today to settle a matter of a voucher given to me by the twins." Harry passed the voucher over to the goblin who took it and inspected it.
"This seems about right, Mr. Potter. But first, I must have you sign your name in blood on the bottom here to confirm you are who you say you are. The twins have informed me on your aversion to the use of the blood quill, so I have devised something relatively painless that might ease the phobia you seem to have," the goblin stated as he fished around in his desk and pulled out a small stone cup and a normal quill. "This, Mr. Potter, is a new invention of mine called a blood cup. It is a solution that mimics blood signatures and will be able to create a well of blood you can use as ink. All I need is a single drop of blood. The blood cup will be destroyed once it is used so no one else may be able to sign in your blood. If you will, Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded and held out his finger, to which the goblin quickly pricked and squeezed out a single drop of blood. Pulling his hand back, Harry healed the small cut with a wandless spell and picked up the quill. Dipping his quill in the quickly growing pool of blood on the bottom of the cup, he signed his name, in the indicated area.
"Excellent Mr. Potter, now if you will wait just a second," the goblin said as he waved his hand over the parchment. It glowed several colors, but finally stopped on a dark gold color, signifying that the contract was complete. "Thank you Mr. Potter, and I must say that we are very sorry for the actions we were forced to take when the ministry leveled the baseless crimes against you. We had tried to fight them legally from taking control of your
vaults, but we were unsuccessful in that matter.
"You had done Gringotts a great service in revealing the return of the dark lord Voldemort. He had been pressuring us for several months to join him, but after you revealed his return, he desisted. And for that, we tried to help you recover your losses. We were unable to. But, we did manage to keep some things for you. If you would follow me Mr. Potter," the Goblin left his office and walked down another corridor to a landing with a Gringotts cart.
After a thrilling ride down deep into the vaults, they stopped at the temporary vaults and got out of the cart. Bloodhook taped the vault door and held the voucher up to the plaque on the front of the vault, which shined a golden color and opened, revealing a mountain of galleons and several other effects. The goblin held out his hand to allow Harry entrance and followed him in.
"These, Mr. Potter," gesturing to the piles of gold, silver, and copper, "are your 54,000 galleons from the Weasley twins. These," he said, pointing to a pile of boxes, "were the articles we were able to salvage from the seizure of your vaults. They include several interesting items that I am sure you will recognize when you see them. I will be waiting outside Mr. Potter. Please take your time." With that, the goblin walked out and closed the vault.
Harry smiled. He was thankful that he goblins had cared enough to save at least some of the personal effects of his vaults before they were taken by the corrupt ministry. They would pay, but first he would look at what they had managed to save.
The first thing Harry saw, were robes of different shades, sizes, and colors. They were simple cotton robes with no special value other than warmth on a cold day. These, Harry folded and placed aside, maybe he would find a use for them latter, or maybe that was just his packrat tendencies taking over, he had no idea. The second item was a box with different kinds of texts in them. He was intrigued by the titles they had: The Magic Carpentry Guide, Enchanting the Stone, The Magic of Sex, Advanced Offensive and Defensive Wards, and Subversive Measures. The books would prove to be useful in some areas, and completely useless in others, although he was interested in reading both Subversive Measures and the book on wards. The others he would peruse at a later time, or use as a reference when he needed it.
Lastly, he came upon a small trunk, the size of a muggle suit case. It didn't look like much, the case battered, the handles missing, some of the rivets that held it together either rusted off or missing completely, but an ornate lock and a ring of nine keys hanging from a lose rivet interested him. Why would a trunk need nine keys? Then it hit him. Excited, Harry unlocked the trunk and opened it, immediately Harry knew what this was, a multi room trunk like the one Mad-eye had. It even had protective charms, resizing charms, and a feather light charm for easy handling. He was ecstatic. Harry would be able to carry around his entire forturne in his pocket, and never again would anyone be able to steal from him.
After trying out the different locks, he stored away the robes in his smallest compartment, the books in an other compartment that had a rotating caroselle that had slots to slide books in to carry hundreds of books, and then he opened the largest storage compartment, which was a large 5x5x5 meter room that had a ladder affixed to the side to get down into the trunk. Waving his hand, a few hundred galleons few into his money bag, shrunk it to the size of a pendant, and hung it around his neck. Next he waved his hand again and the rest of the money funneled into the large compartment in his trunk. Checking around one last time to ensure he had not missed a single thing in the vault, Harry locked his trunk and shrunk it, placing it back into his pocket.
Walking out, he called for the goblin, "Bloodhook?"
Out of the darkness to Harry's right, the old goblin waddled into sight, "Mr. Potter, I take it that you found everything to your liking? Good Mr. Potter. Per chance, will you be opening an account with us?"
"I'm sorry Bloodhook. After what happened before with the ministry, I no longer wish to keep all my money in an area that is readily accessible by those vultures. One day, when I have secured my finances, you may hear of me yet again, but until them, I believe I will move my fortune somewhere closer to my person," Harry replied with an expression that said he was sorry for the trust he could no longer give them.
Bloodhook nodded sadly, "I completely understand Mr. Potter. Although we will miss the patronage you have given us in your short time with us, we will await the day that your faith in us is restored."
As he walked out of Gringots Harry thought of what to do first. He would need the basics, clothes, shelter, and food, but he would also have to start on his plans to build up his new life. He also needed to thank the Weasley twins for everything they did for him. It was only about eight o'clock at the current time, and knowing the Weasley twins, if they didn't need to be up, they wouldn't be up, so he decided to take care of some of the more innocuous tasks first.
His first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Seasons. Harry looked different enough from his glamours to the changes in his appearance that were created by his stay in Azkaban that he knew he would not be recognized by anyone he had met before. The store was not overlarge, but was large enough that several employees
were assigned to the front. As he walked in, a pretty girl in her mid twenties approached and gave him a smile.
"Welcome to Madam Malkin's, is there anything I can do for you sir?" she asked, her eyes wandering over his form. He was a little skinnier than she usually liked in her men, but he was still very cute.
Harry smiled at the girl, "Yes there is. I'm in the market for a whole new Wizarding wardrobe change and I wanted to know if you could help me with that?"
The smile that split her face was nearly comical as the thought of all the commission she would take in from this sale and the promise of getting to measure what was under the cute Pure blood boy's robes ran through her head, "Of course sir, my name is Annabelle and I will be your fitter today. If you could follow me, we can start taking your measurements and take your orders."
Smiling to himself, he followed her into the back, "That would be most excellent Annabelle."
They started with simple measurements, waist, neck, arm length, shoulders, etc. He had stripped down to his boxers, thankfully a new pair, for her so that she could measure his inseam, to which she blushed furiously, but oddly taking much longer than she had for the other measurements. She even did it by hand, when charmed tape measures were available. When asked about this she blushed furiously and wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. Harry, on the other hand, enjoyed tormenting her and continued mercilessly much to both his and, surprisingly, her pleasure. It seems as though women actually like being teased.
As they finished, Harry taking extra long to pull on his clothes, much to Annabelle's delight, they moved out to the front to decide of the type of clothes he wanted and the materials he would like.
Thinking about it a little, she waited for him to decide, he detailed what he wanted everything from normal every day shirts to heavy dragon hide aprons, even including a variety of expensive jackets. He'd always wanted one and it was his money, so why not splurge a little.
She finished writing and read back the order with the caution, "The acromantula silk is on a fluctuating scale as per supply and demand needs. The pricing is not set on the basilisk skin either. Will that be acceptable?"
He nodded and she made her notation on his orders, nearly bursting with glee at the amount of commission she was going to receive for this sale, "Ok sir, is there anything else we can do for you today?"
Harry shook his head indicating he did not.
"Ok sir could I just have your name here, and a 25 percent deposit. The order will take roughly one week to fill and you will be notified by owl that your order can be either picked up or delivered. Your deposit will be 65 galleons, and if I could just get your name and address.?"
Harry enlarged the money bag around his neck, much to the amazement of the shop girl, and took out the required amount of gold coins. Thinking quickly Harry bent down to sign his name, he signed "Evan R Magius" with a flourish and, unable to put down an address, Harry asked, "I am currently in the process of relocating homes right now. Would it be possible to notify you by tomorrow of my new address?"
She smiled, "Certainly Mr. Magius. Just send an OWL with your name, address, and a little note and you should be fine."
Harry smiled, "Good day to you Annabelle," as he walked out of the store, his head held high and his back strait, the perfect imitation of a Pureblood. He had originally thought he would do his muggle clothes shopping in London where he was going to pick up his other supplies, but he decided that here would be fine. At least here he didn't have to exchange his galleons for pounds and end of giving the goblins a vastly over inflated percentage of his money as an exchange rate fee. He would eventually when he went tomorrow, but at least he wouldn't have to deal with it right now.
Holding his hands over his head and arching his back, Harry stretched, having stood with his nose in the air for the better part of an hour. He had to decide what was next. He could go and visit the twins, but he was still sure they weren't up yet. Although they wouldn't mind him just popping in, he thought he had better call through the floo first or at least notify them he was coming through before showing up. They could be experimenting for all he knew and he really did not want to end up with body parts missing or strange appendages growing out of places they shouldn't have.
So he decided to complete his shopping in Diagon Alley with one of his last major magical purchases. He would have to visit a not widely known store here and it was currently in the sub division of Nocturne Alley. Not something he was looking forward to, even though it was day time. Harry moved down and came upon the dark, almost, eerie alley. He could already see the shadows lurking in the shaded areas of the alley, beggars, whores, and cut purses who would love to pray on an unsuspecting boy entering the dark haven, but Harry was very different from other boys his age. His sheer knowledge of magic and his advancements in magical theory, kept only to himself for now, would ensure that none touched either he nor his belongings, how meager they were. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of black cloth that looked like a handkerchief. Harry shook the tiny handkerchief twice and threw it up. Magically, it enlarged and expanded until it turned back into one of Harry's
school cloaks. It was a long cotton cloak with a deep cowl and slightly thread bare, he had been using the cloak for two years. There was a slightly cleaner patch on the right breast and the cloak was missing a broach pin. He had removed the Hogwarts logo before hand to prevent anyone from knowing that he was, or used to be, a student.
Throwing the cloak around his shoulder, Harry muttered a spell and waved his hand over his face, adequately cloaking his face in shadows and only giving a slight outline of features with a clear view of his, now blue, eyes. Harry had found the charm called "the shroud of shadows" in an old book pilfered from the restricted section of the library. It was a difficult spell and one, if he had used the full effects of the spell which was to cloak the entire body in moving shadows, that would have required a wand. It was boarder-line dark, but Harry had no qualms about crossing into, at least partially into, that branch of magic. If the enemy was going to use it, Harry needed to be able to fight on an equal standing with them as well.
Pulling the cloak up and over his head, Harry moved into the alley. The dark shapes beckoned to him, decrepit and diseased hands thrust out from piles of rags that were once humans, filthy streetwalkers plied their wares as they tried to entice him with a less than arousing view of their desiccated bodies, and bully boys and cutpurses lined the walls, fingering wands, small knives, and blackjacks as they eyed the young wizard.
Although they would have followed him, just to see if he had some money, something stopped them from approaching. Maybe it was the way they couldn't see his face, or the way he seemed to prowl forward like a jungle cat on the hunt, but something told them not to approach the young man striding confidently down the alley.
Harry's eyes were taking in the sights of Nocturne Alley. He been here only once, and that had been only a single store, Borgan and Burkes, but that had been by the very entrance of Nocturne Alley and he was now very far in. So far, Harry had seen nothing at all what he had not expected to see, a bar here, a shop there, it seemed like the other alleys in Diagon Alley, but when you actually looked at the wares each store sold, you would see that the two were very different. Seeing a dark artifact here and there was not uncommon in Nocturn Alley, although most shop keeps knew not to flash them around. But he was not here for some dark artifact, he was here to find a craftsman.
Harry had learned how the ministry tracked under-aged magic. They used charms placed on the wand of the under-aged individual in their first year of Hogwarts, or if they were home schooled, they were visited by the Department for Under-aged Wizardry and had their wands charmed. Although most people had their wands tracked, some influential members of the wizarding society, such as the Malfoys, were able to circumvent the policies due to bribes and political connections. Most Purebloods were given pretty much free reign in learning outside of school, one of the reasons why they did better, overall, than half-blood or muggle-born students. Just one of the many inconsistencies of the Wizarding world.
In order to do magic outside of school, Harry was going to have to either find a way to break the charms on his wand, something he doubt he could do without getting caught, or he had to find another wand. Harry could do most simple spells without a wand, most innocuous spells didn't require the amount of focus required for a large spell or a channeling tool required for some spells, but he would require a wand if he was going to do what he needed to do to protect himself and to start building his financial empire.
Harry moved deeper into the Alley, looking for a specific shop, the shadows trailing behind him falling away one by one as they realized that the boy was someone you did not want to mess with. He had found a name in an old journal left behind by a Pureblood Slytherin student in the restricted section. It was a journal about how his wand was crafted. Most purebloods used Ollivander for their wands because it was a name liked with quality and the light. But many of the darker, less known, Pureblood families used other wand makers, among those names, whispered in dark corners under secrecy charms was the name Vanderkaum.
Harry had read the name in the journal and had been intrigued. Even though the wand maker would be dark, he was outside of ministry control and could provide Harry with the necessary means to destroy his kind. He thought of it as a type of poetic justice. But he had no idea where to look for him. The only clue Harry had was that he hated Ollivander, but was still living in the UK. Narrowing down the possibilities had been simple for Harry, not only was Diagon Alley the only magical area in the UK with a wand maker, it was the only magical area with an established "dark" community. The perfect place for a rouge wand maker to hide.
It was about mid day, his search had been fruitless as Harry had checked nearly all the shops in the main arcade in Nocturn Alley. He had seen things that made him nearly puke, but he had found no traces of Vanderkaum in any of the shops.
Sitting down heavily on a bench by the side of the road, Harry had been about to give up when he spotted something. A stylized "V" encircled with a raised lip of stone could be seen set into the sidewalk. He looked up into the store but frowned, he had already been into the store and all they had sold were different dark books. Stepping back, he looked at it again, he noticed that the V was not exactly in front of the store, but was slightly off to the side, almost between the shops. If it was between the shops, he thought. Then it hit him. He knew where the wandmaker was, but would he still make his wand for him if Harry revealed his secret?
Harry realized that the V was actually an anchor point for a very powerful spell. The fideliuscharm. Normally, the fidelius was anchored to a person, someone the owners trusted would be a secret keeper, and would take a temporary mark to indicate that they held the key to the information. Of course, once the fidelius was broken, the mark would disappear, but Harry had never suspected that you could anchor a fidelius onto an inanimate object.
It was certainly unexpected, but definitely not difficult to break the charm, if, by chance, you knew to whom, or in this case, to where the anchor point was affixed to. Harry moved over to the V, gently tracing it with his fingers. It really was an ingenious spell alteration, he would have never thought of it, had he not had such an intimate familiarity with the fidelius charm, especially close in breaking the charm.
Standing strait up over the anchor point, Harry looked around to confirm he was not being watched and cast his hand down muttering, "expelliarmus". The familiar jet of bluish white light shot from his palm and scorred the ground, destroying the rune work and breaking the spell. He had chose expelliarmus because he knew the damage that inflict on solid objects. As well as disarming the opponent, with a well placed and strong enough disarming charm, you could literally blow your opponent away. It would treat the ground the same.
Harry stood back as he felt the magic of the fidelius wane and shake the surrounding buildings. A soft shattering sound like a tiny hammer chipping away on a glass dome rang throughout the empty street and as Harry looked ahead of him, he smiled as he saw a small shop between the two buildings that was not there before he destroyed the charm.
Wiping the smile off his face, he pushed open the wooden framed glass door and entered the shop. Harry was immediately hit by the smell of the place. There were thousands upon thousands of scents that permeated his mind as he took in his surroundings. The shop was dusty, as with most shops in Nocturn Alley. The room itself was oddly shapped, narrow in width, but very long with a counter and an old register at the other end. Shelves lined the long room with one side holding what looked like potions ingredients and the other looking like a surplus supplier for a carpentry business. All sorts of wood lined the wall, most in long blocks the thickness and length of his forearms, while the potions were labeled meticulously and held in glass mason jars. The smell was a mix of savory nutmeg, floral lavender, pungent pine, and the sickly sweet smell of rot and death.
Harry was blown away by his sensory overload. Now this, he thought, was a wand maker's shop. Nothing like the old moldy smell of Ollivander's shop where there were rows upon rows of finished wands. Harry even wondered if the old man actually made his wands, or if he just sat around and tried to scare the children coming into the store.
Approaching the front desk, he was surprised when he heard a voice from the shadows.
"It has been long since one has discovered the secret of my shop."
Harry remained unsurprised as an elderly bald man, dark of complexion and wide in girth, appeared out of the shadows, reminiscent of Ollivander. Maybe he was wrong about the old wand maker, maybe they all were like that, he thought to himself wryly. The man walked with a grace that belayed his exorbitant girth, his movements tightly controlled with a slight spring that made Harry think of dancing.
"It may have been even longer, had I not had vast experience with that charm. Tell me Mr. Wand crafter, do you know how to alter more spells, or just the Fidelius charm?" Harry asked, not wishing to play the old man's word game, but understanding that, if this man was anything like Ollivander, he would be expecting it.
The dark wand maker smiled slyly, "Hmm, you are much more than you seem stranger. You have discovered my secret, but it seems you have a secret as well. Your glamours are very well done, but you still cannot hide from me Mr. Potter."
Raising his eye brows was the only surprise he showed, "So you know my name Mr. Wand crafter. I am wondering how you received this information. Although it is not surprising that you know it, is it Mr. Vanderkaum?"
The wand maker showed his shock, but a look of acceptance came over his face as he looked into Harry's eyes, "I should have known not to bandy words with the great Harry Potter," he said, a slight grin appearing on the man's wizened face.
Harry's face scrunched in a scowl, "I'm not a great anything Crafter Vanderkaum. I am just a man who does what he can to gain a little freedom in his life."
"Yes you are boy, yes you are. But in this life, the right of freedom, like only a few others, is a right that is so precious, yet so fragile. Give away even a part of your freedom and you'll find that they have taken everything. You become a slave to those you entrusted your freedom to," the man said, his eyes far away from the dark shop.
He could only agree what the old wand maker told him. He had given away his freedom to Dumbledore and the Order, given it away because he didn't know better. And to win it back he had to fight his way free of their clutches and always look over his shoulder, guarding his freedom like a miser and his last penny.
"And that is why I need you, Master Crafter Vanderkaum. I require my freedom, and you can give it to
me," Harry said to the dark man, his voice hard with pain, but bright with hope.
The old man sighed and stood up to look at Harry. He scrutinized him, up and down, weighing him and referencing his words on their first meeting, with the boy who wanted to become a man. He saw pain in the young boy's eyes. The kid had gone through much more than physical pain. The deep scars of mental trauma and abuse were blazing to him as he looked through the glamours of the dull blue orbs and pierced into the vibrant green of Harry's true form.
"Come young Potter. We will see what we can do to bid for your freedom," he said, turning back into the darkness of the shop, "it is a hard won battle, but if you have the balls enough to endure, then it will be all the sweeter."
Harry followed the big man into the darkness. The back room was very eerily like Ollivander's shop, with the walls lined with honey combed slots filled with boxed and ready-made wands. Harry was a little surprised. He had seen all the wonderful wand crafting materials in the front of the room, but to have this many in the back? And he even thought he saw crates of imported wands. Was this guy the legendary Pureblood wand maker or was he a charlatan, much like he thought Ollivander was.
Sensing that he was slowing down, Vanderkaum stopped and turned around, sniggering when he saw the tightly controlled look of disgust on his face.
"You're thinking that I am a charlatan wand maker like that eccentric bastard Ollivander aren't you Potter?" He said, the large smile on his face showing yellowed and uneven teeth.
"The thought had crossed my mind," he said, only slightly abashed by his admonishment.
"These," he said waddling up to a crate and kicking it like it was a pile of rubbish in his way, "are pieces of shit wands I buy off of unskilled and useless wand makers far from the UK so that I can sell them at a mark up of fifteen times their purchase price to idiots who have heard from me by word of mouth."
Grumbling he jerked his head to the end of the hall, and waddled to the room located at the end. Harry followed, curious to learn if the man was more than just a crook, or if he had just wasted a large chunk of his time.
"Sit boy, and I'll tell you a little story," the old man plunked down on a chair and pulled a bottle of firewhiskey to him that was on the table. Pulling out two glasses, he poured them both a large amount and shoved the glass into Harry's hand, spilling some over the edge and onto his pants, the other man didn't seem to notice.
When Harry was seated, the older man began to spin his tale, "I think I was about your age when I first got interested in wand making. I was home schooled, family wasn't rich enough to afford school, so all the magic I learned was from books and the shit my parents taught me, mostly cleaning charms and useless crap like that. But I was good at it. Magic was seductive to me, I indulged in it, and wanted to know more about it. I got interested in wand making when I met my former master. An old nearly dead wizard named Fist. Morgan Fist was a traveling wand crafter. He liked to journey to different lands and would use the indigenous materials in the making of his wands.
The older man laughed to himself, "He once thought to use Unicorn droppings as a wand core, and wondered why they exploded every time he tried to cast a spell with the wands. We were cleaning that shit for a month before the old man figured it would never work. Smelled like a horse's asre for a month after that. But anyway, the old man liked to take on apprentices, and found me one day. He said I had the knack and took me on. I was one of two apprentices. The other, you already know."
"Ollivander!" Harry guessed, and by the knowing grin on the other man's face he had hit the nail on the head.
"Yes, that old fraud Ollivander. You know, he does the same thing I do, but he can't even craft a descent wand himself. That phoenix feather wand you hold and its brother were crafted by our master before he died," he said, cheekily.
Harry rolled his eyes, that explained the lack of materials in Ollivander's shop, but that still didn't explain the other man.
Vanderkaum continued, "After I became Fist's apprentice we traveled all over the world. Fifteen years I was away, and in that time I had perfected my art. I had even married a beautiful woman and had a child by her, a girl, with long strawberry blond curls. After my master's death, we moved back to London. I opened a shop and started to make specialty wands for the rich and the powerful. Sixty years ago, Vanderkaum, was a name known all over Britain. I made wands for the ministry, for the Aurors, and even the great Albus Dumbledore held and still holds one of my wands." He looked lost in thought. Harry had seen this look far too often mirrored on the faces of old men reveling in a time long lost.
His face turned bitter, "And then it was lost. At the post-mortem trial of Grindelwald, my old fellow apprentice Ollivander approached the Minister of magic at the time. You see boy, times have not changed. They haven't changed in nearly fifteen hundred years since Merlin founded the first council that would later become the
Ministry. Corruption still reigns, the Purebloods still rant and rave about their blood purity, the limey inbred bastards, and good people still get punished. As it happened, Ollivander, who had never been able to develop the skill in wand crafting that I had, coveted the life I had made for myself. He wanted everything I had, and he had developed a plan to take it from me.
"You see Harry, Ollivander may be an eccentric old man, but he is very crafty. Having made friends with the Minister before the death of Grindlewald, he had presented evidence of my supposed 'betrayal' at the trial. He claimed that my wand was found in the hands of Grindlewald himself and that I had supplied the dark lord with wands to further my own gain. He falsified documents in order to 'prove' that I had done it. Dragged in front of the entire Wizegmont, I was tried over the course of ten minutes. TEN MINUETS BOY! I had requested Veritaserum, but they told me they had all the evidence they needed and sentenced me to twenty years in Azkaban."
Rage tore at his face as he took another swig of the firewhiskey, "I was sent to Azkaban while my family was stripped of everything they owned. Ollivander took all the wands that I had made and the wands that my master had bequeathed unto me, and turned my family out onto the streets. That shop of his, used to be mine. After that, the Daily Prophet, yes boy they were around back then and still spread the same lies as they did today, vilified my family, and my wife was never able to work. She had tried to go into the muggle world, but an angered wizard captured my wife and daughter. His son had been killed by Grindlewald and he wanted vengeance. He tortured my wife to death and then oblliviated my daughter, then sold her to a brothel, while having no idea who she was.
"I spent years in that horrid place. I'm sure you could relate boy. When finally I was released, nearly half insane, I went back to find my wife and daughter. Ollivander had a fine time explaining to me what had happened to them, even gave me the name of the buggering wizard who he tipped off to fuck over my family. That day I nearly snapped, but my vengeance came first and I held my sanity. I swore would first find my daughter and then I would take revenge on the ministry and all those who betrayed me. But I was too late," he said, collapsing on his chair, his voice wracked with silent sobs, "my wife nowhere to be found, buried in a pauper's grave, and when I found my daughter she was gone. She had been working as a prostitute since she was eight. She had contracted one of the muggle diseases that destroyed your immune system. I found her in a shack, alone, aged much older than her 28 years had suggested. Her strawberry blond hair, so much like her mother's, had gone completely white, her pale skin, bruised, battered and scarred. She had no idea who I was, but clutched at me anyway. She wanted someone to be there when she passed, anyone would do, and I stayed there, for one week by her side. I held her hand while she died, she whispered thank you to me, her eyes told me she still did not know who I was, even as she died.
"I wanted my revenge, but how could I with little more to me than a ruined name and a damaged soul? So I plotted. I knew my name was known in dangerous circles. I was the wand maker for the most dangerous dark lord since Aganoth the cruel in 1235. Thus many came to me to make them wands of power, to be used to seize power by the dark magics. I was tempted, and I fell. My need for revenge tainted my dark soul and I did something I would never forgive myself for doing."
He looked Harry strait in the eye, the dark, nearly black, orbs wet with unshed tears, he rolled up his sleave and there upon the forearm was the skull and the snake, the mark of Voldemort.
Harry jumped up, his wand whipping out of his pocket and crouching low, if he was going to die, then he would take the old wand crafter with him.
The man didn't move, his arm still held out to Harry, but his eyes were totally different. There was only pain there, and wishing for acceptance and forgiveness. Pain, only someone like Harry could understand. It was the pain of loss, the pain of remorse, of regret from past temptation. To Harry's better judgment, he lowered his wand.
"Thank you boy," he said, the tears starting to fall as he rolled his sleeve back down.
"You've obviously turned back to the light, why?" Harry asked, desperate for answers.
The sniffling stopped and the older man wiped his eyes, "I had become what I had hated. A corrupt fool who would risk everything and destroy lives for his goal. They wanted power and money, but I wanted vengeance. I started to think what my wife and daughter would have said if they saw me, and I saw Ollivander, the 'great wand maker supplying the forces of the light', as the cursed Daily Prophet pegged him. I could no longer do it anymore and was searching for a way out, but my wands were still in the hands of those evil men. So I stayed, and looked for a time where I could destroy the weapons I supplied to them. The day came on that faithful Halloween when you destroyed him the first time. The night before, they were celebrating the imminent destruction of the Potters. I don't know if you realize this Harry, but Voldemort hated your parents. They were just below Dumbledore on his hit list. So when his inner circle was not looking, I switched the wands, all except the wand that gave you that scar. It was a wand that I knew I could not touch as it was bonded with its master. But I switched the wands and sabotaged their operation by poisoning half of their number with dementor's bone added to their drink. Many evil people died that night, but sadly, Voldemort and his inner circle did not partake of the drink and the tragedy of your life occurred. I can never really say I am sorry enough for not stopping him Harry. It was yet another sin I have
committed."
Harry's mind was spinning. Here was a man who had lost everything, and had even turned, but he came back to the light. He was a good man, just misguided. He felt such remorse over what he did, and he risked his life to try to save his and his parents', even though he did not succeed.
"So you came back here and started to make wands for the old death eaters why?" he asked the older man.
"I give the impression I am making them wands Harry. You saw the amateur wands yes? I doctor them to appear that I make them. My wands are very special Harry. Never have I revealed the secret of their making. But you I will tell. The secret is a blend of cores and to use a different material other than wood to build the shell of the wand." he said, regaining the light back into his eyes.
"Multiple cores? Non-wooden shells? That would explain Nott's wand and his poor performance," he said, mostly to himself.
Vanderkaum smiled, "Yes. Mr. Theodore Nott. Nine inches, holy and dragon heart string. Flexible, good for transfiguration. Yes I remember that well. The wand I give them are just simple wands, single core with no special features. I am surprised that their stupid fathers did not realize the difference. It is typical of Purebloods, believe money can solve anything. The stupid old inbred fool gave me over a hundred galleons for a wand only worth five."
"So they're just normal wands then?" he asked.
The older man nodded, "They are like any other wand you find, just like the wands in that bastard Ollivander's shop. I never stock piled my wands like other wand crafters do. I was a special order crafter. And most of my wands you find are either destroyed or are family heirlooms. I have not made a wand in nearly fifteen years. Until now."
"So you will make me a wand?" Harry asked cautiously.
"I felt it in you boy," the aged wizard said looking him up and down, "the need for change, the scent of betrayal, the clarion call of duty, you have it all within you boy and I knew it as soon as you walked into the room. You hate the Ministry, the corruption, the bigotry, the utter lack of morals shown by the hodgepodge of wizarding scum. But I also see hope. I see the will to change, and in you I see my path to redemption."
"Redemption? Not vengeance?" Harry asked.
The old man smiled to himself, and shook his head, "I have committed too many sins to partake of vengeance. Vengeance should go to those who are blameless. Although I may not have killed anyone, I made implements of war that I knew would go into killing. Thus it was as I had cast the spells myself. But now, I have a way to provide change. To help in making this world a better place. Maybe I can redeem myself by helping you, and maybe, just maybe, my wife and daughter will forgive me when I see them in the next world. Just promise me, you will be just and not lose yourself. I know how easy it can be to immerse yourself in your hate. Do not let it take you."
Harry nodded. There was really nothing more he could say