The brick wall of the Leaky Cauldron shifted and folded away under Hagrid's tapping. Beyond lay Diagon Alley, sprawling and alive with magic.
Cauldrons steamed in shop windows. Owls hooted from cages. Children dragged parents toward broom displays, faces pressed to glass. The smell of ink and parchment mingled with roasted nuts from a street vendor.
For a moment, even I had to let myself feel it. Not as Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. Not as the boy who once slept in a cupboard.
But as someone stepping into a city of wonders, vast and full of opportunities.
Hagrid clapped me on the back, nearly knocking the air out of me. "First stop, Gringotts!"
I smirked. "Already expected as much."
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The marble hall was as imposing as ever. Goblins lined the counters, eyes sharp, ledgers in constant motion.
Hagrid tried to keep up, but I moved with purpose, already scanning for Griphook.
Sure enough, he appeared at my side with a sharp bow. "Lord Potter. Snagrock is awaiting you."
Hagrid blinked. "You—already—?"
"Yes," I said smoothly. "We've corresponded. This will be a simple matter of school funds, with a few documents to review."
Snagrock received us in his office, golden spectacles gleaming. He wasted no time. "Trust Vault access has been prepared. Withdrawals authorized for educational supplies. Ledgers of Potter properties and accumulated royalties are here for your perusal."
Snagrock's folio lay open across the desk, its neat columns detailing every Potter property.
[Godric's Hollow cottage — ruins, uninhabitable.
Wales manor — bombarded during Voldemort's war, foundation collapsed, wards shattered.
Kent manor — abandoned and vandalized after the Potters fled; stripped of valuables by scavengers.
London townhouse — magically sealed, but in disrepair.]
I studied the list, lips curving into a faint smile. "So. All the old legacies are dust."
Hagrid shifted uncomfortably. "Terrible shame, that is. Should restore 'em, maybe."
"No," I said simply, closing the folio. "You don't build empires on ruins. You build new ones." 'THAT.WAS.SO.CORNY.' I thought embarrassed.
Snagrock's eyes gleamed with interest. "Spoken like a true heir. Should you wish to construct a stronghold, goblin stonewrights and cursebreakers could… assist. For a price."
"Not yet," I replied. "But soon. A castle of my own. A legacy untouched by war."
The words settled into me like iron. Not James's. Not Lily's.
Mine, I am HIM.
As we left Gringotts, Hagrid mumbled something about needing to "pick up somethin' special fer Dumbledore."
A tiny pouch, handed to him in secret by the goblins. He thought I hadn't noticed. But I saw.
The weight, the care with which he tucked it into his coat.
The Philosopher's Stone. It had to be.
I said nothing aloud. But in my head, the thought pulsed: So it started.
A legendary artifact hidden in Hogwarts, an artifact worth more than all the gold in my vaults.
And Dumbledore wanted it there, under the noses of children. Either as bait or protection. Perhaps both.
I smirked faintly as we turned into the sunlit alley, shoppers bustling around us. Hogwarts wasn't just going to be school.
It was going to be a treasure hunt.
And I had every intention of winning.
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My first stop wasn't books or robes. It was trunks.
The vendor, an elderly wizard with gold rimmed spectacles, blinked when I listed my specifications:
[ 1)One main compartment with automatic expansion.
2)A secondary chamber warded for library storage, humidity wards, indexing shelves, anti-theft glyphs.
3)A potion laboratory section, with reinforced shelves, stasis compartments, and self cleaning charms.
4)A broom vault with cushioning runes, collapsible rack, and weatherproof layering.]
He sputtered, "That's far more than most Hogwarts first years need—"
"I'm not most first years," I interrupted, dropping a bag of Galleons onto the counter.
Gold, as always, silenced protest. Within an hour, a sleek black trunk with silver inlay was mine, compartments keyed to my magical signature.
Hagrid lumbered off toward the cauldron shop, muttering about "standard pewter size two" and "dragon-hide gloves." I left him to it. I wasn't here for basics.
Instead, I stepped into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
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Inside, another boy my age stood on a stool, arms out as a seamstress adjusted his sleeves.
Pale hair, sharp features, and an air of casual superiority that clung to him like cologne.
Ah the infamous 'ferret' is here, he even looks like Tom Felton.
"Going to Hogwarts too?" he asked as I took the stool beside him.
"Yes," I replied smoothly. "Harry Potter."
His eyes widened slightly, then he smirked. "Draco Malfoy."
We talked as our robes were measured. He asked about houses, ambition dripping from every word. "I'll be in Slytherin. All the best are. You don't want to end up with the wrong sort, do you?"
I studied him. A child echoing his parents' beliefs, not malicious, just rehearsed.
So I answered not with hostility, but with questions. "Tell me, Draco, if pure blood is strength, how do you explain people like Voldemort? Half-blood. Dumbledore? Half-blood. Snape? Half-blood. My mother, a muggleborn, who mastered charms that most purebloods couldn't touch?"
His smirk faltered. "That's—different—"
"And bloodlines," I continued, gently, "can wither if not renewed. Take Nymphadora Tonks. Black family descendant. Her mother married a muggleborn, and Tonks was born a metamorphmagus, a gift the Black family never manifested until then. Isn't that proof that fresh blood can awaken dormant power?"
He blinked, thrown off balance. The argument was new to him, not one he'd been fed at home.
I softened my tone. "Don't judge others until you know them, Draco. Blood doesn't define worth. Choices do. If you want ambition, cunning, power, those things are made, not inherited."
The seamstress tugged the last thread, and I stepped down, my new robes shimmering faintly with enchantments for durability, temperature resistance, and self-repair.
Not Aragog's silk, just the best quality gold could buy. Practical elegance.
Draco was still processing, his brow furrowed.
He wasn't convinced. But he was thinking. That was enough.
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The bell over the door jingled as I stepped into the narrow, dusty shop. Rows of boxes stretched endlessly upward, and the air hummed with latent power.
Mr. Ollivander emerged like a ghost, pale eyes wide. "Ah… Harry Potter. I wondered when I'd be seeing you."
He set wand after wand in my hand, each failing spectacularly, sparks, shatters, dead silence. But then, finally, he brought a slender wand of holly, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core.
The moment my fingers curled around it, the air shifted. A warmth surged through my arm, magic singing in perfect resonance.
Light sparked at the tip, not wild, but steady, controlled.
Ollivander leaned close, whispering. "Curious. Very curious. For this wand's brother gave you that scar. You will be tied together… for better or worse."
I exhaled, relief flooding me. So fate still held. The prophecy still worked. My path hadn't been derailed by Rob's intervention.
I set the wand down gently. "Then this is the one."
Ollivander's pale eyes gleamed. "Indeed."
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Back outside, Hagrid beamed. "Almost forgot! Got summat fer yeh, Harry."
He lifted a cage. Inside, a snowy owl blinked at me, feathers pristine white, amber eyes sharp as molten gold.
'There she is, so kawai!!' I thought, seeing Hedwig, yea still gonna choose that name to honor og. harry, I'll change her fate.
"She's beautiful," I murmured, genuine for once.
"Thought yeh'd need a friend," Hagrid said, proud as if he'd raised her himself. Maybe he did.
I stroked her feathers gently. She nipped my finger in approval. "Then her name is Hedwig."
Hagrid also heaved another stack into my arms, textbooks, fresh from Flourish and Blotts. "All yer first-year books. Figured yeh'd need 'em."
By the time we returned to the Leaky Cauldron, my custom trunk awaited us, gleaming black with silver trim, compartments keyed to my signature.
It was more than luggage. It was preparation, foundation, legacy.
I ran a hand over its surface and allowed myself the smallest smile.
Hogwarts awaited. And I was ready.
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Hagrid's POV*
Harry Potter wasn't what Hagrid had expected.
Dumbledore'd said he'd been raised by Muggles, kept in the dark.
Hagrid thought he'd meet a nervous boy, wide-eyed at every bit o' magic.
But Harry, aye, he was calm. Too calm, almost. Knew what Gringotts was before Hagrid even opened his mouth, asked sensible questions, no gawping at the goblins.
Even bought himself one o' those fancy trunks like an older student might.
Didn't seem ungrateful, mind. Polite enough, smiled a bit, but it was… controlled.
Like he already had one foot in the wizardin' world before Hagrid showed up.
Made Hagrid uneasy, truth be told. Kids're supposed to stare at Diagon Alley like Christmas mornin', not like they're measurin' it with a ruler.
Still, when Harry saw that owl—oh, there'd been a spark then.
Real, honest excitement. That, at least, was normal.
"Good lad," Hagrid muttered to himself as they trudged back to the Leaky Cauldron. "Just needs time. Bit odd, but a good lad."
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Draco's POV*
Draco Malfoy prided himself on reading people quickly.
Most boys his age were easy: eager to impress, to show off family names, to establish their place.
But Potter, Potter was… confusing.
He'd shaken Draco's hand without flinching, even after hearing the name Malfoy.
He didn't laugh or sneer when Draco spoke of Slytherin, just… listened. Calm, sharp-eyed.
And then he'd cut through Draco's words like a knife through parchment.
Dumbledore, Snape, even the Dark Lord—all half-bloods. And that cousin Tonks.
Potter hadn't shouted, hadn't mocked. He'd said it like it was fact, like he was a teacher correcting a mistake.
Draco hated how it rattled him.
He wasn't supposed to feel rattled. Father's words were law. Mother's teachings were truth.
And yet… Potter's calm voice lingered in his head.
"People aren't their blood. They're their choices."
It didn't sit right. But it didn't sit wrong, either. And that was worse.
Draco Malfoy left Madam Malkin's with a frown he couldn't quite shake.
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Okay Okay no chapter till tommorow!!