That night was the first night ever that Harry slept in The Fantasy Emporium. Daniel would have gladly taken Harry to his own flat, but it was rather small and was in no shape to receive Harry at all. So Daniel had come up with the idea that they would kip for the night in the dojo room with sleeping bags. It was a rather odd feeling for Harry to wake up in a place that wasn't the Dursley's stiflingly normal home. To wake up in the dojo room was rather comforting.
A glance to his left showed that Daniel was already up and his sleeping bag was rolled up and sat in the corner of the room. Harry looked at his clock and he realized was else was bugging him; Daniel had let him sleep rather late. It was nine in the morning. He got up and headed to the small toilet room to freshen up, there was also a small basin and mirror in the same room, so Harry splashed some cold water on his face to wake up properly. Harry had slept in his clothes last night and he smelled himself…the musty smell of sleep was on him, but otherwise he looked like he always did, even though his clothes was slightly rumpled.
There was a knock on the small door of the toilet room.
"Harry?" prompted Daniel's voice.
"Yes?"
"There is a…visitor here for you," said Daniel, and the tone of voice made Harry wonder. It sounded as if Daniel was rather apprehensive about the visitor or was slightly freaked out by him or her.
"Coming."
Harry opened the door and Daniel looked rather incredulous. The reason for this was rather apparent as Harry walked into the main area of the shop. There standing in one of the small aisles of the shop, was what Harry at first glance thought was a dwarf, but if he was one, he was very old. He stood at about just over four feet, and had white sparkly hair and beard that reached down to his tiny stomach. He wore rather outlandish attire, a purple waistcoat and matching trousers. He was standing on a chair (presumably given to him by Daniel) to examine the highest shelf of the rack; where the D books were, the cover of which featured a beautiful yet fearsome she-elf brandishing a curved sword.
"…such a pity," Harry heard him mutter with a squeaky voice, before he noticed me. He gave a squeak of delight and promptly toppled off the chair. Harry rushed forward to help the small old man to his feet.
"Thank you, Mr Potter, I sometimes forget myself," said the tiny man breathlessly.
"Ummm, have we met?" asked Harry uncertainly.
"Oh, sorry," squeaked the man, "my name is Filius Flitwick, but you will soon address me as Professor Flitwick."
"You're from…" Harry was about to say Hogwarts, but Flitwick cut across him looking pointedly at Daniel.
"Yes, I represent the school that sent you your acceptance letter," said Flitwick, Harry understood that Flitwick wanted the conversation to remain private. And Harry supposed it was the same reason that he had never shared the knowledge of his powers with Daniel. Harry could only imagine the consequences…it also didn't help that he had seen a first season of The X-Files…ending up in government lab having scientist prod and poke him, didn't bear thinking about.
"Daniel can Professor Flitwick and I get some privacy?" asked Harry softly. He nodded and gestured to the back. As soon as we were safely behind the door of the dojo room, Flitwick surprised Harry by producing a small ornately fashioned stick and waving it at the door; which sealed with a squelch, and bringing the small stick swishing over his own head. Harry felt his eyes widen as he felt the power around him swirling and solidifying into the walls.
"Well, now that's out of the way with, Mr Potter, as I said, my name is Professor Flitwick, Professor of Charms, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Pleased to meet you," said Harry, bending to shake hands with Flitwick.
"I can say you've had us in a bit of tiff, Mr Potter," said Flitwick genially.
"Why?" asked Harry cautiously.
"Well, the Ministry of Magic monitored a large…explosion of accidental magic at your residence last night," reported Flitwick. Harry took note of one of his suppositions confirmed; there was indeed a magical government. "Hogwarts was notified and we sent our Keeper of Grounds at Hogwarts, Rubeus Hagrid to your house to ascertain if everything was alright."
"And I wasn't there," said Harry.
"Yes, as such Hagrid returned quickly and informed us of your disappearance, whereupon I was dispatched to divine your location," said Professor Flitwick.
"How did you do that?" asked Harry curiously.
"Oh easily," said Flitwick genially, "a simple Point Me spell with your name as focus, starting from Privet Drive."
"Interesting," said Harry thoughtfully. "Are you here to help me to get my school things, sir?"
"Indeed," smiled Flitwick, "not to worry about that, I will be escorting you to London today." Flitwick waved his stick again and Harry felt the power embedded in the walls and doors dissipate.
"What do you call your foci?" asked Harry.
"Oh, this is my wand," said Flitwick holding up the small ornate wand for a brief inspection, it looked to be made of willow. Harry said his temporary goodbyes to Daniel and that he would be back later in the day.
Passers-by stared a lot at Flitwick as they walked through Little Whinging to the station. Harry couldn't blame them. It wasn't everyday you saw a small person such as Flitwick walking around. Also Flitwick seemed to find a lot of ordinary things fascinating. He pointed out a parking meter to Harry and said in a hushed whisper, "The things Muggles dream up." As it turned out, that was the word used by wizarding folk in reference to non-magical people. It seemed slightly biased to label people that way, but the honest exuberance on Flitwick's face convinced Harry that it was just the way Flitwick was raised to view non-magical people.
In the meantime, Harry was peppering Flitwick with questions about magic.
"Is there a difference in the magic that a witch performs in comparison to a wizard?"
"Not in essence," answered Flitwick, seemingly surprised at the question. "A wizard uses the exact same magic a witch does…except that perhaps due to the inherent difference between the sexes a witch will use certain spells that a wizard will never dream of using nor will ever need."
Harry gathered that to mean spells that affected a woman specifically, like cosmetic spells, perhaps even spells that would help a witch with regards to their unique…attributes. Harry couldn't help but blush at the thought.
"Why do you use a wand? Or need one?"
"Well," said Flitwick, "a wand is simply a channel or a lens for your magic. If I could use that metaphor, the majority of wizards magic are inherently unfocused, or too chaotic. It's like someone who has shortsightedness; they need glasses to see properly. In the same way, a wizard needs a wand to focus his magic properly to achieve a desired effect he needs."
"Are there a minority then who do not need it?"
"There is," confirmed Flitwick, "but even they prefer the precision a wand brings. There are of course, magical arts which require no wand waving."
They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Professor Flitwick, who didn't understand 'Muggle money', as he called it, gave the notes to Harry so he could buy their tickets. People stared more than ever on the train. Flitwick sat like a small child on the seats.
"Professor, am I going to have to apply for Public Relief to buy my school things?" asked Harry, it was odd to be looking down on someone that was clearly way older than Harry.
"Dear heavens, no," said Flitwick earnestly, "your parents did not leave you with nothing. There'll be a special bank where we are headed, it's where they left you more than enough money to see you through your schooling years." This surprised Harry, of course. He thought it would be nice to be able to afford things for himself.
"Professor Flitwick," said Harry, a thought occurred to him. "Who was the dark wizard that killed my parents?" Flitwick let out another squeak…this time of fright…and toppled off the seat. Harry sighed and helped him up.
"You mean you don't know!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, sitting back on his seat, his legs dangling in the air.
"All I managed to bully out of my relatives, (and this happened last night when you detected the accidental magic), about that, was that my parents was murdered by a dark wizard."
"Good Heavens, you mean, you don't know…you don't know you're famous…"
"Huh…"
Suddenly Flitwick became angry, "Those intolerable muggles…Minerva was right…unbelievable…the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't know his own story."
"Professor," I said intently. It broke Flitwick out of his ramblings.
"Sorry, Mr Potter, it's just that I never expected you not to know," squeaked Flitwick nervously. "But you can't enter Hogwarts without knowing." Flitwick took a deep breath and then launched into a story it seemed Harry had waited his whole life to hear, "During the seventies, a dark wizard gained ascendancy, he stooped himself as deep as you could go into the Dark Arts. His name was…Voldemort," Flitwick shuddered at speaking the name and looked nervously around, as if expecting said dark wizard to jump out of nowhere. "He gathered followers to himself, mostly through fear, intimidation, coercion, and some were attracted to his power and wanted a part of it, because he was gathering power in droves. It was dark times, Mr Potter, you didn't know who to trust. You didn't get friendly with unfamiliar witches and wizards, because a portion of You-Know-Who's followers had no choice, as they were bewitched into it. Things were looking very bad, I can honestly say we were a hairs breadth away from losing magical society to him completely. Of course, one of the only safe places that remained was Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore was the only wizard who could properly contest with You-Know-Who, some say he was even afraid of the Headmaster. As such You-Know-Who never attempted to take Hogwarts for himself."
"Now your mother and father were as good a witch and wizard as anyone I've ever known," said Flitwick with a sad smile. "Your mother was a brilliant Charms Mistress. Sometimes I wonder though why You-Know-Who never tried to recruit them, but they would never stoop to evil. All that anyone knows is that You-Know-Who turned up at the village you were staying on Halloween ten years ago. You were just a year old. You-Know-Who murdered you parents and then tried to kill you too…and here is the mystery…but he couldn't. That scar on your forehead, is no ordinary one. That's the remnant of a powerful, evil curse, one designed solely to destroy and kill. It killed your mother and father, destroyed your house, but it didn't work on you and that's why you're famous. No one ever lived after he decided to kill them, no one except you, and he killed some of the best wizards and witches of the age, the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts, and you were only a baby and you lived."
Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Flitwick's story came to a close, he saw a blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before (it was the nightmare he usually got) – and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life – a high, cold, cruel laugh.
It was a rather pensive journey after that. Neither Harry nor Professor Flitwick felt much like talking.
Harry had never been to London before. Although Flitwick seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He could walk under the ticket barrier on the Underground by just bending his head slightly, but refused to, and pushed the turnstile delightedly by raising his arms and handing his ticket to the amused collector. They climbed a broken-down escalator, which led up to a bustling road lined with shops. They passed bookshops and music stores, hamburger bars and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people.
"This is it,' said Flitwick, coming to a halt eventually, 'the Leaky Cauldron.'
It was a tiny, grubby looking pub. Harry could feel the power coming from it, and it covered the building like a web. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big bookshop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.
"The pub has Muggle Aversion Wards on it," said Flitwick brightly. "Good work too, their eyes just can't focus on it or find it."
With that Flitwick led him inside. It was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old barman, who was quite bald and looked like a gummy walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Professor Flitwick, and quite a few raised their glasses to him in greeting. All in all, Harry was supremely glad he had shape shifted his hair to cover the infamous scar. And luckily it seemed, Professor Flitwick was in no mood to fend off a mob, and he said as much, as he quickly steered Harry through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds. Flitwick pulled out his wand again and with a practiced ease he tapped the wall three bricks up and two across, three times with it.
The brick he had touched quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – a second later they were facing an archway, an archway on to a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome," squeaked Flitwick, "to Diagon Alley."
He grinned at Harry's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway way shrink instantly back into solid wall. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible said a sign hanging over them.
Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an apothecary's was shaking her head as they passed, saying, 'Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad …'
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. 'Look,' Harry heard one of them say, 'the new Nimbus Two Thousand – fastest ever –' There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…
"And here we are, the wizarding bank, Gringotts," announced Flitwick. "Run by goblins."
They had reached a snowy-white building, which towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was – something straight out of the gentler versions of D It was a goblin and it was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn,
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"There has never been a successful robbery of Gringotts on record," said Flitwick, who stood almost eye-to-eye with a goblin. "They employ powerful enchantments, traps, and rumor has it, even dragons to guard the vaults inside. Not to mention that the vaults themselves are so deep underground, you would die from hunger before you managed to get out with any loot."
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins on brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Flitwick and Harry made for the counter.
Flitwick had to jump on a tall stool to make himself visible to the goblin behind the counter.
"Morning," said Flitwick to a free goblin, "we've come to make a withdrawal from Mr Potter's vault."
"You have his key, sir?"
"Yes, it's somewhere in here," said Flitwick, searching the pockets of his waistcoat. Harry watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals. Flitwick finally produced the key and showed it to the goblin who stared at it closely.
"That seems to be in order. Very well, I will have someone take you down to the vault. Griphook!" Griphook was yet another goblin. Harry and Flitwick followed Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall. Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downwards and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in and were off.
At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.
Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late – they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
The cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, and all three passengers climbed out. Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold, silver and bronze coins.
"This is all yours, Harry," said Flitwick with a grand gesture. All Harry's – it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London. Flitwick advised him as he piled a certain amount in a bag.
"The gold ones are Galleons,' he explained. 'Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy. Right, that should be enough for a couple of terms."
One wild cart-ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life – more money than even Dudley had ever had.
"Now to get your uniform," said Flitwick, nodding at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Madam Malkin herself was a squat, smiling witch all dressed in mauve. She greeted Flitwick genially and proceeded to fit Harry, by putting him up on a stool and using various tape measures, it amused Harry that some of the tape measures were doing the job themselves; they were clearly animated. There was another boy with a pale, pointed face standing on a footstool next to him while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. But Harry was still too busy firing magical theory questions at Flitwick to pursue any sort of conversation.
Next was what Harry was looking forward too most. Spell books were bought in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. When Harry had to pick up The Standard Book of Spells Grade 1, he saw that Grades 2 through 7 were stacked above it, and he pulled one of each down and into his featherlight, never-filling basket. The next half-an-hour was filled with Harry running this way and that, through the store, picking out anything that looked of interest besides his schoolbooks.
When Harry finally paid for his purchases an out of breath Flitwick said delightedly, "Well, I think I know which house you're going to, Mr Potter!"
"House?" asked Harry curiously.
"Yes," said Flitwick, "Hogwarts divides its students into four houses, each emphasizing and rewarding different character traits in its students. There is Slytherin, who rewards cunning. Hufflepuff whom emphasizes loyalty and hard work. Gryffindor, values bravery and determination. And finally, Ravenclaw, a house whom prizes learning and wit."
"Interesting," said Harry, filing the information away. "So you'd think I'd get divided into Ravenclaw, sir?"
"Most certainly," said Flitwick with a delighted grin.
Flitwick wouldn't let Harry buy a gold cauldron, stating that they were not necessary for first year potions but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the apothecary's, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor, jars of herbs, dried roots and bright powders lined the walls, bundles of feathers, strings of fangs and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. Harry bought a standard set of potion ingredients without much fanfare.
Outside the apothecary's, Harry mentally checked the list of things he still needed to buy.
"I just need a wand, a familiar, and a trunk now, sir."
Flitwick nodded and they headed off to Eeylops Owl Emporium, which was dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Twenty minutes later, they left with Harry now carrying a large cage, which held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing.
Buying a trunk was an interesting experience as well. Flitwick suggested that they head to Gambol and Japes for that. On the outside, it appeared as if Gambol and Japes was just a magical device store. But as Harry found out, a trunk could be considered a magical device as well. The most expensive of these were the ones with multiple compartments, which were alternated by turning a knob or using different keys, and some with even whole rooms enchanted into them. Harry supposed that the spatial dimensions were enchanted to be larger inside than outside. In the end Harry decided to buy a mid-ranged price trunk; it had seven compartments, security features, shrinkable on command and was enchanted to hold three times the space a normal trunk would have in each compartment.
Their last destination was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which Professor Flitwick jumped into to wait.
Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he looked at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. The power that Harry felt was near awe inspiring; he felt as if he had jumped into a pool of multi-colored magic.
'Good afternoon,' said a soft voice. Harry jumped; he had been so enraptured in experiencing the power that he did not notice the old man who had appeared before him. His eyes were wide and pale, shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello,' said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah yes,' said the man. 'Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. 'You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry.
Harry felt as if more than just normal eyes were staring him. He idly wondered if Mr Ollivander truly had a third eye.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose-to-nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
'And that's where …'
Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.
'I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,' he said softly. 'Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands … Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do …'
He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Flitwick.
"Filius Flitwick! It's been a while since I've seen you in here…Willow, eight inches, flexible…serving you well after all this time?"
"No complaints," said Flitwick with a smile.
"Well, now – Mr Potter. Let me see.' He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. 'Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm right-handed,' said Harry.
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand." Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand and he willed it to illuminate…it was a simple little cantrip that would test the foci without the potential for blowing up. A weak light came out…looking like a flashlight with low batteries…
Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand, looking quite impressed.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"
Harry had not even touched the wand…he could already tell it would not work. "No," was all Harry said.
Ollivander nodded and said, "Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
But once again, Harry shook his head before he even touched it. And so on they went. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand, and he knew instantly that this was the one. He felt his power respond to the foci and he grinned in satisfaction. The effects of Harry getting his wand for the first time were rather evident to Flitwick and Ollivander. The air in the shop swirled around Harry like a small tornado, his long spiky black hair blowing ethereally with it…and then a near visible whitish aura blossomed out of Harry for the briefest of moments before contracting back into him and disappeared from sight. Harry's wand on the other hand had shot out a near rainbow of magics.
Ollivander looked wide-eyed at Harry as this happened, and cried out, "Bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious …'
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious … curious …"
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry frowned, wondering what the significance of that was.
"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember … I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter … After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."
Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand and Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop.
The late-afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Flitwick made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry put Mr Ollivander's reaction into the back of his mind and continued to ask Professor Flitwick questions; Harry did this of course, to see what the real wizarding world thought could and couldn't be done with magic, as opposed to what Harry believed could and couldn't. It astonished him though to find a large discrepancy…as such Harry knew he would have to be very careful how he employed his powers.
Harry knew already that he would be challenging the status quo of magic, and he would be either be lauded or vilified by the wizarding world.
In the meantime, Harry silently thanked the inventor of his magical trunk. All his purchases were packed inside and shrunk to the size of a small matchbox. He could just imagine what an effort it would have been to normally carry everything around, especially through the Underground. They could not help but get strange stares though as Harry was forced to carry his snowy owl (who was still sleeping) on his lap.
Soon, Professor Flitwick guided Harry to a connecting train to Surrey at Paddington Station. The diminutive professor handed Harry an envelope.
"This is your ticket for the Hogwarts Express train," squeaked Flitwick. "On the first of September, King's Cross Station, London. You're looking for Platform Nine and Three Quarters…that's the literal position of Platfrom…between Nine and Ten…understand?"
"It's hidden, then," said Harry eventually, "like The Leaky Cauldron."
"Indeed," nodded Flitwick. "There is an illusion of a stone barrier covering the entrance, be as unobtrusive as possible when going through it. If you still can't find it, look for a magical family and follow them. Anyway…the train is leaving…see you soon, Mr Potter."
The train pulled out of the station. Harry watched Flitwick through the window and he saw him walk off to alcove hidden from view…turn on his heel and teleported away. Harry himself got out of his seat after a few minutes and got off at the next stop of the train…found a deserted alleyway next to the station and disappeared as well.
Harry opened his eyes.
He didn't know what had happened. He had teleported like he always did of late. But instead of the usual compression feeling, he had for a moment felt as if something was helping him along; it was as if a giant hand had reached out and carried him forward towards his destination.
He looked around, it was definitely the place where he had envisioned to appear. The small, walled off, empty courtyard that all the shops had in Little Whinging Mall. He was standing in The Fantasy Emporium's little courtyard, where Daniel kept the trash bins. Harry tried to ponder the feeling for a while, but shrugged it off…he was where he was supposed to be.
That's all that mattered.
Wasn't it?
888888888888888888888888
Harry opened his eyes.
He would have gasped if he could, but his partially open mouth did not want to obey. The majority of his body was completely immobile. He could turn his head slightly, blink his eyes, and turn them this way, or that. But that was about it. He could also feel he was lying down, but the lack of a bed underneath him, illustrated the fact that he was being hovered in mid-air.
Harry scanned the room he was in.
It was unlike any he had ever encountered. It seemed vaguely constructed of metal, but Harry knew it wasn't. Glass and transparent plastics were also in abundance. The colors of the room varied from gunmetal gray to blending in seamlessly with dark purples. Occasionally he managed to make out glowing symbols around the room that seemed familiar. If Harry weren't frightened out of his wits he would have found the place quite aesthetically pleasing.
A surge of light drew Harry's attention away from the room to directly above him. An arrangement of amber crystals was hanging down from the ceiling and it was pulsating with an inner light. These crystals were oriented directly towards Harry. And somewhere in his own mind he fathomed that they had to be responsible for hovering and completely immobilizing him. The surge of light that had drew Harry's attention was the release of three glowing green orbs that headed towards him and started to move around him as if they were moons, and he, the planet.
Harry had no idea what they were doing…but he could feel them…he could touch them with his power…but before he could even think of doing so a voice spoke up.
"You're awake."
The voice was very odd. It was low and grave in tone…it had an almost droning quality to it. Harry could not see the owner of the voice, but could tell that it had come from behind his head; out of his range of vision.
"Good. You are beyond my fondest dreams…my best hope had been to find someone with a hundredth of your potential. I'm rather amazed that your kind had evolved so quickly again…remarkable."
Harry didn't understand. His kind? Did the voice mean…wizards?
"I must apologize for kidnapping you," said the voice. "But it's become necessary, sadly. The others aren't willing to do what needs to be done. So I must continue the work, by myself."
Harry only understood the fact that he had somehow been kidnapped in mid-teleport by the voice, and couldn't fathom how that was possible.
"I want to show you something," continued the voice, "its something that perhaps less than a hundred of your kind have ever seen." The amber crystals above Harry rotated, until Harry was sure he was facing a large curved window. Inwardly, Harry was amazed…for outside the window was something he had only seen on TV. A huge blue sphere was beyond the window, dotted with clouds, with greens and browns…it was Earth…with the huge void of space above it…but then Harry finally saw something that would complete his amazement…
Harry had met goblins just this day…so the idea of another sentient species was only a few hours old to him…but he could now count meeting his second sentient species.
Standing there, just next to the window was a being, slightly smaller than a goblin. It had thin bipedal limbs and was completely gray and looked very frail, the head of the being was rather large. Two fathomless black eyes stared out of curved slits at Harry.