Undesirable Relations

by Yurath

Summary:

While escaping Dudley’s game of Harry Hunting, Harry discovers the library and stumbles into a childhood full of reading books and dreaming of a better, more magical life. When Arthur Weasley escorts him into his trust vault that didn’t contain a single knut and explains his parents’ estate was confiscated due to a lawsuit, he was rather disappointed he wouldn’t be able to buy books of his own.

This is Harry Potter tackling the Wizard World, one book at a time.

Notes:

This fic was written with the conscious inspiration of Harry Potter and the Hidden Kingdom by QuibbleMeThis, the semi-conscious inspirations of The Second String by Eider Down and The House of Potter Rebuilt by DisobedienceWriter, and uncountable unconscious inspirations from the thousands of other fics I’ve read over the years. I do plan to eventually incorporate elements from The Venom Peddler by LightningFury but that doesn't play much of a role in this first book, short of mentioning luggage.

My original intention for this story was to explore what different genres of fiction looked like in the wizard world. That’s it. It was originally supposed to be a collection of loosely connected snippets from the books and characters reacting to them or discussing them. It didn't work very well, and most of the original snippets got deleted, though a few got reworked and included in other ways.

The only partially surviving snippet from the original collection is the scene in the boy’s dorm room in the chapter “The Sorting Hat.”

I tried to emulate Rowling's whimsical writing style for the first book, but in a lot of places, I overshot my goal and ended up with something more akin to Catherynne M. Valente instead of J.K. Rowling, so it came out for a bit too young of an audience. Sorry.

Major character deaths/injuries (so far) take place prior to the story taking place and are part of what makes this story so AU.

I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Chapter 1: The Library

Harry Potter rushed down the street, looking for a place to hide.  His cousin Dudley was indulging in his favorite game of Harry Hunting, and, though Harry was faster than him, he was being unusually persistent.  Harry’s options were limited – either someplace with adults nearby or someplace where Dudley would get bored of looking before managing to find him. 

Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any likely looking hiding spots on this block, and Harry hadn’t been down this street often enough to have the best ones memorized.  That left a place with adults which usually meant a store, but sometimes a park would work if there were kids with parents watching them.  The problem with stores was that the clerks always wanted him to buy something and half the time Dudley would come in too and purposely get them both in trouble so that they’d get kicked out and he could start his chase again.  

But then Harry noticed a building – one guaranteed to always have adults and never expect him to buy anything.  The library.  Harry considered it.  Well, Dudley might still come in after him and make trouble, but Harry was fairly certain he was allergic to books.  At least, Harry had never once seen him touch one without acting as if it was going to give him a rash at any second and he always tried to give his school books as wide a berth as possible.  And the one time someone had dared give him a book for a present, he threw it on the floor and asked where his real present was. 

It was worth a shot.  As long as he wasn’t in view from the door or through the windows, it might work. 

It did work very well.  Dudley and his gang ran past the building as if it wasn’t there.  They seemed to realize Harry had escaped them and were looking everywhere but treated the library as if it were invisible. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and went to go look for something to keep him occupied until Dudley had gotten bored.  A helpful librarian pointed him in the right direction and asked him what he wanted to read about.  Harry thought about the horrible brown and orange sweater that shrunk when Aunt Petunia wanted him to wear it, and his teacher whose hair turned blue when she yelled at him for something Dudley had done, and how his hair had grown back overnight and said “Do you have anything about strange, unnatural things happening?”

The librarian smiled at him and handed him Matilda.  Harry read it, then thought of all the odd things that happened around him, and wished and hoped and dreamed.  But try as he might, he could never make anything happen on purpose.

Harry found himself in the library often in the next few months.  It was a change from having to keep an eye out for Dudley and more entertaining than wandering aimlessly.  He read the myths and fairy tales that Aunt Petunia would never let him read because they contained magic and stories of King Arthur and Robin Hood. 

He was still an indifferent student.  School wasn’t very interesting, after all.  It wasn’t hard, but there wasn’t much point to spending a lot of time on homework and studying.  But fiction was glorious.

He got to read about kids like him doing all sorts of things, traveling around and having adventures.  Perhaps, one day, he might get an adventure too.   

 

A few weeks into the summer holiday, the librarian got tired of seeing him sit inside for hours each day and handed him his own library card.  “We’re really not supposed to without a guardian’s signature, but I know it’ll be easy to find you if we need our book back.” 

So Harry checked out his first book and went in search of a good place to read it. 

In between Wisteria Walk and Spruce Street was a little muddy creek.  It was narrow and barely noticeable from the street as it passed under the bridge but once you followed the stream for a short distance, it widened up into a small gully with a few trees and brush.

It was not a great place to hide if Dudley were chasing him, but many of the houses on Wisteria Walk and Spruce Street had nosy old neighbors who enjoyed peace and quiet.  They did not approve of Dudley and his gang’s noise being on the other side of their backyard fence and made no bones about telling them that so they tended to avoid the gully unless they had a specific reason for going there.

Harry, being alone and fairly quiet, could pass through there without a comment. 

It seemed like a good a place as any to sit and read A Bridge to Terabithia.

When he was finished, he looked down below him at the tiny trickle of water he could almost step across and tried to imagine it being large enough to require swinging across on a rope or wild enough to require a bridge.   Or the gully being wide and densely forested enough to have even pretend adventures. 

 He decided the area was a great little refuge to read in, if he could manage to keep Dudley from noticing.  Terabithia was too grand a name for a humble gully, but it might still be his little kingdom, regardless.

Over the next few years, Harry managed to change positions and locations often enough that Dudley never thought it was worth it to go searching through the brush to find him while getting yelled at by half the street.  But his favorite spot was behind Mrs. Figg’s yard. 

Mrs. Figg was a woman who was thought to be rather mad and had a lot of cats, many of which were happy to climb into the lap of any who looked likely to give their ears a scratch.  She let him use her loo sometimes and occasionally invited him in for a cup of tea.  Though, the tea was hard to enjoy when her whole house smelled unpleasantly of cabbage.    She’d ask him about the book he was reading and listen patiently to the answer but never seemed to have heard of the books, no matter how famous they were. 

She let him keep a small box in her back garden with a tarp for rigging a shelter in wet weather, and he stored his library books in it whenever he thought it was something the Dursleys would disapprove of.  That was quite often. 

Most of the time, whenever he came to pick up his book, Mr. Tufty, a gray and particularly stubborn cat would follow him back and claim his lap for the duration of his reading.

 

One day, he saw one of the local sewing groups meet in the library, he curiously watched and listened to them chat about their sewing.  One had talked about tailoring, so he asked her for some advice about his clothes.   “Well, you can try putting some darts in the waistline of your pants,” she said doubtfully.  “They’ll never actually look right, not unless you cut it apart and make things smaller, but it might help it be not quite as bulky.”  She gave him a needle and a spool of thread and let him practice some stitching on scrap fabric to demonstrate.  She showed him a bit of how to mend rips and patch holes too, which was far easier. 

He tried it on an old pair of pants that night, and, though it didn’t make much difference in how they looked, they were a lot more comfortable when the waist wasn’t quite so large.  The shirts were another matter.  There really wasn’t any good places to put darts, so he looked up a book on how to cut down the shirt and resew it in his size.  He experimented on a couple of of shirts that even Aunt Petunia agreed needed to be thrown out.  Eventually, he managed to puzzle it out and get decent enough at it that he was willing to try on a “good” shirt.  The result looked odd.  The clothing was far too stretched out and worn for it to ever look right again, but it did look less like a circus tent.

He worried about what Aunt Petunia might say about it, but all she said was “Well, good to see you’re finally taking better care of your clothes,” which he thought was a bit unfair since it was Dudley that had ruined them to begin with.  Being a beached whale was apparently very hard on one’s clothing.  He counted it a success and tried again.

 

His little kingdom got him inspired to read about outdoor living.  The Hatchet was great.  Dragonsong had both running away from home and dragons!  What could possibly be wrong with that?  He’d run away from home if he befriended some baby dragons too.  It’s not like he could expect them to live in his cupboard.

His favorite, though, was My Side of the Mountain.  He thought of his father, whom he knew nothing about, and imagined that he’d owned a few acres somewhere that, somehow, miraculously, now belonged to Harry.  And he could run away from home himself and go live in a tree and not have to put up with the Dursleys anymore.   “Don’t worry,” Mrs. Figg said when he described the book to her.  “You’ll be off in search of your own acre soon enough.”

 

One morning after he’d nearly stepped on a snake and it’d loudly complained and told him to watch his step, he asked the librarian for a book with animals that talk and she gave him Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh.  He had to ponder that one.  The snake was magic, of course, not science, but if it was smart enough to chat with him, what did its house look like?   Maybe he could find the snake again and ask.

 

When he was ten, he read Dear Lola and was envious of a group of misfit friends who ran away from the orphanage together and bought their own house to fix up.  But, for once, this felt like something he could do.  At least, partly.  He wasn’t really old enough to earn the kind of money a house would require, and he couldn’t build anything in the gully, but any bit of money would make a difference.

He got a few people to let him weed their flowerbeds for some cash.  He did intend to save the money or at least use it for something permanent like clothes or shoes, but once the summer holiday started, he spent some of it on food so he could make his own lunches and not have to come home until dinner.

By the start of the summer after Dudley's eleventh birthday, life had settled into a boring but comfortable routine.  The Dursleys did their best to pretend that if they ignored him hard enough, he might cease to exist.  For his side of the bargain, Harry did his best to make it seem like it was working.  Harry left after breakfast, returned briefly only when he was in desperate need of the loo or water, and came home as late as he possibly could.

He'd even slept in his little kingdom one night but Aunt Petunia was not the only nosy neighbor in the area, and he'd been questioned about it several times the day after.  Harry had to pretend he’d accidentally fallen asleep while reading and didn’t dare try again.

Harry did still have some chores – mainly to make breakfast and maintain the garden – but he could generally manage to get the gardening done when Aunt Petunia wasn't looking.  They both were much happier that way.

Chapter 2: The Letter from Hogwarts

Harry had gotten into the habit of taking his breakfast out onto the front porch so he could eat in peace.   Food tasted much better when he didn’t have to observe it half chewed and listen to people talk around him as if he didn’t exist.  A couple of weeks before his eleventh birthday, Harry was heading outside when he saw the post had just arrived.  As he was picking it up, he noticed that the bottom letter had his name on it. 

He tucked the envelope under his plate, delivered the other post to Uncle Vernon, then hurried out onto the porch to inspect his letter while he ate. 

At first, he’d thought that his letter had been delivered with the rest of the post since they were all piled together.  But this one didn’t have a postage stamp or return address and it had a wax seal on the back.   Perhaps it had been delivered separately?  Even more curiously, it specified him as living in the cupboard under the stairs, and few but the Dursleys and possibly Dudley’s friends knew he slept there.

He carefully opened it, trying to keep the strange seal intact.  His brows rose a bit when he saw the name of the school.  “Dear Mr. Potter,” he read.  “We are pleased to inform you –” 

He knew what this was.  An adventure!  Or the start of one, at least.   He could hope, anyway.  And the only proper response to the offer of an adventure was “Yes, please!” 

But the further he read in the letter, the more questions he had.  How did he get to the school? Where was it?  Where does one go to buy a wand and a cauldron?  And, more practically, how much was tuition?  Was there scholarships?  Loans?  How much did all of these supplies cost?  Surely he didn’t have enough money for all of this.  He was only ten, after all.  It seemed hopeless.  It wasn’t like his relatives would help him.  If his Aunt wouldn’t even buy him a school uniform, she certainly wouldn’t buy him a magic wand or a cauldron.

But, he had to take a chance!  Maybe they’d let him sweep floors or wash dishes or … anything.  He’d be willing to do anything at all to get to go.  He sneaked into the house to retrieve some paper and a pen.  In his best handwriting, he accepted the invitation but admitted he doubted he had the funding.  He asked for the cost of the tuition and if scholarships and loans were available or possibly a job at the school or nearby to pay the outstanding fees.  He doubted that last was possible since he wasn’t old enough to be employed yet, but maybe wizards had different laws.  He also asked for shopping locations and how to get to school.

Folding up the letter, he wondered just what they meant by “awaiting his owl”  when one landed on the porch beside him.  That was a bit too much to be a coincidence.  “Hello,” he said quietly.  “Are you an owl that can deliver my letter?”  It hooted and stuck out a leg.  He noticed a bit of string attached, and quickly tied the letter to it.  “Thank you!”  It never hurt to be polite.  An owl smart enough to carry a letter was certainly smart enough to hold a grudge.  And he watched as the owl flew off. 

Standing, Harry hurried back inside.  He had money to earn and, if he was quiet, maybe he could manage to sneak something something for lunch without Petunia noticing.  The idea of missing out on something like Hogwarts because he spent all his money on something as trivial as lunch or spent all his time reading was unthinkable. 

Mrs. Figg normally insisted on doing her own weeding, but, with her being on crutches, maybe she’d be needing some help this week.  He could at least ask. 

 

When he opened the front door to step outside a few days later, he spotted another letter on the stoop.  He opened it eagerly, almost dropping his breakfast in his rush to pick the envelop up.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he read that tuition was free but was a bit annoyed that they hadn’t mentioned the cost of supplies or mentioned whether scholarships or loans were available. 

It also gave the date and location of a train that took them to school and the address for a shopping district named Diagon Alley in London. 

Finally, it mentioned that there was a guided tour of Diagon Alley available on July 30^th and advised that the guide would be able to answer his questions about Hogwarts and shopping.  On his birthday!  

He’d lost count of the number of doors he’d knocked on since he got the first letter.  Most had refused, but some had said yes.  Mrs. Figg had seemed to expect him when he showed up and even had a short list of people who might need help.  “I thought you might be in need of a little pocket money right about now,” was all she said.

It might be enough.  Maybe.  It’d have to be.  He had to try, at least. 

In the meantime, he’d look up what bus to use to get to London and then he’d try a new street and knock on some more doors. 

Chapter 3: Diagon Alley

Harry looked around a bit nervously.  He'd been a bit worried that he'd get lost or not find the street or have trouble with the buses, but there was the Leaky Cauldron right where his letter said it would be, and he was even on time to meet his escort.

He entered and glanced around.  He'd thought a big pointy hat would be easy to spot, but there were several men and woman with them.  He gaped a bit at all the outlandish outfits until he saw one woman in particular waving him over.

"Over here, Mr. Potter."  Harry walked over, rather surprised.  How did she know who he was?  "You look a lot like your father did at your age."   How had she met his father?  Was he a wizard too?  "I'm Professor Sprout.  I'll be your guide for the day.  Where are your guardians?  Are they stuck outside?  If they're muggles, you might have to take them by the hand and guide them in here.  They won't be able to see the door otherwise."

Harry shook his head.  "My relatives couldn't make it today." 

"Ah, well, that's unfortunate.  Diagon Alley is quite the experience!"  She turned to introduce him to the people standing beside her.  "Harry Potter, these are your future classmates, Justin Finch-Fletchly and Lisa Turpin.

"We're just waiting for one more family to show up.   We've got four families today which is a bit more than usual.  We normally try to keep it to just two or three families per group, but I'm sure we can manage one more."

Harry greeted them then turned back to his professor.  "Professor Sprout, can I ask a question?"  She nodded at him absently, eyes still on the door.  "Do you know how much all this is going to cost?  The letter said tuition is free, but there's a lot of supplies on the list and I don't have that much money saved."

She turned to focus on him once again, rather concerned.  "Your first year is going to be your most expensive since there's so many things to buy.  Wands and cauldrons aren't cheap!  But we might be able to cut some corners here and there.  How much did you bring?"  Harry glanced over to see Justin and his posh looking parents staring at him and listening.  He flushed and, rather than admit how little he had out loud, he showed her the bills. 

Sprout counted the bills with some trepidation.  "Oh my.  And the goblins charge to convert currency too.  In gallons, that would be …  And most students generally need …”  She trailed off, flustered.  “I think we need to call in an expert to help with this.”  Turning to the other two families, she said, “If you will all wait here a few minutes, I'll be back shortly.  If you wouldn't mind keeping an eye out for our fourth family, I'm told Miss Granger has rather bushy hair." 

Harry watched her walk over to the fireplace, throw a pinch of something in the flames, then kneel down. 

Harry saw that the two families were still staring at him and had Mr. Finch-Fletchly with a hint of distaste in his face.  "Um, hi," he said, embarrassed.  He turned to watch the door.  He was rather relieved when a girl with bushy hair entered with her parents and Mrs. Turpin managed to wave them over for another round of introductions.

Hermione Granger proved to be a good distraction for the group while they waited.  She apparently liked to ramble when she was excited.  "Oh, I just can't wait until we get our books!  I've been looking forward to it all week!  All these new subjects I'd never heard of before.  I'm so disappointed we couldn't have gotten our letters and books a month ago.  To think of all the time I've wasted on studying for science and maths all summer when I really should have been studying charms and transfiguration instead!"

Lisa was tentatively admitting she was eager to get their course books too, when Harry saw Professor Sprout step back from the fireplace.  A thin man with red hair stepped through and followed her back to their group.

"Harry, our expert is here.  This is Arthur Weasley.  Thank you so much for coming, Arthur.  I'm at a bit of a loss.  But if there's anyone who can make this work, it's you or Molly." 

"I'm always up for a challenge.  Good morning, Harry, nice to meet you."   Mr. Weasley's clothes looked a bit worn and shabby and Harry guessed what he was an expert in. 

Sprout passed Harry a small stack of pamphlets and a train ticket dated September 1st.  "I'll leave you in Mr. Weasley's very capable hands.  If you're done by four, we'll meet at Fortescue's.  Otherwise,  I hope you have a very happy birthday, and I'll see you in Hogwarts in September."

Harry turned to follow Mr. Weasley through a back door.  "Your birthday, is it? Happy Birthday!" 

"Thanks, though I don't know how she knew that."

"Minerva, the Deputy Headmistress probably mentioned it to her.  It would be in your enrollment paperwork. 

"Now, I believe your parents had a vault at the bank.  It’s very likely there won't be any money in it, but there might be some useful odds and ends packed away.  Let's start there and see where it gets us."

"My parents have a vault?  Here?  Did they go to Hogwarts too?"

Mr. Weasley looked at him with surprise.  "Of course they did, Harry.  Where else would they go to school?  Now, off we go."  He tapped a few bricks with a stick, and Harry watched in awe as bricks quickly rearranged themselves.  Mr. Weasley smiled.  "Welcome to Diagon Alley!"

He kept up a cheerful stream of dialogue as they made their way through the crowd.  "I've got seven children of my own, of course, so we're no strangers to having to make ends meet.  My boy, Ron, will be starting this year.  We're almost always sorted into Gryffindor, just like your parents, so perhaps you'll share a dorm with him."

"Gryffindor?" Harry asked.   At that, Mr. Weasley launched into an explanation of houses and sortings.  Harry was listening avidly, when they passed a bookstore, and Harry stopped to look through the window at the wide array of books, eyes wide.  Some were as large as paving stones, others as small as postage stamps. 

"Are you a big reader, Harry?"  He nodded, looking in fascination.  One of the displays displayed A Flying Book of Flight, and the air over the table was full of books bobbing gently at the end of thin leashes clipped onto the display.  "I wish my Ron was more like you.  All we can get him to read right now are comic books.  He's a huge fan of Martin Miggs.  What sorts of books do you like?"  Mr. Weasley gently nudged him back into motion.

"All kinds, really.  The one I'm reading right now is about some kids who find a magical country in the back of their wardrobe.  Can you do that with magic?" 

"Of course!  Maybe not a wardrobe, luggage and tents are more traditional, and normally you just put a room or small flat in them, but I understand Newt Scamander had a lot of land in his suitcase and kept all sorts of beasts in there."

"Wow!"  Magic was going to be fantastic! 

"He wrote one of your textbooks, you know.  It doesn't mention his suitcase, but he had it with him when he was traveling and researching." 

Harry imagined being able to carry Narnia around with him in a suitcase and grinned.  "Are we going to learn that at Hogwarts?"

"Well, no.  Not exactly.  There's an elective for caring for magical creatures starting third year.  And once you get into your NEWT studies – that's sixth and seventh years – you'll start learning to do permanent enchantments and you'll study extension charms.  That's a useful bit of magic that lets things be bigger on the inside than they are on the outside.  But I dare say Scamander's luggage is one of a kind.

The discussion of magical luggage, magical beasts, NEWTs, and OWLs, and various other subjects kept them occupied all through the tedious waiting in the queue at Gringotts, though Mr. Weasley got sidetracked by examining Harry's "fascinating Muggle currency."  His explanation of what exactly a muggle was and what they needed to be protected from was interrupted by their need to convince a rather fierce looking Goblin to issue Harry a new vault key and exchange his pounds for knuts and sickles. 

After a short cart ride, they stepped into his parents' vault and Harry looked around curiously.

It was a good sized vault, with a few pieces of furniture and a dozen or so boxes scattered about.  Against the far wall rested a dusty rack of wands.  It was clear the vault was intended to hold far more than it currently contained. 

Arthur looked around sighed.  "Not as much left as I'd hoped.  Unfortunately, your parents' estate was sued for damages after their deaths.  By the look of this vault, I assume that most of the estate has been sold off to pay the outstanding debt."

"Sued?  What for?"

"Do you know about You-Know-Who?"  Harry had to admit he really didn’t know who. 

"Well, back then, there was a Dark Lord named…” Mr. Weasley hesitated for a moment, looking as if he were trying to force out his next word. “… Voldemort.  It was a taboo to say his name, so everyone calls him You-Know-Who to this day.  In any case, he was trying to take over, lots of fighting, lots of deaths.  Your parents both died in the fighting so your godfather and another family friend moved into your family's home to look after you.  A couple of months after your parents died, Voldemort attacked another family – the Longbottoms – and something happened.  No one is sure how or why, but the parents and Voldemort died, but their boy, Neville, survived.

"We were all bloody relieved that You-Know-Who was finally defeated – by a baby, imagine! – but it took a while to catch his followers.  A few of the remaining ones broke into your family's home and attacked your godfather and father's friend.  During the fight, quite a bit of damage was done to the home.  The man your parents had rented it from sued, claiming it'd been rented under an alias, under false pretenses.  It wasn't that uncommon at the time.  Everyone was paranoid.  Secretive.  Afraid.  But he claimed that your parents knew Voldemort would attack them and knew that the property was at risk and they never informed him.   Sued for the costs of repairing the cottage.

"It was quite the scandal at the time.  Why sue your parents instead of the people who did the damage?  But since whomever had the authority to fight the matter never responded to the court notices, he won his case.  They never publicized how much he was awarded but everyone suspected that he was significantly inflating his damages.”

"What happened to my godfather and their friend?" 

"They never recovered from the attacks.  They've been in hospital ever since."  Mr. Weasley sighed.

Harry thought about what he'd heard.  If this were one of his books, he, the poor, downtrodden orphan, would have opened the door to a vault full of gold, just waiting to be spent on whatever his heart might desire.  Or, he’d struggle on for a few more years, only to meet up with an old family friend eager to make up for a long, unavoidable absence and whisk him off to a brighter future.    Harry had daydreamed about both scenarios many times.  Well, here was his vault, nearly empty, and if his godfather had been in hospital for a decade, he wasn’t likely to be swooping in to rescue him any time soon.

"Sorry, these are all heavy topics for school shopping.  And on your birthday too!  Let's try to make the rest of your day a bit more fun.  Shall we see if any of these wands work for you?  That's the most exciting part about being eleven, after all!"

Harry tried to shake off his melancholy and followed Mr. Weasley over to the rack he'd spotted when he came into the vault.

"These would be your family's wands – parents, grandparents, more distant ancestors.  It might not be a perfect match, but hopefully we can find one that likes you well enough.  You'll want your own wand when you take your NEWTs, but a near match is good enough up through your OWLs.  I've started all of my kids out on family wands until then.

"Go ahead, pick one and give it a wave."  Harry did, though he didn't know what he was looking for.  "Not that one, then.  Try the next one.  We'll know when one likes you." 

Harry kept trying and, finally, one gave out a stream of green and blue mist when he waved it.  "Ah!  You found one!  How's it feel?"

"Cool and clean." 

"It definitely sounds like it likes you.  Can I see it for a minute? It's a bit unusual."  He looked at it closely, then pulled his own wand out and gave a few waves and muttered a bit.  Finally, he handed it back to Harry and smiled. 

"An interesting bit of trivia for you:  underage children are not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts.  Wand makers in Europe are obligated to apply certain tracking charms to monitor for underage magic. The spells do wear off eventually but it doesn't seem like they were ever on your wand to begin with.   Your wand is a bit more ornate than most European wands.  It may be from somewhere else."

"No tracking spells?"

"Not that I could find.  Now, it's illegal to make, import, sell, or buy wands without the tracking charms, and it's illegal to remove the charms once they're there but it's not technically illegal to own a wand that never had the charms in the first place or where the charms have worn off naturally.  A useful loophole."  Mr. Weasley gave Harry a little wink.

"Traditionally, anyone planning on using a family wand for Hogwarts takes it to Ollivander to make sure it's a good fit for them and that it's still in working condition.  He renews the tracking charms while he’s doing that.   We can do that if you like; a badly fitting wand can make school incredibly difficult, so it's certainly the safest and most legal option.  Or, we can be dreadfully busy and absentminded this afternoon and forget to give him a visit.  What do you say?"

Harry inspected his wand thoughtfully.  Unlike the rather plain wands on the rack, Harry's was elaborately carved with a spiral pattern with tiny snake scale texturing on the handle and two small snake heads.  Harry gave the wand another wave, saw more blue and green mist and thought of being able to use magic all summer.  "We're going to be dreadfully busy this afternoon." 

"Excellent!  A rule-bender after my own heart!  That doesn't mean you can go doing anything you want with it.  There's still all sorts of monitoring for Muggles witnessing magic – it's how we maintain the Statute of Secrecy – but as long as you're careful not to be seen or heard by anyone, including any relatives mind you, no one will notice."  Harry smiled, summer plans starting to form.   Mr. Weasley saw and advised, "Start small.  Accidents do happen when you're a first year!  Wouldn't want to get caught and expelled before you even set foot in the school, now would you?”

They tidied the discarded wands and stood.  "That's a relief.  The wand is the most expensive part of school shopping.  We'd never have managed if you hadn't found one in here.  Now, shall we look for the rest of your list?  I spotted a couple of school trunks in the corner.  Let's see what's inside."

After a half hour of searching the trunks and the boxes in the vault, they managed to put together a fairly motley collection of school supplies.  A set of potions equipment he found in with the kitchen items, a pile of textbooks (mostly from his mother's trunk, but the constant jokes and humorous notes in the margins of his father's A History of Magic definitely deserved to be enjoyed), empty inkwells, a couple of quills that weren't damaged, and a few useful odds and ends like a small pocket knife and some handkerchiefs. 

Harry even found a small stack of photographs tucked away at the bottom of his father's trunk.  He stared as a black haired teen that looked a lot like him and red haired teen waved out at him from one of the photos.  He showed a bigger group photo to Mr.  Weasley.  "Do you know who any of these people are?" 

Mr. Weasley peered at it closely.  "Ah!  That's obviously your dad.  That must be your mum.  I think this one is your godfather?  He looks like a Black, at any rate.  I'm not sure who the rest of these people are.  You might ask one of the teachers up at the school.  They'll probably remember the names."  Harry stared for a while longer at the smiling and waving faces and then carefully tucked the photos away inside one of the textbooks he was taking with him.

Mr. Weasley finished flipping through the remaining texts and pulled out a few more that he swore would be useful.  "Next year's charms book will come in handy.  It's a bit trickier to skip ahead but worth it if you need to do something quickly.  This one and this one are good references for potions.  It'll have a lot the current textbook doesn't cover.  And you should take these, too.  It's never too early for learning your runes, I've always said.  They can be dead useful." 

"We're still missing a couple books, though.  Magical Draughts and Potions and The Dark Forces."

"Those will be your texts for your Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.  They hired a new Potions teacher a few years ago and, of course, Defense never has the same teacher two years in a row.  We'll have to buy them."

"Right, so, the trunks.  Your dad's seems to be on its last legs, but it looks like it might have been a better trunk than your mum's at one point.  It's got built in enchantments for the weight and some extension charms.  They're a bit dodgy, though, since the trunk is so beat up.  Why don't I see if I can get it fixed up for you?

Harry watched closely as Mr. Weasley tinkered with the trunks.  The sides of the trunk reluctantly repaired themselves, though only partially, and it looked as if the bottom of the trunk slid a bit further away.

After a few minutes of work Arthur said "Okay, I think that does it.  That’s as good as it’s going to get. The expansion charm isn't very powerful anymore but every little bit will help, and the weight charms are working fine.  You'll have to be careful not to bang it around too much or it'll fall apart on you but it should last you a year or two.  Then you'll have to use your mother's.  Hopefully you'll be able to charm it yourself by then."

"Alright then, we only need a couple books, a telescope, clothes, parchment, quills, and ink.  That should be manageable.  Let’s get all of this packed up and we'll be off." 

After another fast cart ride, they exited Gringotts with Harry's trunk.  Harry was eager to head to the bookstore first, but Mr. Weasley insisted they start with the writing supplies.  "Always shop from the least interesting to the most interesting, I always say.  Then you'll always end your trip on a good note."

As they walked down the street, a pair of disapproving eyes stared at them from the door of Ollivanders:  Makers of Fine Wands.  Mr. Weasley waved at the old man cheerfully but hurried Harry past the door.  "No, no, don't look.  Don't stop.  We're dreadfully busy today, remember.  Dreadfully busy.  No time to stop for wand polish."  Harry laughed as they moved out of sight of the door, then they turned down a nearly hidden passage between two buildings and into a little shop tucked in the back.   "Stationary first, then on to the clothing."    They made quick work of purchasing a massive roll of parchment ("You'll want to cut off smaller rolls to use for your homework.  They'll be more manageable."), a large jar of ink ("You remember those small ink pots we found in your father's trunk?  You'll want to scrub those out and refill them from this.") and a handful of quills, and they quickly moved on to buy clothes.

Mr. Weasley swept them past Madam Malkins, where Harry spotted Professor Sprout and the parents from the Leaky Cauldron waiting by the window and led Harry through a tiny gap between buildings, to a small store tucked out of sight.  A small sign on the door read "Vanessa's Vestments."

Inside were racks and piles of clothing.  Mr.  Weasley led them over to a rack of black robes.  "What we're looking for, Harry, is something a size or two too big for you in the shoulders and a few inches longer than you need.  It's easy to make things shorter and smaller with a good resizing or growth charm, but making things bigger wears them out fast.  It'll do in pinch, but it's not a good long-term solution since you’ll need to replace them more often." 

They sorted through the selection quickly but Mr. Weasley was frustrated with all of the options.  Either the robes were too short ("Your ankles will show, can't have that.") or too big ("You'll swim in that one!  Re-sizing spells can only do so much.") or the wrong proportions ("Far too wide.  It'll never look right.") or just too worn out ("Oh, the shop keepers have fixed it up so it looks nice hanging on the rack, but it's just a couple washes from turning into a pile of rags.  See this here?  Dead giveaway.").  One had no pockets at all ("Where on earth would you carry your ink and quills?').

Finally, Harry offered, "Mr. Weasley, my cousin's a lot bigger than me.  I've cut apart and resewn his clothes so they can fit me, loads of times.  Maybe I can get some of the bigger ones and cut them down?"

"Can you really?  Do you use one of those muggle machines for that?  How do they manage to get the thread on both sides of the cloth?"  Mr. Weasley asked curiously.

"I've seen the machines but I've never used one.  I just use a needle and thread.  It takes a little more time, but it works just as well."

Mr. Weasley contemplated the rack of clothes before him thoughtfully.  "My Molly is a wonder with knitting needles but can't sew to save her life.  It always comes out lumpy and bunched up.  I've never managed to learn either.  Can you do the same from new fabric, too?"

"I've never tried before, but I think it should be the same thing.  As long as I had one pair to use as a pattern."

"Excellent!  We can ask Theresa for a second opinion.  It's always slim pickings for black robes this time of year, but there should be plenty of other robes to choose from and fabric is cheap enough."

They breezed through selecting a set of bright blue robes with a similar design to the school robes that had enough pockets to suit Mr. Weasley and the rest of the clothing items on his list, and a good pair of boots which Mr. Weasley used to demonstrate how the resizing charm shrunk down clothing to fit whomever was wearing it at the time.  After seeing the state of his darned socks while he was changing shoes, Mr. Weasley also added a packages of new socks and pants to his pile. 

 "Do you have everything else?  You can wear muggle clothes under your robes.  Do you need a scarf?  Mittens?"  Harry shook his head, then they paid and headed back to the main Alley. 

"Molly usually handles this part, but what we need is over here."  They made a wrong turn but were quickly in Theresa's Threads, which was piled high with bolts of fabric and yarn and all sorts of sewing supplies.  But, oddly, it looked like they only stocked black and white, no colors.  Considering all the bright colors and patterns Harry had seen people wearing in the alley, Harry was a bit confused.

Mr. Weasley led them over to the shopkeeper.  "Good afternoon, Theresa.  Molly is normally the one who comes in here, so I'm not sure of what to buy.  We're in need of some school robes for Harry, here.  Do you think he could manage to sew a set or three?"

Theresa smiled at them brightly.  "Well, I'm not sure she'd know what to buy either!  I'm continually amazed at how bad she is at sewing.  I've tried to teach her a few times, and the results are always amusing.  Do you know how to sew, Harry?"

"Nothing fancy, but I've been cutting down my cousin's clothes for ages." 

"Hmm.  Let me see."  Theresa flipped up the hem of his shirt and inspected his seam, then did the same for the collar.  "Well, your fabric's all worn out, nothing that can be done about that, not with this type of fabric, but your stitches are nice and neat.  You’ve got the general idea.  Did you do this without magic?"  Harry nodded.   "I think you'll manage school robes just fine, and once you've had a few months of lessons at Hogwarts, you can try charming some needles to do the sewing for you."

She led them over to some of the bolts of black.  "This is what you need. Here's a large bolt."  She handed it off to Mr. Weasley, along with large spool of matching thread.

Harry blinked at her when he heard the price.  The entire bolt of fabric was only about half the price he would have paid for the three used robes.  Harry counted his coins carefully.  "Mr. Weasley, do you think I have enough for a bolt of white, too?  It'd be nice to make a couple of shirts."

"Well, we only have the two books and a telescope left.  Lots of students drop Astronomy after their OWLs so telescopes should be cheap enough this time of year.  Same with the potions book.  If we cut corners on your defense book, there should be plenty left over."

Theresa smiled again and led them over to a smaller bolt of a soft white cloth and matching thread and handed those to Mr. Weasley too.  "This will be good for simpler shirts – t-shirts or tunic styles.  it won't be much good for button downs, but I think that's a bit beyond your skill level right now.  Maybe next year.

"Do you have needles and scissors?"  Harry nodded, but Mr.  Weasley interrupted.

"He has muggle style needles and scissors." 

"Ah!  The charms won't work the same way on those.  It can still work, if you're patient and know what you're doing.  But some good silver ones will work better for a beginner."  She added a packet of assorted needles and a pair of scissors to the pile, as well as a thimble, packet of assorted buttons, pins, tape measure, and some chalk then rang him up.  Harry paid quickly before she could think of anything else he might desperately need but not really want.

As Mr. Weasley shrunk the bolts for him and stored them in the trunk, Theresa went and fetched another large bolt of fabric from the corner.  Unlike the other bolts in the store, it was gray, not black or white.

"My apprentice made this fabric this morning.    He's good at white but is still struggling with black, and it came out wrong.  See, it's more of a charcoal gray on this end, but look here."  She pulled up a few layers of fabric and showed the other end,  which was a much lighter gray.  "Not even the same color all the way through.  But good fabric for trousers.  Do you think you can manage to make something of it, Harry?  I can’t possibly sell it, as off as it is."  He nodded, eyes wide.  "Then it's yours!"

She waved off his thanks with a mischievous smile and handed the bolt to Arthur.  "All I ask in return is that, if you ever get the chance, try to give Molly a sewing lesson and make her bring me her project, so I can look at it."  She winked at them.  "It can be dreadfully dull in here sometimes, and it's nice to have some entertainment."

She waved them off cheerfully, and Mr. Weasley smiled as they left.  "She and Molly are great friends.  Theresa makes most of her money with bulk orders from Madam Malkins and the other tailors and is generally happy to give the rest of us a good deal on the basics.  She saves items that come out wrong, like the bolt that she gave you, for the people she thinks would really appreciate them.

"Books next, I think.  Then we can take our time looking for your telescope."

Unlike the other stores they'd visited that day, Thomas's Tombs did open directly onto Diagon Alley, though from a more humble storefront than the larger Flourish and Blotts they'd passed earlier.

Mr. Weasley left him to sort through the copies of Magical Draughts and Potions while he went up to talk to the clerk.  After a brief conversation, Harry saw the clerk shake his head and Mr. Weasley came back with a resigned smile. 

"They don't have a copy of The Dark Forces, Harry.  Everyone wants it right now.  They change the book in defense class every year, and they're always impossible to find."   He led Harry over to the section of defense texts and looked it over then pulled a volume off the shelf.  "Here we go.  Darkmore's Deadly Defenders. I asked Dumbledore for advice a couple of years ago and he recommended this one.

"You can do most of your reading and studying with this.  And they keep a few sets of text books on reserve in the library, so you can finish your homework there.  My boys have all done that one year or another and it's always seemed to work out."

Mr. Weasley shooed him off to go browse for a while.  But, as much as he looked, he couldn't find the fiction section.  When he asked the clerk, he was directed to a tiny alcove, which held a few shelves of expensive and dreary looking books.  Harry wrinkled his nose and decided that the Curses and Counter-Curses he'd spied in the Defense section was much more interesting looking.

Harry happily browsed for a while and tried to remember a few titles to look up once he got to Hogwarts.  He rejoined Mr. Weasley, who had a book under his arm.  "Do wizards read fiction?  There weren't many books on the shelf."

"Of course they do!  But for that, you'll want the library.  Fiction books they sell in stores are made to wear out fast so it's no good buying them used.  They might fall apart before you get to the end, and where would you be then?" 

"Library?"  Harry asked, perking up.  He could afford a library book!  "How does that work?  Do you have to come to Diagon Alley for that?" 

"Most do, since it's more convenient, but you can send your owl to fetch a book for you, if you like.   And if there's a volunteer in your neighborhood, they can pick them up and drop them off at your local muggle library for you.  The librarians won't know the difference.  Shall we go visit and see if it works for your library?"

Harry nodded excitedly. 

Once they paid and left, Mr. Weasley handed Harry the book he'd had tucked under his arm.  "This is for you.  Happy Birthday!"  Harry looked at in awe.  He'd never gotten a birthday present before, and now he had two on the same day!  It was thick and rather battered and worn.  Our Humble Homestead by Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.  "It's a rather advanced for you now, of course, and lots won't be useful until you have your own home and acre, but it has the sewing charms we've been mentioning, the resizing charms you'll need, the extension charms you like so much, and there's some chapters on basic cooking and cleaning.  A lot of the spells will be in your charms texts, too, but it's always nice to have them all grouped together for a solid reference instead of having to flip through an index trying to remember what a spell is called or what chapter it's in or what year you were supposed to have learned it.  Molly and I have worn out several copies of this book over the years."  Harry thanked him effusively. 

"All right.  Here's our library.  We do need to make this a short visit, if we want time to browse Everett's Emporium properly."  He escorted Harry up to the desk.  They made quick work of verifying his local library did participate, signing him up for a library card and getting him a catalog to take home with him. 

"Can I take some books home with me now?"  Harry asked.  "Do I just return them at my library?" 

"You can take some books home with you, but you can only return them to a muggle library if you pick them up from that library.  We use special book covers when we deliver to those libraries and without them it's too easy for the muggles to notice something's strange.  We can make an exception today and give you a due date in September.  Just return them to Madam Pince in the Hogwarts library.  Hogwarts doesn't have a large fiction collection outside of the classics, so she's constantly getting and returning books for us."

"Short visit, Harry," Mr. Weasley reminded him.  "Very short." 

Harry hurried off to the section the librarian pointed him towards, and he quickly picked out a few interesting looking books at random.    One with a castle and forest on the cover, another with an animation of a man turning into a cat and back again, and another with a regal looking wizard holding a wand high.   Then he headed back to the desk and handed them to the librarian.

She offered him a couple more books.  "How about these?  One's about Hogwarts, if you'd like to learn a bit more about it before you get there.  The other's written for Muggleborns.  It has a lot of the same info that those pamphlets give you, but it does go a bit more in depth and has some recent history."  Harry nodded agreeably.   She waved her wand over the books, but when she got to the one with the wizard on the cover, she hesitated.  "Dear, I don't think this book is about what you think it's about."  She stacked the books up and handed them back to Harry.   "Remember, if you don't like it, you don’t have to finish it."   

Harry thanked her for her help and went to where Mr. Weasley was waiting.  "Done already?"  He asked in surprise.  "I can tell Percy that it's a short visit and he's still not ready an hour later.  We might have you done in time for supper after all!" 

They headed back out into the Alley, passed Ollivander's where Harry spotted Professor Sprout waiting and between another pair of buildings and into Everett's Emporium.  "My favorite store in the entire Alley!  Let's get your telescope, then we can have fun looking round a bit before we meet up with Professor Sprout again."  Mr. Weasley examined all the telescopes, then quickly pointed Harry to the one he thought was the best.  ("It's not one of those fancy collapsible ones, but the lens is much better.")

After that, Mr.  Weasley moved from item to item,  explaining what they did and if he thought they still worked.    The next half hour was full of statements like "Now this globe lights up and puts the night stars on the ceiling.  Such a shame it's broken.  It looks like it'll only show what the sky looks like from South America." and "A washing board.  I'll have to tell Molly, she's been talking about needing a new one." and "Oh, this isn't JUST a teapot.  It's an alarm clock too.  Guaranteed to wake you up with a fresh cup of tea.  Of course, if you don't grab your cup quickly enough, it will just pour the tea on your head.  They didn't think that one through."   Oddly, Mr. Weasley seemed happier about the broken items than the ones that worked perfectly, wondering if they could be fixed and how.  Harry was highly impressed with everything that could be done with magic. 

Reluctantly, though, Mr. Weasley agreed it was time to leave and led the way to Fortescue's.  "Here's Harry.  All safe and sound and ready to go."

Professor Sprout looked at them in surprise.  "Did you manage to get everything, Arthur?  Even Ollivander's?" 

"We've had a dreadfully busy afternoon, I assure you."  Behind him, Harry snickered.  "Well, I must be going.  Molly will be wondering where I've wandered off to."  He turned to Harry.  "Harry, I won't be there to see you off on the train, but my wife will be.  Red hair, trying to herd an entire horde of energetic red headed children.  Can't miss them!  Please do stop by and say hello to her, if you have the chance.  She can help you out with any last minute details." 

"I will.  Thanks for your help today, Mr. Weasley.  I had a really good time.  And thank you for the birthday present." 

"You're very welcome.  I know you'll put it to good use."  With a final goodbye, he headed off in the direction of the alley's entrance.

Professor Sprout turned to Harry.  "The others are inside picking out some ice cream, if you'd like to order something.  They have all kinds of unique flavors." 

Harry thought of the few knuts that had to last all year and shook his head.  "No, thank you, ma'am." 

"Well, if you're sure...  What was your favorite shop?  Ollivander's?" 

"The library!" 

"Oh my.  We were running a bit short on time and skipped that one today.  Don't tell Ms. Granger about it, or she'll be jealous of your adventure.  I don't even have to ask her.  I know her favorite store was Flourish and Blotts.  I thought we'd never get her out of there.  Did you like that one?"

"It looked interesting but we went to Thomas's Tombs instead."

They chatted for a couple more minutes until they saw the rest of the group returning with their ice creams, though Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked a bit as if they disapproved of the very idea of ice cream, let alone ice cream with toppings.  "Harry, if you'd pull out those pamphlets I gave you earlier, we'll go over them now."  Harry rummaged around in his trunk to find them while the professor passed out copies to everyone else. 

Professor Sprout summarized the pamphlets fairly quickly.  Mr. Weasley had mentioned some of the content already (the grading system, OWLs and NEWTs, the houses) and some he hadn't (immunizations, where to find the entrance for the train station).  Professor Sprout was halfway through her explanation of the rules about magic use in the summer, when Harry noticed Mr. Finch-Fletchly sneering at his battered trunk.  Harry flushed a bit and tried to focus on his pamphlet.    Rich people were so annoying.

Chapter 4: Undesirable Relations

The next morning, Harry woke up rather cramped.

He'd managed to maneuver his trunk into the cupboard, but after he’d gotten it inside, there wasn't much room left over for him.  Somehow, he had to convince his Aunt and Uncle to not only let him go to Hogwarts but also to let him have Dudley's second room.  There was just no way both him and his trunk would fit in the little cupboard. 

When Aunt Petunia rapped sharply on his door, Harry obediently exited and went to start breakfast.  Luckily, it was the weekend, and Uncle Vernon and Dudley were prone to sleeping late.  This was probably his best chance at catching her in a not-unpleasant mood.  He just had to avoid mentioning magic and Hogwarts.  Somehow.

He waited until his Aunt was mostly done with her first cup of tea.   "Aunt Petunia?"  She glared at him.  Starting a conversation was not the proper way to pretend he didn't exist, and she obviously didn’t approve of his bad manners.  "I got a letter a week ago.  From my mother's school."  She stiffened.  "I think it'd be a good idea." 

His Aunt was furious.  "I refuse to have your freakishness in my house.  We did our best to stomp it out of you." 

"Well, I can try to pretend to be normal, I suppose, but I’m not very good at that."  She was unconvinced.  "Wouldn't the best way for you to have a normal life be for me to go to a boarding school ten months out of the year?  And you know I’ve been trying to stay out ‘til dark, and that's pretty late in the summer time.  I’d hardly be here. You'd have your house to yourself—just you and your family, like you've always wanted." 

She was still unconvinced. 

"I remember how bad it was when your mother came home from school," she said tartly.  "She was always running around with that freakish friend of hers.  Turning my teacup into a mouse when I was just about to take a sip.  Jeering at me when I screamed.  Putting all sorts of foul things into a pot on the kitchen stove, daring me to drink it and mocking me when I wouldn't.  My mother and father were so proud of the two of them.  He never did that sort of thing when they were around.  They never noticed."

Harry was surprised.  Doing magic in the summer time?  And she wasn't expelled?  Maybe the other boy had a family wand he could use.  Harry wondered who that was.  His father, perhaps?

"Maybe they changed the laws?  We're certainly not allowed to do that anymore.  I'd get expelled if I did any of that in the summer.  Maybe even arrested.  I can prove it.  They gave me a pamphlet explaining it all, but I don't think you'd like the pictures.  I'd get in trouble for any bit of ... freakishness.  Even if it was by accident."  Aunt Petunia shuddered at the hint of magical pictures. 

"And the professor I met with went out of her way to introduce me to a ministry official whose entire job is to protect people like you from people like us.  He spent a long time explaining it to me." 

Petunia did look a bit calmer.  "Bring me the pamphlet.  I want to read it." 

Harry hurried to his trunk and dug out his pamphlet.  He was almost back to the kitchen when he changed direction, turned to a side table, and rummaged for a piece of paper and some tape to cover up the photo.  His aunt was ridiculous, of course, but playing along wouldn't hurt.

He returned to the kitchen, handed it to her and waited for her to read it.  Luckily, the pamphlet was severely worded and made the consequences sound dire.  "This says you're able to do magic whenever you like once you turn seventeen."  Harry nodded.  "I want you out of the house by then.  Not on that day.  Before that day.  I never want to lay eyes on you after that."

Harry considered.  That was only a little over a month before he'd leave for school anyway, and it wasn't like he'd want to come back after he'd graduated.  And maybe by then he'd have figured out some sort of alternate living arrangements altogether.  Maybe he’d make a friend who had a bit of extra space in a cupboard under their stairs that they’d be willing to lend him.

"I can do that.  Are we agreed, then?  I can go to school if I stay there during the holidays and stay out of the house as much as possible in the summer?  And absolutely no freakishness at all, for fear of being expelled.  And you'll never see me again once I'm seventeen." 

She handed the pamphlet back to him, and he hid it.  "I'll talk to Vernon about it.  Don't say anything to him.  And, for God's sake, don't you dare breathe a word of this to Dudley.  He doesn't know about your mother and I don't want him to find out." 

"There's one more thing."  Harry hesitated, wondering if this was the right time, wondering what the best approach would be. 

"We won't pay for it.  They assured us that's your responsibility.   Get a job, get a loan, go begging on the streets.  I don't care.  Not a single shilling.  We’re only responsible for you living like a normal person.  That’s what all the papers we signed said."

"No, it’s not money.  It's just that the letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs.  And it was delivered with the normal mail."  Petunia turned to look at him.  "I thought that I could, maybe, move into Dudley's second room?  Just so that the next letter won't be addressed that way."

"So, not only do you want to go school, now you want to take things from Dudley too?"  Petunia sneered.  "Selfish.  And you wonder why I didn't want you to go."

“I wonder what the mailman would think, if he sees the next letter.  And he’s always stopping to chat with Mrs. Robinson down the street.  He might ask her about it if he thinks it’s strange.  And she’s friends with everyone on the block.  Never know who she might mention it to.”  Harry knew Aunt Petunia loved to gossip but absolutely hated being gossiped about and Mrs. Robinson was the biggest gossip for miles around.

"I'll think about it," she said, an aggrieved look on her face.  Harry sighed.  That was probably about the best he could expect at the moment.

“Aunt Petunia, a minute ago you said you signed some papers that said you aren’t obligated to pay for school supplies.  What sort of papers were those?” 

“That nasty man brought them.  They’d been hounding me for months, sending hundreds of letters, day after day they just kept coming.  Never in the mail either, they just showed up on the doorstep, down the chimney, through the windows.  Just when I thought they’d finally stopped, they started up again but with proper letters this time that came certified in the post.  Normal letters.  I burned the others but read the ones they bothered to send the right way.  They were threatening the family.  Wanting us to pay an absurd amount of money, all for your parents.  I wasn’t going to pay, of course.  Couldn’t, even if I wanted to.  I told them it wasn’t our job, not our problem, but he said it was because we’re family.   Eventually, he brought us paperwork to sign that would mean that your kind wouldn’t consider us family anymore.  Normal people do, of course, that’s only natural, but to your kind, we mean nothing to each other.  I have to pay for your normal schooling and food.  Not for your freakishness.”

Harry was baffled.  Not family?  Well, it’d been obvious over the years that the Dursleys didn’t consider him to be one of them but legally not family?  But only in the eyes of wizards?  “Do you still have the paperwork?  Can I see it or have a copy?” 

Aunt Petunia stood and started clearing her dishes.  “You’re wanting an awful lot of things today,”  she said with a pinched look on her face.  “I’ll get them from the bank when I get the chance.  Now, leave, so Dudley and Vernon can eat their breakfast in peace.”

 

 

The week passed in a busy blur. 

Harry eagerly read through his pamphlets and skimmed Hogwarts: A History, though it was rather dull.  Then he devoured the introductory book for muggleborns and tried to follow the instructions they gave for writing with his new quills.   He must be doing it wrong, though, since he kept breaking the quills and his ink never dried nearly as fast as the book said it should.  He started reading the first chapters of his textbooks and had nearly finished one set of robes.  

He’d even manged to find time to read the novel that had the man turning into a cat on the cover.  It turned out to be about a wizard learning to be something called an animagus.  Imagine how much larger his small patch of a kingdom would seem if he were a cat!

In between, now that he had school to save for, he did as much gardening work as he could manage to talk people into paying him for.

His Aunt Petunia grudgingly informed him they’d allow him to borrow Dudley’s second bedroom between the hours of 7 PM and 7 AM.  “But it’s still his room, mind you.  Not yours.  You’re not to leave anything of yours in here during the day.”  His old cupboard acquired a shiny padlock which he was under strict orders to keep locked tight during the day so Dudley wouldn’t get nosy and see something unnatural.

In payment, Aunt Petunia said it was his responsibility to keep Dudley’s second bedroom neat and tidy and inspected it closely every morning to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.  Unfortunately, Dudley seemed to feel it was his and his friends’ responsibility to make this as hard as possible and made a huge mess every afternoon, just for the fun of watching Harry clean it up every evening.

Dudley and the neighbors had been told that he’d been granted a place at a boarding school for children with ‘special needs.’  That made Dudley grin in glee and the neighbors whisper curiously to each other.  Finally,  Mrs. Robinson flagged him down and in a delicate, round about way asked what his ‘special need’ was.  “Dyslexia,”  Harry said, as he stood there with a novel in his hand, as usual.  “Severe dyslexia.  Can’t read a thing.”   Her baffled gaze followed him down the street.

A few days later, Harry unlocked his cupboard to find a few pieces of paperwork sitting on trunk.  Most of it was of the usual variety, though one of his birth certificates looked rather odd, but one packet turned out to be a folded up scroll of parchment titled “Termination of Undesirable Relations.”    Most of it seemed to be a standard formula with blanks where his and Aunt Petunia’s names and various identifying details were filled in.  A section titled “Reason for termination” had a small list of options: Improper blood status, Marriage to a person with improper blood status, birth of a child with improper blood status, and so on.  The final option, unacceptable level of magical aptitude, was the one that was checked.  Harry couldn’t make heads or tales of the dense legalese but figured “Undesirable Relation” described the Dursleys’ opinion of him fairly well.  He folded it back up and filed it away where the papers would be safe.

Chapter 5: Mrs. Figg

Harry had finally picked out a few easy looking spells to try out.  Lumos seemed wonderful for reading under the covers at night and he got quite good at reparo while fixing his broken quills.  It even worked on his glasses.  Feeling a bit daring, he tried out an ironing spell.  It worked quite well to press open the seam on the robes he was in the process of sewing, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it to work at all on certain of Dudley’s old shirts and it left a scorch mark on the tea towel.  He even found a drying spell which helped him not smudge his writing, but he still couldn’t figure out why the ink didn’t dry itself the way the book said it should.

After that, though, Harry’d had quite enough of studying and being industrious and settled in for a lazy afternoon in his little kingdom, enjoying another good novel.  His next choice was the book with the forest and castle on the cover.  Now that he was reading it, he could tell the castle was supposed to be Hogwarts but it didn’t look much like the photos in Hogwarts: A History.  Though the trees did look spooky enough for something called “The Forbidden Forest.” 

The book was about a boy about his age who was something called a squib who never got a Hogwarts letter and couldn’t do magic. But he thought it meant something else too, since everyone was so upset about it.  He’d been given the same “Termination of Undesirable Relations” paperwork that Aunt Petunia had given him, and decided to run away from home when his parents enrolled him in the local muggle school and started pretending he didn’t exist.  He’d had grand sounding adventures, camping in the Forbidden Forest, avoiding centaurs, and sneaking into Hogwarts to see what it looked like.   Harry envied him a bit for his summer time stories but had to admit the cold winter didn’t sound like all that much fun at all.

He was sitting in a patch of sun with Mr. Tufty purring on his lap when he heard Mrs. Figg calling his name. 

“Harry?  Harry?  Are you down there?”  He moved Mr. Tufty and stood up so she could see him.  “Come up for some tea, won’t you?  I’ve got something for you and I don’t want to walk down the hill with these crutches.”   Curious, he gathered up his books and Mr. Tufty and headed in for some tea. 

She poured him a cup and gave him some biscuits, then handed him a couple of books.  “Here’s your library books.  I’m the volunteer for the local branch so when I saw your name I thought I’d save you the walk and just bring them home with me.” 

He gaped at her a bit but took the books.  “You’re – you’re a witch?” 

A sour expression crossed her face.  “I’m a squib,” she corrected. “But I can use the floo as well as anyone else.” 

Harry thought of the boy in the book and his “Termination of Undesirable Relations” paper, and wondered if, since Mrs. Figg was a squib, she might be able to explain it to him.  But then he remembered how much it made the boy cry and decided it might spoil their tea.

“Thank you for bringing them to me. “

“Unless something is comes up, I usually visit the library on Mondays and Thursdays so you can expect your books then.  So, off to Hogwarts in a couple of weeks?  I bet you’re excited.” 

He nodded.  “The subjects look interesting and I already read a couple of novels.  But they don’t always explain things very well, since they assume I’ll know what they’re talking about.  It took me ages to figure out what an animagus was.”

“Well, knowledge will come in time.  It’s a bit like moving to a foreign country.  You’ll pick it up quickly enough once you’re at school.  I’ve managed to do it in reverse, so it’s not all that different.”  Harry hoped he’d fit in a bit better at Hogwarts than Mrs. Figg did on Wisteria Walk.  He didn’t want the other kids to think he was mad, after all.

“So, that explains the one book.  What about the other?  What’s your fascination with magical luggage?”

Harry explained about Newt Scamander’s wonderful suitcase and tents that were really houses that you could pick up and carry with you.  He then talked about Narnia in the back of the wardrobe. 

“I can’t decide if you’re a boy in search of an adventure, or a boy in search of an acre.”  Mrs. Figg had mentioned acres before, and Mr. Weasley had mentioned it too.  So had the introduction to Our Happy Homestead so he knew it had something to do with houses and homesteads, but he was sure that it meant more than simply owning a house and land. 

“Both?”  He guessed.  He did want a home someday, and life without any adventures at all would be boring.

“Well, one often finds adventures when looking for one’s acres, so that’s a good thing, I suppose.  What are you reading next?” 

He didn’t think it was wise to mention the book with the boy in the forest and he didn’t know what the third book was about yet, so he admitted he’d just grabbed a few books at random because he was in a rush and hadn’t heard of any of the titles. 

“Well, for a boy in search of acres AND adventures, I’d recommend –” And they spent a pleasant half hour with Mrs. Figg describing some of her favorites from when she was his age.

When tea was finished and he was getting ready to leave, Mrs. Figg said “Mr. Tufty has decided that he’s going with you to Hogwarts.” 

Harry thought of the impossibility of bringing Mr. Tufty into his aunt’s house.  “Mrs. Figg, I couldn’t –”

“He’s quite insistent on it,” she interrupted.  “Refuses to hear otherwise.  Just last month, I tried to warn him not to get his hopes up, in case you weren’t the wizard we assumed you’d be, and he got so irate with me he tripped me out of spite.”  She gave Mr. Tufty a little glare as Harry snickered.  Apparently, she was still holding a grudge over her broken leg. 

“I’d love to have him join me.  He’s great company.”  Plus, if he said no Mr. Tufty might give Harry a broken leg too, and that would be a miserable way to start his school year.  “But Aunt Petunia would never let him in the house in the summers.” 

“Mr. Tufty knows what he’s about.  Half-kneezles are rather sharp.  He can fend for himself in the summers.  And if he gets tired of that, he knows he’s always welcome here, just like he is now.  And there’ll be plenty of food for him at Hogwarts so don’t worry about that either.   Stop by on the morning you leave, and I’ll have his basket waiting for you.”

Full of good tea and Mr. Tufty at his heels, Harry left to finish his book.

Chapter 6: Platform 9 ¾

Harry stepped into Platform nine and three quarters over two hours early on September 1^st, his trunk and Mr. Tufty’s basket in tow. 

For the first time in his life, he was dressed head to toe in new clothes that had only ever belonged to him.  Well, except for the boots, but the boots were the nicest pair of shoes he’d ever had, so they didn’t count.  Last night, he’d finally managed to finish all of his sewing.  All three robes, two shirts and one pair of trousers.  He hadn’t thought that he could manage trousers without a pattern, so he’d splurged a bit and bought a pattern that was supposed to be easy.  He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d manged it right but even two sizes too big in the waist and with the legs rolled up it looked loads better than Dudley’s old clothes.  Very good for a first attempt, in his opinion.  Mr. Weasley had mentioned that his wife would be at the station and be willing to help out with any “last minute details.”  Harry was hoping that meant she’d be willing to do the resizing charm on his clothes. 

He settled down to read one of the books Mrs. Figg had recommended to him, and reached in to Mr. Tufty’s basket to give his ears a scratch.  Half an hour before the train was due to leave, Harry finished his book and packed it away and made sure his school robes and other new shirt were right on top.  There wasn’t enough time to start his last remaining book so he just watched the crowd and kept an eye out for a group of redheads. 

He was beginning to think that he might have missed them when they came hurrying on to the platform, just a few minutes before the train was due to leave.  Harry waited until the older kids went to go put their trunks on the train and then approached her. 

“Mrs. Weasley?  Mr. Weasley said to tell you hello.” 

“You must be Harry.  Arthur told me to be looking for you.  We were a bit worried you might not be able to find the platform.  How’s your summer been?”  As she spoke, she pulled out her wand and started waving it in a complicated patterns over his shirt and trousers before they shrunk.  She did it again over his shoes, and they enlarged then shrunk again.  “Honestly, that man.  Using a resizing charm when a growth charm is twice as good.  Do you have the robes handy, dear?”  Harry pulled them out and she spelled them, as well as the last shirt.  “There you go.”  She aimed one final spell at his shirt, turning it a nice green color, which Harry quite liked.  Not that white was a bad color, but he had noticed that wizards tended to dress rather colorfully. 

“Thank you, Mrs.  Weasley.  I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, dear.  I wish we had a bit more time to chat but the whistle will be blowing any second and it’s always a scramble getting everyone’s trunks on board after that.  You best hurry.”

He turned to leave and make way for her last goodbyes for her sons.  My, that was a lot of red hair.  He managed to get his trunk on board, but all of the compartments seemed to be mostly full. He finally found one that had a trunk but no people and figured that was the best that he could expect right before the train left. 

He grabbed the last book he had checked out from the library – the one with the regal wizard on the cover.  It was titled The Shadowlord: A Fantasy.  Oddly, the words “A Fantasy” seemed to take up just as much space as “Shadowlord” as if both were of equal importance in the artist’s mind.

Glancing out the window, he saw the Weasleys rushing for the train, and less than a minute later it started moving.  Turning to the basket, he lifted the blanket and told Mr.  Tufty the coast was clear.   When Mrs. Figg had mentioned picking up a basket, he’d assumed something with lids or doors would be involved.  Instead, it was an open basket lined with a pillow.  Apparently, Mr. Tufty had stridently objected to being shut in to anything, and Mrs. Figg hadn’t wanted to argue with him.    After much negotiation, Harry convinced him to allow a blanket to be draped over him and to try to not move until they boarded the train.  Mr. Tufty’s agreement had been grudging and Harry could tell it would take quite a bit of attention on his part to get Mr. Tufty to forgive him for his discourtesy.

Harry had just opened his book when the door to the compartment slid open.  “We put your trunk in here, Ron.  It’s empty.”  One of the Weasley twins stuck his head in.  “Or, it was empty.  Hello.”

“Hi.  Sorry, you don’t mind, do you?  Everywhere else was full.” 

“Ron doesn’t mind.  That’s Ron.  We’re Fred and George.  See you later, then.  We’re off to see Lee’s tarantula.”

Ron shuffled in and took a seat, and the compartment door slid closed. 

“So, what kind of spells was mum showing you?” 

“My clothes were too big.  I met your dad in Diagon Alley last month and he said she might be able to help out.” 

“Oh.”  Ron looked a bit envious of clothes that were too big.  His current trousers seemed a little bit too short and though Harry wasn’t quite sure what the clothing etiquette rules were for wizards, he remembered that Mr. Weasley had tsked at the idea of showing ankles when they were in Vanessa’s Vestments.  Hopefully his robes would be long enough to cover it.  “So, are you the Harry he mentioned?”  Harry nodded.  “He said he thought you’d grown up with muggles?  What were they like?”

“Horrible.”  Harry did not want to ruin his day talking about the Dursleys.  He didn’t even want to think about them for the next ten months.  “Your dad said you had 6 siblings?  So, 5 brothers and a little sister?  I wish I had 6 wizard siblings.  It sounds wonderful, and your dad’s really great.  Your mum seemed nice too.”

Harry listened to him ramble on about being the second youngest and getting hand me downs, including a hand-me-down pet rat. Harry didn’t think having Weasley hand-me-downs was nearly as bad as having one of Dudley’s hand-me-downs.  At least it looked like Bill took care of his clothes. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that.  I’ve never had new clothes either.  I always wore Dudley’s and he always did his best to ruin them before I got them.” 

“That’s easy for you to say.  You’ve got new clothes on right now.” 

Harry might have been a little more patient with Ron six months ago, but after spending the last month counting pennies and knocking on doors begging for work and worrying that he might not have enough to make it to Hogwarts, he was not in the mood.  “I made these.  They’re the first new clothes I’ve had in my entire life.”

Ron sighed.  “But mum can’t sew.  She’s been trying to learn for years.” 

“Well, learn yourself then.” 

Ron gaped at him as if he were mad.  “Learn myself?  How could I learn myself?  We’re just starting school today, and that’s got to be at least a third or fourth year spell.” 

“Do it the muggle way.  Get a needle and some thread and just use that.  Keep practicing until you get something worth wearing.”  Ron looked amazed at the very idea.  “I’m sure Theresa can show you how and give you some tips.” 

“Who’s Theresa?” 

Harry sighed, fed up.  “Your mum’s friend who likes to sew.  Or, if that’s too hard, go get a job, earn a bit of pocket money and buy whatever it is that you want yourself.” 

Ron was getting annoyed too, now.  “I can’t get a job.  I’m eleven.”

“I’m eleven too.  That’s what I did to get these robes.  If I can do it, you can do it too.”  Ron glared at him.  “Let’s change the subject.” 

“Your cat’s not going to chase Scabbers if I put him down, is he?” 

“Does he look like he’s going to chase Scabbers?”  Mr. Tufty was, in fact, staring very intently at Scabbers but he hadn’t moved from Harry’s lap.  So far.  “If Mr. Tufty was going to chase Scabbers, he would have already.” Harry crossed his fingers where Ron couldn’t see and hoped he was telling the truth. 

“Mr. Tufty?  That’s a stupid name.” 

Harry kind of agreed with him, but it was the principle of the thing.  Besides, Mr. Tufty was hissing in displeasure, and only a stupid person angered a half-kneezle on purpose. “I think he disagrees with you.  The last person he disagreed with ended up with a broken leg.  He’s extremely vicious.”  Mr. Tufty stopped hissing and started purring at the compliment and Harry scratched his ears for him. 

“Extremely vicious?!  So he is going to try to eat Scabbers!” 

Harry sighed tried to change the subject again.  “Do you like Quidditch?  The book I read made it sound very exciting, but it didn’t have much detail.   I didn’t have the time to read any others about it.” 

Ron was enthusiastic, especially about the Chudley Cannons but eventually ran out of things to say.  Harry couldn’t think of another topic that wouldn’t cause an argument, so he picked up his book.  Apparently, that was the wrong move.

“What’s that about?” 

“I don’t know.  I’ve only read one page so far.”  Harry showed him the cover. 

Ron, though, was appalled.  “‘A Fantasy’?!  What are you reading a fantasy book for?” 

“I happen to like fantasy.  Some of my favorite books are fantasy.  There is nothing wrong with fantasy.”  Harry wouldn’t have thought that he’d have to deal with the Dursleys’ anti-fantasy stance while he was going to a school that studied magic. 

Ron flushed in anger.  “Everything is wrong with fantasy,” he shouted loudly.  “I can’t believe you’re willing to read that in public.”  Ron grabbed Scabbers and stormed out of the carriage. 

Harry looked at the door in disbelief.  What was that about?  He tried to shrug it off and read, but now he just couldn’t concentrate. 

Ten minutes later, Ron stormed in again, sat, and glared out the window. 

“Back so soon?”

“Everywhere else is full,” he said sullenly.  They sat a few minutes in silence.  “I am not going to share a compartment with someone reading a fantasy book.” 

“Have you forgotten where the door is?  This is my last book.   I’ve read all the others.”   Harry turned a few more pages.  Not that he was reading them anymore, it was just the principle of the thing.

“I was here first.  It’s my compartment.” 

“Your trunk was here first.  I was here second.  You were here third.” 

“My trunk was holding my place.”

Harry sighed and gave in.  There was only so much ridiculousness he could stand.  He rummaged through his trunk and swapped his dreaded fantasy novel for the beginning runes textbook and Our Happy Homestead.  He wasn’t sure if he could concentrate on the runes book and if he couldn’t, the homestead book was informative to flip through even when only skimming.

Ron looked suspiciously at the covers, as if suspecting Harry had another book he’d disapprove of. 

“Runes?!  We don’t start that subject until third year.” 

“It’s the only textbook I have that I haven’t already started reading.  Besides, your father told me to read it.  Are you planning on objecting to all of my reading choices now?”

“Such a swot,”  he heard Ron mutter under his breath. 

“Well, if you weren’t afraid my novel would contaminate your air, I wouldn’t have gotten out the textbook, now would I?” 

They sat in stony silence until the trolley lady rolled her cart by which reminded them it was lunch time.    Then Ron complained about his four (!) corned beef sandwiches, while Harry ate his slice of cold toast with jam, which was the only thing he’d managed to sneak past his Aunt’s watchful gaze.  He’d gotten up early to try to pack himself a lunch, but she was obviously expecting this tactic and had gotten up earlier to stop him. 

It was a relief when a round faced boy came in, looking a bit tired.  “Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

When Harry and Ron shook their heads, he sighed.  “I’ve lost him again.  He keeps getting away from me.”  He sounded resigned.

Harry thought for a second, then said, “Well, I haven’t seen your toad, but I do remember seeing a spell for tracking lost pets.  You could ask a prefect to cast it for you.” 

The boy smiled in relief.  “That’d be great.  My uncle gave him to me.  I’d hate to lose him on the very first day.”

Harry grabbed Our Happy Homestead and flipped through it to find the spell he’d seen and began to copy it out.

Suddenly, Ron blurted out, “Are you Neville Longbottom?”  Harry glanced up to see Neville flush a bit and nod.  Ron was staring at Neville’s scar.  “So, is that where You-Know-Who –“

“I’m sorry, I’d just really like to find Trevor.”  Neville was beet red.

“You might be lucky.  If I’d brought a toad, I’d lose it as quickly as I could.  Mind you, I brought Scabbers so I can’t talk.”  Ron continued on in this vein for a bit, commiserating with Neville on the apparent shame of having a lame pet, though how Ron’s inability to cast a spell on Scabbers was evidence of Scabbers being lame was beyond Harry’s ability to comprehend.

Just as Harry finished copying the door opened again, and Hermione Granger entered.  “Has anyone seen a toad?  Neville –”  At that point, she trailed off, realizing Neville was already in the compartment.  Neville looked a bit leery of her, too.

“No, we haven’t but I do have a spell that might help, though I can’t promise anything.  There’s a lot of animals on board.”  Harry handed Neville the scrap of parchment.  Neville seemed glad to escape both Ron and Hermione and left to find a prefect. 

Hermione, bereft of her errand, saw Ron’s wand.  He’d been about to demonstrate the spell he couldn’t do when she walked in.  Hermione, of course, wanted to see the spell, which turned out to be a silly rhyme.  Harry couldn’t help but snicker.  He’d only known magic was real for a month and even he knew that didn’t sound like anything remotely like a spell. 

“Oh, you think that’s funny?  Like you could do better.  You don’t even know the difference between a fifth year spell and a first year spell.”  Ron was apparently still irritated by Harry’s suggestion that he learn to sew and had even increased his estimated difficulty.

While Hermione started rambling on about spells working for her and how excited her family was about magic, Harry opened up Our Humble Homestead and searched for the coloring spell that Mrs. Weasley had used on his shirt.  It hadn’t seemed that hard.  Granted, most magic didn’t seem that hard when adults did it, but it was worth a shot.  And he was starting to have a grudge against a certain redhead.   

Harry read the instructions, grabbed his wand and gave it a try.  It took many attempts but after five minutes or so, the handkerchief gained a hint of yellow.   He pointedly put it on the seat beside him where Ron could see it and went back to ignoring him.

He hadn’t even looked at the sewing charm yet since Theresa had told him to wait, but now he kind of wanted to rub a “fifth year spell” in Ron’s face.  And he already had the book open to the section for clothing.  Perfect time to read up on it. 

He barely noticed when Hermione left the compartment.

Chapter 7: The Sorting Hat

Harry sat on the stool and waited as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear.  “Difficult.  Very difficult.  Not afraid of hard work, I see.  Not a bad mind either.  There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst for your acre, now that’s interesting.   That’d normally mean Hufflepuff for you, but you want your adventures too…  So where should I put you?” 

Harry gripped his stool and thought about how Mrs. Figg had mentioned adventures being something one would acquire on the way to getting an acre (whatever that was, Harry still hadn’t figured out quite what people meant by that) and imagined how boring life would be if someone simply handed him an acre without him earning it first.

“Gryffindor, eh?  Sure I can’t interest you in Ravenclaw?  You could go far there, it’s all in your head.  Such a fascination you have with luggage.”

Harry thought hard about how boring that sounded.  A house that prided itself on grades?  He didn’t mind going to school, exactly.  He just would prefer to learn the things he wanted to learn instead of having to do homework.  Ravenclaws probably wouldn’t approve of him reading novels at all and would want him to study all of the time instead.

“Well, if you’re sure – Better be GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry stood and turned to the Gryffindor table, and a glimpse of one bushy haired girl and several red-headed boys reminded him that he’d most likely sentenced himself to seven years of being in the same house as Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.  This was going to be a nightmare.  Briefly, he contemplated turning back and telling the Sorting Hat he’d changed his mind.  Probably too late, though.  He supposed he’d have to make the best of it. 

Maybe Granger would calm down a bit when she wasn’t so excited.

 

Later that night, as the first year boys were all getting settled in their dorm room and Ron had stepped out go to the loo, Dean turned to him and said, “What on earth did you do to Ron?  He’s been glaring at you all night.”

“He apparently doesn’t approve of my taste in literature,” Harry says dryly.  “He objected to my novel, and then to my textbook.”

“That… makes no sense at all,” Dean said in confusion.  “He really seems to hate you.  A lot.”

Ron must have heard that last bit as he came back into the room.  “Of course I hate him.  He’s a muggle hating bigot,” he declared stoutly.  “I’ve no idea why he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

“A bigot?” Harry exclaimed, surprised.  “I am hardly a bigot.” 

Ron ignored Harry entirely.  “He was reading a fantasy book on the train.  Refused to put it away like any decent person would,” Ron informed the rest of the room.

“You read a fantasy book?!  In public?”  Seamus exclaimed. 

“He even said all of his favorite books are fantasy books.”  Now, even the quiet Neville looked shocked at Harry’s apparent poor taste in literature. 

Harry was starting to feel like he’d fallen into Alice’s Wonderland.  None of this made any sense whatsoever. 

“What’s wrong with fantasy?” Dean asked.  Harry was glad Dean sounded as confused as Harry was.  Dean saw the disproving stares turn to include him too and backtracked a bit.  “I mean, it’s not my favorite genre or anything, but I’ve read some.  Is wizard fantasy different from muggle fantasy?” 

“Me dad says it is.  Me mum says he’s mistaken and muggle fantasy is just as bad.  She refuses to allow any of it in the house.  Me dad tried to sneak me one once but me mum set it on fire and told him if he did it again she’d get a divorce.”

“What’s muggle fantasy about?”  Neville was apparently trying to play mediator. 

“A lot of it boils down to how great it would be to be a wizard and how great it would be if magic existed.  What’s wizard fantasy about?” 

“A lot of it boils down to how great it is to be a wizard and how great it would be if muggles didn’t exist.”  Harry stared at Neville, surprised.  “Not all of it.  Some of it is about how great it’d be if muggles are enslaved servants.  That’s what my gran says anyway.  She’d never let a book like that in the house either.”

“Well, go on then.  What’s your favorite fantasy book about?” Seamus challenged.

Harry thought of all of the books he’d read over the years.  He thought of that first book the librarian had handed him, when he asked for something about strange, unnatural things happening.  “Well, this one I read a few years ago was about a girl named Matilda.”  Harry recounted as much as he could about the book.

“So… It’s about a girl who learns to do wandless magic then uses that magic to bully a muggle into acting the way she wanted?  Uses it to force her to give away something valuable?”  Somehow, that put quite a different spin on it.  It did sound rather bad if you looked at it that way. 

“Muggle baiting garbage!” Seamus exclaimed.  “No wonder me mum set it on fire!” 

Harry sighed.  “It seemed different back when I was seven.”  He had this sudden urge to reevaluate every fantasy book he’d ever read from the perspective of a genuine wizard.  Were they all as bad as Matilda when you knew wizards and magic were real?

“And, anyway,” Ron returned to his original subject, apparently feeling he’d proven his point about fantasy novels.  “Harry said muggles are horrid.”  Harry looked at him incredulously.  He hadn’t said that, had he?  “You did say that.  I asked you what they were like, you said they were horrid and that you wished you’d grown up with wizards instead.”

“We were talking about families!  And my relatives are horrid.  You’d hate them too, if you met them.  I’ve nothing against most muggles.” 

“Nothing against them?  But you don’t like them.  I bet you’re not friends with a single muggle,” Ron declared. 

“That’s not true!”  Harry said hotly.  Except, now that he thought about it, it kind of was.  That was really sad.

“Name one!” 

“Um…”  Harry struggled to think of someone.  There had to be at least one he could call a friend, right?  “…  Mrs. Churchill?”  He offered tentatively.  “She’s my favorite librarian.”

“So, what you’re saying is that despite growing up surrounded by no one but muggles, you’ve only one muggle friend, and you liked that friend because she gave you books about how great magic is?  Is this the wizard world version of your one black friend to prove you’re not racist?”  Dean sounded unwillingly amused. 

Harry sighed.   This was coming out all so wrong, and everything he said just seemed to make it worse.  “Look, can’t we just drop it and go to bed?  It’s getting late and classes start early.”  It had to be better in the morning, hadn’t it? 

Except it wasn’t all that much better in the morning.  The fight in the boy’s dorm was the main topic of all the first years at the breakfast table. 

Harry had hoped he’d find an ally in Hermione Granger since she liked reading as well, but she apparently didn’t approve of wasting one’s time on fiction when there were real books waiting to be read.  Then, after hearing that Harry had no muggle friends, she said, “Well, I did think it was rather odd that you got a private tour of Diagon Alley instead of coming with the rest of the group of muggleborns.  Were you trying to avoid interacting with my muggle parents?” 

Harry sighed.  He just couldn’t win.

Nothing that first week seemed to go right.  Ron had spread the word about his alleged anti-muggle bigotry which meant he had trouble finding someone to sit with in class. 

Dean had invented a game of asking Harry about his opinion on various muggle pop culture topics, such as his football teams, movies, TV shows actors and singers.  And, of course, since Harry didn’t follow football and wasn’t allowed to watch TV or go to the movies or listen to the radio, he never had an opinion to offer.

Harry’s new trousers and shirts had gotten dirty, which meant he had to go back to wearing Dudley’s old things while they were washed.  Ron had been gleeful at the poor state of Dudley’s clothes, at least, that is, until a blond boy named Malfoy started mocking Ron about how it must be a novel experience to not be the poorest person in the room anymore. 

He’d read the fantasy book and was forced to admit to himself that the others had been right – it was about wizards thinking they were better than muggles.  Not that it phrased it in just those terms, but the subtext was there if you knew to look for it.

When he returned his library books he was disappointed as well.  He was used to having a librarian who could name off a short list of recommendations when asked questions like “Do you have any good books about labyrinths?”  And while Madam Pince would point out the right aisle to get to the non-fiction books on any subject, she never had a single recommendation when he specified he wanted fiction.

Then Ron started claiming that Mr. Tufty was chasing Scabbers around when no one was looking.  Harry had to admit that might be true.  Harry had tried to explain to Mr. Tufty that people’s pets and familiars were off limits, but he was unimpressed by this and Harry had to admit he didn’t generally care about others’ opinions on what he should or shouldn’t be doing.  Harry had to page through Our Happy Homestead to find a spell that could be used to keep predators away from chicken coops (that book really did seem to have a solution to every problem!) and convinced Ron’s brother Percy to cast it, centered on a large area around Ron’s bed though that caused even more arguments when Ron said it was cruel to expect Scabbers to stay confined to his bed.  Harry admitted it was unfair but pointed out that Mr. Tufty was far from the only feline in the tower and that owls could eat rats too.  At least his solution protected Scabbers from everyone’s familiars, not just his, and didn’t involve putting him in a little cage.

Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to stop Mr. Tufty’s fun.  The next day, they came back to the dorms to find Mr. Tufty looking very satisfied with himself.  Ron quickly inspected Scabbers and found he had multiple bloody scratches.  Harry admitted that Mr. Tufty was obviously the culprit in this case, and apologized, then pointed out that though the spell he’d found did keep Mr. Tufty out of Ron’s bed, but that didn’t mean that Scabbers wouldn’t try to leave.  Harry found another spell meant to protect an area against vermin and proposed that they divide the room in half, with Ron’s half of the room set up to protect against predators getting in and Harry’s half set up to protect against vermin getting in.  Ron objected to this plan on grounds that Scabbers didn’t qualify as “vermin.”  Harry gave up and told Ron it was up to him to control his own familiar, and if he didn’t like the current solution, he needed to find a better one.  Though, privately, Harry wondered how on earth Scabbers got so many scratches on his belly and legs but not a single one on his back.

Worst of all, despite his hopes, he hadn’t managed to make a single friend though he didn’t blame anyone for that.  They all had perfectly valid reasons to believe he was a muggle-hating bigot and it’s not like they knew him well enough to think otherwise.  There were a handful of people, mostly in Slytherin, who seemed fairly neutral towards him, and Harry made a mental note of their names and faces.  Anyone willing to be friendly to Harry at this point was probably not someone that Harry should be willing to be friends with. 

Chapter 8: Mr. Filch

One thing that did go right was living in Hogwarts itself.  Harry adored the castle.  The talking portraits, the armors, the trick steps, the hallways and doors that didn’t always lead to the same place two days in a row.   He even loved the moving staircases that sometimes made him late for class.

He took to exploring the various nooks and crannies, Mr. Tufty trailing along behind him, poking their heads into abandoned classrooms and mysterious chambers, looking for anything interesting. 

He found a beautiful dome shaped room that was enchanted to look like a clear night sky.  He found a hallway that twisted like a corkscrew, so that as you walked down it, you slowly rotated upside down and  then back upright.  He found another room that was empty but smelled strongly of saltwater and algae and was filled with the sound of creaking timbers and lapping water.  He found a couple of rooms that seemed perfectly normal to him but that Mr. Tufty found absolutely fascinating. 

When he found the owlery, he promptly sent off two letters – one to Mrs. Figg, asking her opinion on good books about labyrinths and the second to Mr. Weasley, thanking him once again for the shopping trip and included an explanation and diagram as to how muggles used sewing machines to get thread on both sides of the fabric.  He’d even attached a used sewing machine needle he’d been given to show what the funny needle with the hole in the tip looked like. 

He found a good nook by the lake between some rocks that seemed perfect for reading but realized that others had found it too so it was often occupied.

He looked high up in the towers, low down in the dungeons, inside, outside and everywhere in-between.   He couldn’t possibly see it all, but he tried. 

One day, while out in another remote hallway, he found a scrawny, dust colored cat with large eyes.  She and Mr. Tufty examined each other closely, then greeted each other like long lost friends.  Harry knelt and offered his hand for examination, which she sniffed curiously but didn’t consent to be petted with.  Eventually, she turned and left, looking like a woman on a mission.  Harry and Mr. Tufty continued on down the hallway, exploring rooms as they went. 

A few minutes later, Harry heard footsteps and a greasy sounding voice.  “What is it, my sweet?  What do you need me to see?  Must not be a rule breaker or you’d be in a hurry.”  Harry turned around and saw a thin man walking into view.  The man stopped and glared at him as soon as they saw each other, but his cat came up to greet Mr. Tufty again.  From the gossip he’d heard, this was probably the cranky Mr. Filch.  It was best not to annoy him.

“I don’t think I’m rule breaker.  Maybe she wants you to meet Mr. Tufty?  They seem quite friendly with each other.”

The suspicious glare continued.  “All students are rule breakers, eventually.” 

Harry shrugged.  “Eventually, probably.  Not today, though.  I think.”

“You think?”  Mr. Filch gave him a suspicious, sharp look.

“Well, I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think I’ve been anywhere out of bounds today.   I haven’t been on the third floor or tried to unlock any doors.  Are there any ways to tell if a room is out of bounds?”

That got him a grudging, “If it isn’t locked and you haven’t been told about it, it’s not out of bounds.”  

Harry thought the man was unreasonably grumpy, just like everyone said. “Are you Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris?” 

He got a grunt in reply.

Suddenly, Mrs. Norris looked vaguely familiar and the name sounded familiar too. 

“I think I’ve seen Mrs. Norris before, or heard of her.”  He thought, then it came to him.  “I think I saw a picture of her in Mrs.  Figg’s photo album.  Maybe that’s why she and Mr. Tufty act like they know each other. 

That, at least, got something other than indifference.  “You know Arabella Figg?” 

“She’s my neighbor, and she’s where I met Mr. Tufty.” 

He grunted again, then turned and started walking away.  “Come along, Mrs. Norris.  We’ve got nasty little students to catch.”  He disappeared, and Mrs. Norris trailed along after him.

Harry leaned down and stroked Mr. Tufty.  “He’s every bit as grumpy as the rumors say,” he whispered.  They continued onward, keeping an eye out for anything interesting.

 

Classes continued. 

He’d gotten replies from both Mr. Weasley (asking about electric plugs) and Mrs. Figg (with a list of books).

Finally, they had the flying class that Harry had been looking forward to, but unfortunately Neville had fallen and broken his wrist.  While the teacher was escorting him to the hospital wing, Ron and several other Gryffindors got into an argument with Malfoy and his goons over Neville’s rememberall.  In the resulting fight, Neville’s rememberall got broken, and the flying class was postponed to some undetermined future date.  Harry, who’d done his best to stay out of the fight, was disappointed that he had to wait even longer to learn to fly.

A day or two later, Neville and Ron accidentally woke Harry when they sneaked out of the dorm late at night, whispering heatedly about a duel.  Harry wasn’t sure exactly what had happened that night but after that Neville and Ron’s tentative friendship became a bit more solid. 

 

Harry kept on with his explorations, though with a purpose this time.  He was used to reading in a comfortable nook at the library or one of several locations in his little kingdom that were hidden from sight.  Nowhere he’d found so far in Hogwarts really matched those, in terms of comfort or in seclusion.  There were plenty of abandoned classrooms, true, but few that really invited him to sit down and read.  And there were lots of pretty spots out by the lake, some where you could even sit and dangle your feet in the water, but Harry always felt like someone could be sneaking up on him at any moment.  And sure, he could and did read in the library or in Gryffindor tower, but those weren’t really places he felt he could relax either. 

So, Harry and Mr. Tufty wandered, looking for likely areas.  He did find a few that might have worked if he were good enough at transfiguration to create a comfortable pillow, and those he made note of to return to when he had a few more spells under his belt.  One particular window alcove had a great view over the grounds and lake that he thought would be lovely once the snows fell.

He ran across Mr. Filch several times, and, though he wasn’t as accusative, he still wasn’t very friendly.  Once, though, he grunted out “Mrs. Figg says to tell you hello.”

Mrs. Norris, however, was a bit friendlier and seemed to check up on them every once in a while, though she rarely approached Harry. 

One afternoon, after a particularly bad Defense class in which Hermione had badgered Harry under her breath for forgetting his textbook in his dorm though praised him for remembering his “supplemental” text, Harry returned to the Gryffindor tower to find Mr. Tufty waiting for him impatiently. 

Mr. Tufty led him through the various halls and stairs up to a remote area up on the seventh floor.  Eventually, Mr. Tufty vanished behind an old wall tapestry depicting a sleeping dragon atop a high mountain.  Harry pulled it aside carefully and saw a door that was partially off his hinges, leaving a gap big enough for a cat to squeeze through.  Pushing it open the rest of the way, Harry saw a narrow little stairwell.  Which was confusing because he could have sworn they were already in the top floor.  As he climbed the flight of stairs, it grew brighter, until Harry climbed into a room. 

He was on the outer edge of a large circular room, surrounded by full pane widows charmed to show a view of a forest glade and the domed ceiling overhead showed the sky.  Harry could see various tables and work surfaces lined the exterior wall, and there were three concentric circles worth of low raised bed gardens with an open space at the center of the room. 

Moving towards the center of the room, he saw that the open space was about six meters in diameter, with a pair of dilapidated chairs and a couch.  Mr. Tufty had already claimed one of the chairs and lounged, looking very proud of himself. 

“Thank you, Mr. Tufty,  this is exactly what we’ve been looking for.  It’s beautiful.”  He gave him a quick stroke of praise and went to inspect the tables that lined the windows.  Most were just simple surfaces at counter height though there were a couple at a standard desk height.  There were a few low shelving units, all dusty and empty.  There was one counter top a couple of meters long with a pair large deep sinks on either end.  The cabinets and drawers under it were all empty.

Harry saw a glass door in the wall of windows, stepped through and had a jolt of disorientation as he suddenly went from looking at a forest glen to seeing a rather mundane rooftop with no view at all.  When he turned around to look behind him, all he saw was a small generic looking green house though the panes of glass were tinted green and he couldn’t see through them.  The greenhouse wasn’t very large – only about two meters square.

Harry smiled.  He loved extension charms.   He loved magic. 

There was a shed adjacent to the green house.  Harry opened one to find a storage shed with only a couple of hand trowels sitting on dusty shelving.  Perhaps this is where any gardening equipment had been stored? 

He went back into the greenhouse and gazed around thoughtfully.  It was a wonderful room, just waiting to be filled with projects.  It’d be wonderful to spread out a bit.  He could leave a half finished sewing project sit undisturbed.  Or use the desks for his homework.  Or play around with potions, if he could ever get ingredients to practice with. 

For the gardens, he could see potential.  Aunt Petunia had always favored showy flower beds that impressed the neighbors, so he had little practical experience but he’d sometimes dreamed of planting vegetables in his little kingdom and never dared try.  It would be too visible and just beg for Dudley and his gang to come around and wreck it. 

But what on earth would he do with fresh vegetables while he was here at Hogwarts?  It wasn’t like the Dursleys’, where he skipped meals at the house just to not have to deal with them.  It wasn’t like he needed extra food while he was here.   And there was not much point to taking it back to Privet Drive where his Aunt would never let him use the kitchen.

Perhaps something simpler to start with?  Herbs?  Mint?  Herbs could be dried to preserve them, and they’d be fairly portable. 

Was there any sort of herbal teas he could brew from what he could raise in gardens like these?  Were there seeds or cuttings he could get for free anywhere? 

And if he could figure out a little portable hot plate of some kind, that would mean he could brew hot tea while studying in here or even take it with him in the summer to his little kingdom.  If it was small enough, it’d fit in the box he kept in Mrs. Figg’s yard.  And he was sure there was probably some small pot or tea kettle in his vault if he couldn’t transfigure one. 

It was something to look into, at least.  And in the meantime, he would simply read and study in here. 

Chapter 9: The Squib Protection Act

Now that Harry was settled in, he started to ponder the Termination of Undesirable Relations paperwork that Aunt Petunia had signed.  What did it mean?  It sounded something like she was partially disowning him, but it wasn’t like he was ever going to inherit anything from the Dursleys anyway.  That would all belong to Dudley.  Why would she need to sign something like that?

She’d implied debt collectors had hounded her but in the muggle world, a person couldn’t be held accountable for a deceased person’s debt.  Once his parents’ estate was broke, wouldn’t that be the end of it?    Unless wizard laws were different. 

Harry went to the library to try to look it up, but all of the legal books he could find either didn’t mention the subject or he couldn’t decipher the dense writing any better than he could decipher the paperwork.  But…  it was mentioned in that book he’d read and not explained so maybe this was something that any wizard raised person could explain?  Who could he ask? 

He really wasn’t on good terms with any of the students and didn’t trust them not to spread gossip.  He’d already decided not to ask Mrs. Figg.  Mr. Weasley would probably know but he was a busy man with plenty of kids of his own to take care of.  This really wasn’t a thing to ask in a letter, anyway.  A teacher would probably be better, but who? 

Obviously not Professor Snape.  And Professor McGonagall didn’t seem to like him much either.  Professor Flitwick did, though.  At least a little.  Hopefully enough not to gossip.   Harry left to go see when his office hours were.  He needed to ask about that sewing charm anyway. 

 

A couple of hours later, Harry knocked on Professor Flitwick’s door, books and parchments in hand.    When Flitwick called for him to enter, he went in and closed the door.  “Mr. Potter! What can I help you with today?” he squeaked, perched on his customary pile of books.

“I’ve two questions, but neither are for class.  One’s about charms and the other’s about something personal.” 

“I might not be willing to answer any personal questions, but I’ll at least listen to them.  But let’s hear the charms question first.”

Harry pulled out his Our Happy Homestead and opened it.  “I've been wanting to learn this sewing charm.”  Harry showed it to Flitwick, who read it, brows raised a bit, then he briefly checked the cover and copyright page of the book.  “But then I looked at this version of it from the Charms textbook, and it gives completely different wand movements.”  Harry passed over the sheet, but Flitwick just glanced at it and nodded. 

“Sixth year spell!  We don’t teach it in class.  But I do see your question.  It appears to be two entirely separate spells with the same name and incantation that do approximately the same thing but in different ways.  Very curious!” he said squeakily.   “I’m not familiar with this one you found but it seems like the difference between the two spells is  –”  When he finished his explanation, he added, “Does that answer your question?”  Harry nodded.  “If you do get this version to work, please do come demonstrate it to me.  It’s not one I’ve come across before, and the description of the wand movements is rather imprecise.”

“I can do that.  I just didn’t want to waste any fabric by experimenting without knowing what I was trying to do.”

“Very wise.  Now, what’s your personal question?” 

“It’s not school related, and please don’t tell anyone I was asking?” 

“As long as it doesn’t affect anyone’s safety, I think I can agree to that.” 

“What does a Termination of Undesireable Relations do?”

Flitwick gave a high pitched little sigh, his customary cheerfulness missing.  “In layman’s terms, that means someone has been disowned, though it’s a bit more complicated than that.  There’s various reasons why it happens, but many times it is due to very strict Pureblooded parents being upset that their child marries a Muggleborn or Half-Blood.  They typically disown their child and any child born of that union.” 

Harry checked his notes for the exact phrasing.  “The reason given was ‘unacceptable level of magical aptitude.’”

“That’s a very polite way of calling someone a squib.  Sadly, it’s very common for squibs from Pureblood families to be disowned.” 

Harry blinked.  “But I’m not a squib.” 

Professor Flitwick nearly fell off his books in surprise but caught himself.  “Indeed you’re not!” he exclaimed.  “Do you mean to say that your relations filed these papers against you?”  Harry nodded.  “Most irregular!   Did you happen to bring it with you?”

 Flitwick examined the fine print of the scroll that Harry had brought with him for a few minutes.   “How it looks to be worded is that there must be an objectively set standard of magical ability that is not met in a demonstrative way.  Historically, I know that the most common standard used is admittance to a wizard school like Hogwarts with the demonstration of failure being that an invitation never arrives.  More rarely, I’ve heard of the standard set to gaining NEWTs or OWLs with the demonstration of failure being expulsion from school or not passing enough of the exams.  That’s exceptionally rare.  I can’t imagine what the objective standard might have been in your case.  This was signed before you turned two!” he exclaimed.

“Could it be …  My Aunt really hates magic, Professor.  Truly.  Could she have set the standard to me not having any magic at all and used my admittance to Hogwarts or seeing accidental magic as proof of me failing to meet that standard?”  

“Surely not!  That’s not what the law was designed for.”  He picked up the scroll and read again.  “Well… I can see how that doesn’t technically go against the definitions given.  If she hates magic as much as you say, I suppose it’s possible.” Professor Flitwick sounded baffled.  “The form is meant to be very discreet so it doesn’t require one to record the exact reasons.   No one wants a piece of paperwork with the word ‘squib’ on it.  They always want to be able to pretend that it was some other standard that wasn’t met.”

“What does that mean for me?  My Aunt only said that it meant that she didn’t have to pay for my school supplies.  She said that muggles consider us family but wizards don’t.”

“This is something that might more properly be asked to a lawyer.  I’ve only got a layman’s understanding of it, so I may be wrong.  Many years ago, when a squib was disowned, some parents simply forced the children from the home, leaving them homeless, penniless, and with few options.  Very terrible for the children who often weren’t even teenagers yet.  This practice mainly affects pureblood children who often have little knowledge of the muggle world.  In cases when the children ventured into muggle areas, they had to interact with muggle authorities, but were completely unable to give the names of any legal guardians, prior addresses, or even produce a birth certificate or proof of schooling. 

“A few decades ago, there were several bills passed meant to safeguard squibs from this practice.  The Squib Protection Acts.  They dictated that the parents must send the disowned children to muggle schools, and that they must feed and house them as long as they are attending school.

“But I’m never going to graduate from a muggle school.” 

“No, you’ve withdrawn.  You’re not attending it anymore.  So those protective provisions no longer apply to you.” 

“So, legally speaking, she can technically kick me out of the house and no one can do anything?”

“Yes, by wizard standards, she can do that.  And since it’s acceptable by wizard law, any muggle investigation into the matter is generally prevented or disrupted.”  He paused for a moment.  “Is this something she’s indicated she might do?” 

“She was going to but I managed to convince her to let me stay there in the summers until I turn seventeen.  Unless she changes her mind.”  Harry really, really hoped nothing happened to change her mind. 

“So, who are my legal guardians right now?”

“Simply put, you have none.   You’re in a legal limbo where you’re not an adult so cannot speak for yourself, yet have no legal guardians to speak for you. There’s a branch of social services that handle formal complaints but that requires that the child is in a position to complain in the first place, which isn’t always possible.  And since you’re no longer attending muggle school, that’s not available to you regardless. 

“That’s crazy…”  Harry trailed off.

“Professor, my Aunt said that she had to do this because of debt collectors for my parents’ estate.  Why would she owe money because she was my guardian?  Once the estate is out of money, debts go unpaid.  At least, it’s that way in the muggle world.”

“I’m afraid that in the wizard world, that’s not the case.  Debt is considered an inheritable part of the estate.  The reason why is complicated, but it stems from a goblin rebellion concerning inheritance rights.  Making debt inheritable was a concession given to end the rebellion.  The goblins were bitter about not achieving their main goal and pushed to make the terms for debtors as punitive as possible.  No one dares to repeal the debtors’ laws for fear of triggering another rebellion over inheriting artifacts, which the lawmakers care about far more.  You should learn about it in History class this year.  Assuming you manage to stay awake, of course.”  Flitwick gave a squeaky laugh.

“Your Aunt, who had custody of you and was paying to feed and house you, would be considered as affiliated with the estate.  She was likely to have been the legally appointed executor of the estate as well if there weren’t any valid provisions for that in your parents’ will.”

Harry stared at him aghast.   “Mr. Weasley said that the newspapers reported that they got no response to the lawsuit from the estate so they won by default.  And my Aunt said she got hundreds of letters, but she burned all of them because she refused to read magically delivered mail.  Those letters were probably the lawsuit.  So, she caused the debt by not responding to the lawsuit, then disowned me so she didn’t have to deal with the consequences.”

“If that’s what she told you happened, it it sounds likely.  Creditors don’t usually send hundreds of letters before moving on to other more severe measures.  They tend to escalate issues fairly quickly.

“I’m not sure how much you still owe at this point, but one good thing is that this happened when you were so young.  The statute of limitations is twenty one years, a decade of that has already passed, and you’ll at least have a home here at Hogwarts through your seven years of schooling.  Depending exactly on when the date of the debt was set, it should be dismissed sometime in your early twenties.  Probably twenty one years after this document was signed, give or take six months.”  Flitwick motioned to the Undesirable Relations scroll.

“But you need to find out how much you owe, if you can.  Just to see if the remaining balance is worth paying off.  It may not be.  But consequences for not paying it off can be severe.

“If you can’t pay it, there’s a lot of provisions that come into play.  Most have already happened, in your case.  If your family owned a house or land, you’ll have kept the house and up to one acre of land.  You’ll have kept furniture to furnish a one bedroom flat.  You can keep items needed for running a business or continuing your education.  But most other belongings are forfeited to the creditors.”

Harry nodded.  “A one bedroom worth of furniture, some kitchen stuff, and my parents’ school trunks was all that was left in my vault.” 

“Next is the ongoing consequences.  When you’re working in the wizard world, you may only keep 10% of your earnings.  Your employer deposits the other 90% on your behalf in a special account at Gringotts.  Gringotts keeps your allowable fixed living expenses, like rent or land taxes, plus up to 50% of the remainder and the rest gets distributed to your creditors.  

“You’ll be given a ledger to record your financial details like rental agreements and housing arrangements.  That will contain vouchers you can use to draw against your account when making certain allowable purchases.  Mainly rent, food, medical care, or educational expenses.

“There’s also a material support provision which states you can’t be given things of value.  That includes expensive gifts or a place to stay.  I believe the limit is one week per household every two years.  After that, they must charge you fair market rates on rent.

“If someone does give you a gift or service of value and it isn’t returned or discontinued within a certain period of time, they start being considered allied with you financially and the creditors can go after their assets as well.    Mr. Potter, that’s going to include your Aunt.  If she’s no longer legally obligated to feed and house you, then her continuing to do so without payment will constitute a gift.”  Flitwick’s face was very grave.

“And there’s no way she’d risk being connected with the estate’s debt.  She’s shown that already.”

“You’ll need to consider your options, but I’d suggest continuing to live there as long as possible.  With it being a muggle home, it will take the legal system a lot longer to evaluate how much a fair rental rate should be.  And, from a wizard perspective, a muggle home does not have any amenities – no floo access, no owlry, no entertainment, not in a prime wizard real estate location, muggle neighbors, small plots of land, cleaning and cooking done by hand, and so on – so the rent should be less than a bedroom in a wizard’s house.  If you throw in extra provisions like household chores into your rental contract, that will lengthen the process further because they’ll have to investigate how much that sort of labor is worth to a muggle.  Your aunt might get away with charging you a lower rent for some time before the system manages to catch up.”

“This is a nightmare,”  Harry said.  “I’m eleven!  How am I supposed to pay rent?!  I’m not even technically allowed to work yet!” 

Flitwick nodded, concerned.  “The wizard age limit for that is age fifteen or passing your OWLs, whichever comes first.  There’s hardship waivers available, which you’ll easily qualify for and will need to apply for as soon as you possibly can.  It can take months to actually go through and be granted.  But you still can’t use magic outside of school until you turn seventeen which will seriously impact your employment options.  Almost every entry level job in the wizard world requires using magic on a daily basis and the ones that don’t are generally fought over by squibs who desperately need the work and can’t afford to quibble over things like salaries or poor working conditions.  There is an additional hardship license you can apply for to be allowed to use magic early, but the younger you are, the less likely is that it’ll be granted.  It’s almost never granted to anyone who hasn’t earned at least one OWL.”

Harry sighed.  “Do you know how I can find out what I owe?  I haven’t bothered to find out about the lawsuit since I thought it didn’t matter anymore.” 

“The easiest way would normally be to contact your estate’s executor.  Which would have been your aunt but not anymore.  I’m unsure who that would be at the moment.  If there’s been no pressing legal reason to need an executor, the court may not have appointed a new one.  In that case, the next step would be asking your creditors.  I’d start with the person who originally sued your family.  It was reported in the papers, so you can check back issues.  They ought to know the monetary value they were awarded which would be a good starting point, though it wouldn’t include any court fees.  In cases like this, individuals often sell the debt off to specialized collection agencies who actually handle the legal aspects of liquidating a person’s estate.  When you contact that individual, try to find out what agency they used.  If you can’t figure that out, you’ll have to go through the ministry, which should have a record of it once it gets to the point of deducting from salaries.

“You may also want to contact the land office for property records.  Your parents were famously renting the house they were living in at the time.  But if they did own property elsewhere, an acre of that may still belong to the estate, possibly a home or building if one was there.  If that’s the case then you’d at least have a place to stay, though food and other goods would be a concern.  Rent is almost always the single biggest expense in any wizard household, followed by food.  Many other daily needs can be met with magic.”

Harry nodded, overwhelmed.  Was this part of why people in the wizard world were so focused on having an acre of land?  Because no one could take it from them?   “Thank you for your help, Professor.  I’ve been trying to decipher the legal wording for weeks but wasn’t getting anywhere.”

“For what it’s worth, I do wish I could help more.  But, sadly, the law prevents material aid.  All I can legally give is unofficial advice and common knowledge.  However, you ought to know that if there’s ever an item you need for school but cannot afford to purchase, please ask.  The school has a stockpile of lost, forgotten, and discarded items that’ve accumulated over the centuries.  We don’t advertise that fact and definitely don’t encourage its use, but those items can be borrowed by a student in cases of need.  If, say, your cauldron meets with an unfortunate accident in potions class, we should be able to supply you with one.  You can’t keep it and it can’t be removed from the castle itself – not even out onto the grounds – but you may use it while you are enrolled here.  You’d normally go through your head of house, but now that I’m familiar with your situation it might be easier for you to ask me.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

 

As Harry sat in his new garden, he pondered his next steps.  He needed a hardship waiver for working.   He needed to contact the person who sued his parents and see if he could find more information. 

Harry supposed he ought to write his aunt and inform her she needed to charge him rent and make sure the lease had as many strange provisions as possible.  Renting, only between 7 PM and 7 AM, cleaning Dudley’s messes, what meals he would be allowed, pretending he didn’t exist, not breathing the same air as them.  His aunt would probably be delighted to set unspoken rules down on paper.  Perhaps he ought to wait until spring, just to make sure she didn’t have too much time to come up with new rules.

Eating was very important.  Somehow he doubted board would be included with his room once he mentioned the possibility of it not being provided.  Well, he’d been wanting a reason to use his little garden.  He just had to figure out how to fill it full of food and then take the results home with him.  This was why one should always have a nice set of luggage.  If he had Narnia in his suitcase, he could bring a whole country worth of farms with him where ever he went. 

Maybe he could write Mrs. Figg again and ask for a list of realistic books about poor families or orphans that owe lots of money.  That might give him a good idea of what to expect.

And if he answered Mr. Weasley’s last letter about the postal service  (not that he was an expert or anything) then he might slip in a question about the best person to ask for a hardship waiver.  And a contact for the land office.  Not as urgent as the waiver, but as long as he was asking, he may as well ask for both.

Of course, he had to keep up with classes and homework, too.  He sighed.  What was the point in turning a button into a beetle? Honestly!  Buttons were far more useful, and the beetle might wander off before you could undo the spell and then where would you be?  They never learned anything useful in transfiguration, other than how to make needles.

Chapter 10: Halloween

Halloween

By the time Halloween rolled around, Harry was getting quite fed up with Hermione Granger.  She always seemed to have an unwelcome opinion about every little thing and was determined to make sure you knew. 

She was of the opinion that reading fiction was a waste of precious time that could be spent on studying.  She was of the opinion that one should study precisely what the teacher told you to study and study subjects in order.  She was of the opinion that one should have bought the exact text and correct edition of the textbooks assigned to class.  She was of the opinion that if one didn’t happen to have the exact text, one should correct that mistake immediately.  She was of the opinion that not buying the textbook in the first place was a sign that he was dreadfully irresponsible.  She was of the opinion that one should simply write home and ask for extra money if one’s pocket money didn’t cover such vital supplies as proper text books.  She was of the opinion that using the copy in the library was simply not good enough. 

When she was of the opinion that dropping an owl order catalog in front of him and loudly proclaiming that the book he needed was listed on page 23 would make him change his mind, Harry lost his temper and shouted that his opinion was that she was a complete nightmare and she stormed off in a huff.

When Ronald Weasley repeated Harry’s opinion the afternoon of Halloween, he couldn’t say he was surprised.  He agreed, after all.  Though, he could tell that Neville felt really bad at how upset she seemed.  Harry assumed Neville would be quietly disappointed in Ron once they weren’t in public.  That’s usually how Neville operated, as far as Harry could tell.

Sadly, dealing with Hermione’s opinions was his primary source of social interaction.  She wasn’t his friend.  She’d never forgiven him for possibly being bigoted against her parents.  But she talked to Harry more than everyone else did put together. 

The rest of Gryffindor had grown bored of trying to prove he hated Muggles and simply pretended he didn’t exist. 

When he sat near them at meals, conversation flowed around him like he wasn’t even there.  Increasingly, he sat by himself at the end of the table nearest the teachers where no one else was willing to sit.  But, since no one sat there and the food usually went uneaten, what got served in those seats were the leftover odds and ends that didn’t fit on the platters placed down the rest of the table, and often didn’t have the foods he’d really wanted.    All in all, He was reminded uncomfortably of being at the Dursleys.

So he started dealing with the situation like he’d dealt with the Dursleys.  He’d try to come to meals early, grab his share of the food and carry it off somewhere to eat it in peace.  Ironically, being alone was less lonely when you were the only one in the room and you had a good book to read. 

For breakfast and lunch, he was usually able to wrap something portable up in a napkin and take it out onto the grounds.  He usually wasn’t the only picnicker, so he was sure this was allowed.  For dinner, though, there was rarely anything truly portable offered, so he sneaked in as early as he could, filled his plate at an inconspicuous seat and if it looked like he could make it out the door without being noticed by the teachers, he took it off to his little garden to be eaten while he finished his homework or read.  He’d always tried to return the plate to the Great Hall in the evening but a couple of times he’d lost track of time and couldn’t make it before curfew and returned it the next morning.  No one had yelled at him for it yet, so he supposed it must be allowed.

When the time for Halloween dinner rolled around he waited impatiently for the food to be served, swooped in and grabbed his share, then swooped back out again before people had even finished settling in their seats or admiring the decorations, then retreated back to his garden to eat while he worked on his sewing charm.  He’d sort of figured it out.  Barely.  But the results just weren’t presentable yet.  Or, at least, not as presentable as doing it the muggle way was.  All in all, he would have had his third pair of trousers finished already if he’d just done it the muggle way, but he was bound and determined to do it with magic somewhere where Ron Weasley would be sure to see him.  And after that, if he wasn’t ignored, he’d make sure to tell Ron that the sewing spell could found in the sixth year charms book and give him the page number.  And he wouldn’t tell him that it wasn’t the spell he used.  He had a point to make after all. 

All in all, he’d had a very peaceful evening which was why he was so shocked to see an angry Professor McGonagall storm up to him while he was passing the first floor landing on his way down to return his dinner plate.

“Mr. Potter!  What do you think you’re doing?” 

Harry tuned and faced her.  He really hadn’t thought taking food out of the Great Hall was against the rules.  But when Professor McGonagall saw the plate in his hand, she was livid.  “Professor, I was just going to the Great Hall to –”

She cut him off.  “Of all of the selfish, irresponsible, careless things do do!  Have you no respect at all for the staff in this school?”  Harry thought that was rather unfair.  No one had told him not to, after all. 

“But I…”

“If this is the sort of importance you place on food, it’s lucky you aren’t as big as a whale.”  She vanished the plate and silverware from his hand.  “The elves went out of their way to provide the students a grand feast despite the circumstances, and this is the thanks they get?”

“I was just trying to –”

“Trying to get seconds, I assume.  As if we hadn’t provided an entire feast already!”

“I didn’t think –”

“That,” said Professor McGonagall, her glasses glinting ominously,  “is obvious.  Anyone with a half a brain would have the common sense not to act like this.  First Miss Granger, now you?  And for such a frivolous cause!  I have never been as ashamed of my house as much as I have been tonight.  Fifty points from Gryffindor, and Dumbledore will hear of this!”

Had Granger sneaked food out of the Great Hall too? Well…  He supposed…  He hadn’t seen her all afternoon, so presumably she wasn’t in the mood for company either.  “Fifty points?!  Eating dinner is worth fifty points?!” 

“Sixty!  And detention for talking back.  Back to the common room, this instant!”  McGonagall marched him along to the common room in stony silence and followed him inside. 

Scattered all over the common room were empty plates and silver.  Harry thought that this was just unfair.  If it was okay for everyone else to bring Halloween sweets from the Great Hall to the dorms, why wasn’t he wasn’t allowed to take his dinner up to the garden?  They hadn’t even bothered to return their plates!

McGonagall raised her wand and it gave a bang to get the room’s attention.  “Prefects!  I want a headcount!  Now.” She paused and waited for them to get started.  “We now have a second set of rule breaking and reckless behavior this evening.  Mr. Potter has earned you a sixty point loss from the house.  If I catch any one else set so much as a toe outside this tower before dawn, it will be another hundred.”

The tower fell silent and people were glaring.  Sixty points was a lot of points to lose in a single night.  Plus whatever Granger had lost.    The prefects completed their checks, found no one missing and McGonagall left.  Whispers started up as soon as the portrait was closed, and stares followed Harry up to  his dorm.  But Harry noticed that Neville looked a bit startled, rather than angry. 

He’d just settled in with one of the books Mrs. Figg had recommended when Neville came into the room and asked what had happened. 

‘I ate dinner.  Well, that was only fifty.  The other ten and the detention were for talking back.”  Neville looked shocked and, oddly, just a little bit guilty.  Harry wasn’t in the mood to deal with any other questions so he stood and closed the bed curtains.

Mrs. Figg’s book and Mr. Tufty’s reassuring purr did soon distract him from his irritation. 

The book was about a well-off boy whose father had owned a businesses specializing in importing rare potions ingredients, and his employee had taken all of the company’s gold down to Central America in order to acquire ingredients, then vanished under suspicious circumstances, leaving the company unable to pay its bills.  The company folded and the father was swamped in debt.  (Harry supposed there were no such thing as LLCs in the wizard world.  Every business he’d seen so far looked family owned.)

They’d lost their old elaborate manor house, including a house elf (Harry wondered what a house elf was, though he gathered it liked to cook and clean.), and been forced to move to what was meant to be a groundskeeper’s cottage for their former vacation home and had most of their belongings taken away.  The boy had cried when they took his beloved broomstick.   (Harry was aghast!  He loved flying!  If he had a broom, he’d fly every week! Maybe Harry had once owned a broomstick that got taken away too.  Well, his parents anyway, he supposed a fifteen month old baby probably didn’t have a broomstick of his own.   Unless it was some children’s toy, like a little tricycle that flew.  Did they make toy broomsticks?)

The man had been forced to get work in a competing potion supplies firm and took his 10% allowed take home pay in the form of barter goods (Harry wondered what barter goods were) instead of cash.  The mother, who had no real skills because she’d always been a high-society trophy wife, had to get a job, but her family connections managed to get her a highly desirable job as a grocer.  She also took her pay in the form of barter goods, which is what made working for a grocer so desirable in the first place.

Most of their former rich friends had shunned them for being so poor, but they made new ones who were sympathetic – especially those who were poor themselves – but no one could really do anything to help them out.  (Harry thought that was a bit like what Flitwick had described to him – no material support allowed.)  And they settled in to a reduced lifestyle, learning to cook and clean for themselves and planted a huge kitchen garden which did a lot of the work in keeping themselves fed.  The boy had fun playing with the local kids and wandering around the woods after his chores were done.

After several years of this, the father’s careful management of money and clever use of barter goods had kept them mostly comfortable and they managed to pay off their debt far earlier than anyone had expected.  But they decided they liked the small town lifestyle and never bought another manor house.  All they really needed was an acre after all.

Harry stroked Mr. Tufty thoughtfully.  That book had made it seem not that bad.  There was a lot of hard work, yes, which the characters had hated at first but Harry was used to already.  And they’d been sad when they lost their belongings and old friends.  But Harry had been too young to remember that part, and they’d made new friends, just like Harry had made friends with Mrs. Figg and Mr. Weasley and gotten advice from Professor Flitwick. 

And it sounded like the people in the book started off in a good position – they already owned land with good gardening soil that had a home on it – so they didn’t have to pay rent.  And they’d both had good jobs with desirable barter goods – the potions ingredients that the father used to rebuild the business, and the food that the mother used to trade for practically everything else they needed.  So, that wasn’t at all like his position.  Harry made a note to himself to look up barter goods.  They seemed important.

But all in all, it seemed not that bad.  Lots of work, of course, and no excess anything and certainly no luxuries.  But Harry thought he could do it.  It was difficult right now that he was only eleven and couldn’t get a good job.  But he really only needed to worry about that two months out of the year.  Hogwarts could feed him for the next six years, then he’d be able to get a real job, one that used a wand.   Maybe even before then, if he got that second, harder to get hardship waiver.  And he only had to worry about it for six or so years after graduation, right?  That wasn’t forever.

The last thing Harry thought of as he fell asleep is that he needed to look up what Gamp’s Law was.  It had something to do with transfiguration and gardening, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what. 

 

But, though Halloween had ended on an optimistic note, the next day was awful.  First, he’d tried to look up Gamp’s law in his transfiguration textbook and couldn’t find it.  Since they’d had transfiguration that morning, he’d stayed behind to ask Professor McGonagall.  She glared at him and gave him another detention for his “cheek.”  Harry had to admit that he often was a little cheeky in class if he hadn’t done the reading and didn’t know the answer.  And he also had to admit that he found turning hedgehogs into pincushions rather useless so he often skimped on his studying and didn't know the answer a bit more often in her class than in his other classes.  But he hadn’t any clue what was cheeky about Gamp’s law.  He vowed to not ask McGonagall anything ever again unless it was related to classwork.  Who wanted detention when they could just go to the library instead?

Second, was all the glaring and whispering and pointing from the Gryffindors and the smirks from kids in other houses.  He even heard a cheerful “Way to go, Potter!” but by the time he turned around, he couldn’t figure out who had said it.  The Gryffindors were now dead last for the house cup, which made the other three houses happy. 

Thankfully, Neville and Ron seemed to be stealing at least a little of the Gryffindors’ attention, with their share of the stares being admiring and their “Way to go, Longbottom!” being sincere.  People were so strange about Longbottom.  Harry wondered what he’d done to gain their approval this time.  The only weird thing about it was in the midst of this admiration, Hermione Granger had taken to sitting with the pair in classes.  Ron told her off yesterday, badly enough that she wanted some peace and quiet for the afternoon, but less than a day later they’re acting like friends?  Girls were so strange.

Third, he’d been informed his detention was to be the next night, mucking out the thestrals’ stables under the watchful eye of Mr. Hagrid.  Though the idea of possibly petting an invisible skeletal horse sounded really interesting, the idea of dealing with dung while being glared at by Mr. Hagrid was not.  All the other students seemed to agree that Hagrid was cheerful and welcoming, but he seemed to take Harry’s reputation rather personally.  Maybe he was just unusually against fantasy readers?  Or were fantasy readers unusually against him?  Harry wasn’t entirely sure how to go about figuring that out.

The fourth misfortune was due to rather poor planning on Harry’s part.  He grabbed his breakfast and lunch and left, as usual, grateful to escape the glares.  But for dinner, Harry hadn’t dared take another plate out of the Great Hall and since he had no other food, he had to stay and eat dinner in the hall while people stared and whispered.  Harry was miserable.  Truly, he really preferred people who pretended he didn’t exist to people who wished he didn’t exist.  Perhaps tomorrow he could take extra sandwiches at lunch time and save them for dinner?  Or, he could see if there was a spell for transfiguring something into a dinner plate.  He rather doubted that though.  That sounded far too useful to be something transfiguration could do.

And the last misfortune was Mrs. Figg’s bad taste in literature.  He started the second book she’d recommended him.  It was about a man who had an unknown enemy that arranged his misfortune and downfall, sending him far into bankruptcy.   Once the man was penniless, his unknown enemy hounded him at every turn, finding ways to charge him for all sorts of fees and services, turning people against him so that he couldn’t get a good job, and using pseudonyms and other agents to file frivolous lawsuits every chance he got for years which the penniless man always lost by default because he couldn’t afford a lawyer.  It sent the man spiraling further and further into bankruptcy every year, and it was clear that there was no way he would ever be free of the debt until twenty one years after his unknown enemy had died.  It was so dreary and depressing that Harry quit halfway through.  Harry wondered why Mrs.  Figg had recommended it to him.  He’d specifically asked for realistic books, and this was so contrived.   Though Harry supposed it wasn’t all bad.  The man was forced to move from town to town every few weeks, living a nomadic lifestyle.  Which at times sounded lonely but Harry kind of envied how much of the world he got to see.  Imagine going so many places!  Seeing so many things!  He’d only ever seen Little Winging, London, and Hogwarts.  And, best of all, his home was his magical luggage, so he got to take it with him wherever he went.  Anything that involved luggage and travel couldn’t be all bad. 

Chapter 11: The Daily Prophet

After another week of practice, Harry finally managed to get the hang of the sewing charm.  It’d taken him far longer than he’d expected to get it, but he did it!  And the sewing with the charm was far easier than sewing without it.  His results were about the same as hand stitching for now, but he could tell that he’d get faster and neater results with some more practice.  Even the last seam he’d sewn on the trousers was better than the first. 

Harry saved the hemming for last and made sure to casually cast the last two spells to finish it off just as Ron walked into the room and could clearly see his needle moving.  He was quite amused by the look on Ron’s face, though he tried to pretend he didn’t notice.  He supposed he really ought to be nicer to Ron.  It wasn’t Ron’s fault that Ron didn’t like him, after all.  It just sort of happened that way.

But every time Harry started feeling guilty about riling Ron up, Harry would think of all the fights about Mr. Tufty and Scabbers and changed his mind.  Ron’s current opinion was that Mr. Tufty should not be allowed into the dorm room at all.  Harry had already gotten Percy to recast that chicken house spell to keep Mr. Tufty out of Ron’s half of the room, instead of just the bed.  Harry’s current opinion was that it wouldn’t be a problem if Ron just kept Scabbers out of Harry’s half of the room.  It just seemed fair after all.  And, of course, Harry’s half of the room was the half with the door, because why on earth would Scabbers want to leave the safe dorm room?  He just slept all day!  It’s not like he was an active rat.  And Mr. Tufty spent a lot of time wandering Hogwarts while Harry was in class.  Every time Harry came back to the dorm and saw Mr. Tufty with a satisfied look on his face, he knew they were due for another fight. 

Hermione kept being friendly with Ron and Neville.  They even seemed to be friends now which seemed rather sudden to Harry, but it really wasn’t any of his business.  Though she did seem to be getting a tiny bit better. 

One evening in the common room a few minutes after Harry had pulled out his alternate defense book to work on an essay, she came up to Harry and loudly proclaimed she was sorry for badgering him about his Defense textbook.  “But really,” she continued in a bossy sort of voice, “you should have just told me you couldn’t afford the book.  I would have dropped the subject if you’d been honest.”  Harry was flushed with embarrassment, and he spied Neville standing behind her, looking embarrassed too.  Hermione was only a tiny bit better. 

Neville had started trying to talk to Harry every once in a while and sat with him in class sometimes.  Harry thought that was a bit odd, but kind of nice.    Though Harry still hadn’t figured out why Neville looked a bit guilty and sad every time he spotted Harry leaving the Great Hall early.  Harry took advantage of Neville’s strange mood to ask him for a recommendation on a book about indoor gardening and his opinion on the best place to get cheep seeds or cuttings for things like mint or chamomile that might make good herbal teas and be easy to grow.

A few days later, some sprigs of mint and lemon verbena appeared on his bed, a bit of dirt still on their roots.   Odd, but kind of nice.  Harry wasn’t entirely sure he should be planting them in November, but despite the cold and frost visible in the forest outside his window, it was fairly mild in his garden.

Harry had gotten his reply from Mr. Weasley with the contacts for the hardship waiver and the land office and promptly wrote to both of them.  In gratitude, Harry responded to Mr. Weasley’s questions about vacuum cleaners, but unfortunately had to declare ignorance on how they created the vacuum pressure.  He gave it his best guess, though, and was able to explain most of the rest of it.    Then thinking of his need to make some summer plans, he added a note saying mentioning that he’d heard Mrs. Weasley was a great cook and asking for her recommendation for the best book to use to learn to cook with magic and her favorite cookbook with simple recipes, few ingredients and limited kitchen supplies.  

Mrs. Figg’s last book about a person in debt was more of an adventure story.  It was set in the 1800s and the debtor was so upset at his creditor that he joined the crew of a muggle sailing boat and spent the whole twenty one years traveling around the world, having adventures, doing his best not to pay a single knut to his creditors.  But every once in a while the creditors’ agents caught up to him in a foreign port, beat him up, and stole all of his cash.  But Harry made sure to remember the idea that one might be able to get a job where part of the payment was room and board.  Inns? Hotels?  Might make things easier.   He wondered what muggle cruise ships were like to work for.  Were there magical cruise ships?  Wouldn’t that be grand, living on a boat and seeing all sorts of foreign countries.

Harry spent several afternoons in the library perusing back issues of The Daily Prophet, trying to find as much information on the lawsuit as he could.  Many of the later articles were simply lurid speculation as to possible nefarious reasons why the estate couldn’t be contacted and hand-wringing about a war orphan who was going to grow up mired in a mountain of debt. 

But the further back he went, the more actual information he found.  The pictures given of the cottage in question made it look a bit damaged but there didn’t look to be any major structural issues.  It had several construction industry workers’ opinions on the cost to repair the structure (noting that the inside could be more badly damaged than was visible in the photo), an analysis of the likely value of the cottage as a whole and average rental pricing in the area.  The amount requested in the lawsuit was orders of magnitude higher than the estimated damages, even more than the estimated worth of the cottage.  There was also a note about how the law firm that had been hired had a reputation for being extremely pricey, so legal fees would be high if the lawsuit went badly enough that those got paid too and the extended process to try to contact the executor of the estate would also result in high court costs, though that wasn’t the plaintiff's doing.  And other extra damages got tacked on as the process got dragged out – provisions for loss of reputation, for loss of current income, the loss of future income – both short term due to needed repairs before being able to rent it again and long term due to the loss of reputation.  The list of things being sued for seemed endless.  And endlessly shady.   No wonder why people still remembered the story after a decade.

The more lurid later articles had made him a bit leery of the reporting quality for the Prophet, but these earlier articles seemed well researched.  Harry noted down the name of the reporter for future reference. 

The very first few articles contained the most about the person who filed the lawsuit.  A Herodotus Tremulous of Godric’s Hollow who was noted to be in extremely poor health at the time of the article being written. 

Harry noted down his name and made a note that if he didn’t get a reply, he might need to check the obituaries to find a possible next of kin.

Harry pondered his options.  Probably best to put all of the blame on the unknown executor.  At least until he had some of the info he needed.

Dear Herodotus Tremulous,

I am Harry Potter, the son of James and Lily Potter and am currently in my first year at Hogwarts.  I’ve been trying to make some plans for my future but I desperately need more information on my financial situation before I can know what to plan for.  Unfortunately, I’ve not been able to get any answers from the person who I suspect was the executor at the time, and I don’t know who the current executor might be or even if there is an executor at all at the moment. 

It was suggested to me that you might be able to fill in at least some of my knowledge – the final amount of the lawsuit, the possible remaining debt,  etc.  Would you be willing to provide any of that information that you might have?  If a company was involved in the collection process, could you please send me that information as well? 

Anything you are able to tell me is an improvement, since all I currently know is what was reported in the Prophet. 

Sincerely,
Harry Potter

Harry decided that was the best it was going to get and went to hunt up books on indoor gardening. 

 

Sadly, though, it seemed that a lot of the specialized spells he found were above his skill level.  There were specialized spells to keep a greenhouse warm in winter and cool it off a bit in summer or to regulate the temperature of an individual planter or to pollinate plants without bees, but they weren’t spells an eleven year old could cast.   He might be able to cast the one to contain roots, though, which was handy with his mint. 

Well, he’d work on it.  And work around it in the meantime.  He didn’t really need half of that anyway.  He needed one crop full of vegetables, not summer foods year round or tropical flowers.  But the bee thing might be a problem.  No bees, no flowering vegetables like beans or peas.  Which was fine, he supposed.  He could start with seasonal root and leafy vegetables and herbs and save the rest for another year.

Though, with the deep snow outside, piled against the windows, it might get a little chilly in here.  He’d seen Hermione Granger conjuring a bunch of blue flames in a jar.  Those would be nice to have just for his own personal comfort. 

That was a place to start, at least.  Blue flames, root and leafy vegetables that he could harvest in June, herbs, and their preservation.  And seeds bought in time for spring.

 

Harry took a break from all of his research to go watch his first ever Quidditch game.  It was just as chaotic and wonderful as he’d been hoping it would be.  All full of swooping and dodging and diving and racing.  It looked like it’d be a lot of fun to play.  A bit rough, but fun.  The seeker position, especially, looked great.  Harry imagined himself up there doing some of the swooping himself.  For once, he really envied all of them – to be lucky enough to play a game like that.    He vowed to himself to go flying a bit more often and perhaps do a bit of swooping on his own.

The only shame was that Gryffindor lost, due to a poor seeker.

 

Harry had been hunting through the library but hadn’t found a good spell to create the jars that he’d seen Hermione use for the blue flames.    Getting frustrated with his search, he decided to just ask.  He walked over to their table where she, Ron, and Neville had been intently skimming books about famous wizards for the last few days.  Hermione gave him the name of the book and what shelf to find it on then asked about the sewing charm.

“Ron told me it was taught in third year charms but I wasn’t able to find it in the book.”

“Oh, it’s actually in the sixth year textbook, but Professor Flitwick said he didn’t usually teach it in class,” Harry said as casually as he could manage, then had to struggle to keep a straight face at seeing Ron’s sour expression.    He knew he really shouldn’t, but annoying Ron was amusing.  Neville, though, looked thoughtful at this news.

Harry went off to find the book Hermione had used and discovered it was full of spells to transfigure useful household items from common but less useful items.  Harry grinned.  Now, this was the book that McGonagall should have picked as a textbook!  It was turning out to be a really great day. 

Chapter 12: The Mirror of Erised

In early December, Professor McGonagall had passed around a sign up sheet for the break and Harry had promptly signed up.  He’d much rather be here than on Privet Drive. 

From the looks of the sign up sheet, though, only a couple of upper year Gryffindors were staying.  If the other houses had about the same, the castle would be rather empty.  It would be very odd to see the common room empty and quiet. 

He had received a reply from the Ministry’s land office which gave the form to fill out to request a deed search.  However, there was a fee for this process which was quite high if they had to search the deed records for the full country but would be significantly lowered if Harry could supply the general area of the country and narrow down their search.  Harry looked at the listed prices and winced.  The full deed search was definitely not possible for the foreseeable future – at least, not while he was in school.  But the reduced price for a general geographic area was much more affordable.  Not that Harry could afford it right now, of course, but if he could narrow down the search far enough…  it would probably take a couple of summers of savings, but he could do it!  Now he just had to figure out where they had lived. 

During a bad snowstorm, the owl who he’d sent to try to find Herodotus Tremulous returned with the letter still undelivered.  Harry wasn’t sure if that meant Herodotus had moved out of Godric’s Hollow or had died but considering what the Prophet had said about his health, Harry thought his best next step would be to search for an obituary.  Harry thanked the owl for trying, especially considering the horrible weather, and carried her off to Hagrid so she could be nursed back to health. 

Due to the poor weather and drafty, ice-cold corridors, Harry had started eating more of his meals in the Great Hall where he could safely presume his meal wouldn’t freeze before he could eat it and there was always a nice pot of hot tea to drink.  Unfortunately, that meant that when he received his response from the office that handled the hardship waivers, he was in the middle of his breakfast and the regal, official looking owl gained a fair amount of curiosity.   Luckily, the fact that he generally sat alone at the end of the table worked in his favor for once and he managed to finish his breakfast and leave before anyone could figure out a polite way to ask. 

He was a bit too early for his Potions class so he had plenty of time to read his letter.  The form looked rather complicated – asking all sorts of questions about amount of property owned, number of people living in his residence, their ages, the amount of education completed, their incomes, total amount of debt, and so on, with a section to write out any special circumstances for consideration.

Harry pondered this.  Up til this year, he’d lived with his Aunt and Uncle, but was that still true?  By the standards the ministry would use, his Aunt and Uncle weren’t actually his Aunt and Uncle and he didn’t currently have any of his belongings there, nor did he have any sort of rental agreement.  So, he supposed he didn’t technically live there at the moment.  He was here at Hogwarts, of course, but he didn’t legally live here either.  Didn’t homeless people use “No Fixed Address”?  He could put down that, he supposed.  And he didn’t actually know if he owned any property nor did he know the amount of debt.  Income was… very low, but he hadn’t actually kept any sort of accounting for it.  He knew how many pounds he spent on school supplies and how many pounds he’d managed to earn after that, but he hadn’t really counted the pounds he’d spent before receiving the letter from Hogwarts. And if he listed income that he’d earned and he was the only person listed on the form, it’d be clear he’d been working illegally.  Should he be admitting that officially?  This was so much more complicated than he’d imagined it’d be. 

Well, he’d fill out what he could and ask for advice later.  He filled in “Unknown” for property and debt, “No fixed address” for his address, “1” for number of persons in household, his name, age, and education and had just finished casting a drying spell on the ink when the form was snatched out of his hand. 

It was Draco Malfoy.  Malfoy was generally unpleasant and rude, especially to Gryffindors.  Though Malfoy didn’t go out of his way to insult Harry personally, Harry got the feeling that Malfoy was torn between wanting to congratulate Harry on his great taste in fantasy literature and sneering at him for being poor.  In the end, Malfoy tended to compromise by ignoring Harry himself and insulting him by proxy while mocking Ron.  He’d point out that Ron’s robes showed his ankles and then say “Maybe you should get the name of the shop Potter buys his clothes from.  Surely if he can afford his robes, your family can afford to shop there too.”  Or once, “Well, you must feel like a king next to Potter, Weasley, but you’re still the second poorest in the school.”  And so on.  Harry really didn’t like Draco Malfoy. 

Harry had looked up a few good jinxes in the library, just in case, but Malfoy never insulted Harry to his face or while he was standing next to him – just when he was barely within range to hear him.  By the time Harry could even begin to respond, Ron had usually escalated the argument beyond mere mocking.  From what Harry had heard by listening to people talk in the dorms, the Weasleys and the Malfoys had been feuding for several generations.  The last thing Harry needed was to insert himself into a century long fight.

“Give that back, Malfoy!”  Harry reached for his application, but Malfoy had already retreated out of range and was reading it quickly. 

“Oh, well done, Potter!” Malfoy exclaimed.  By now, the rest of the class had gathered to wait and were listening curiously.  “See here, Goyle?  He’s listed “No Fixed Address” and only himself in his household.  On a ministry document, too.”  He handed the form back to Harry just as Snape opened the door.  “I see you really are doing your best to separate yourself from your … undesirable relations.”  He sounded impressed.  Even friendly.

Fuming but not willing to start a fight with Snape sneering at them, Harry turned and entered the classroom.

After class, while Harry waited for Hagrid to finish moving the Christmas tree out of the hallway, he heard Malfoy say “Really, Weasley, I know you want to improve your position in life, but there are proper ways to go about it.  Maybe you should ask Potter for a copy of that hardship waiver application that he’s filling out.  Your family would easily qualify.” Harry decided he actually hated Draco Malfoy.

 

Two days later, Harry settled in near the fire in the Gryffindor common room and breathed a sigh of relief that the train had left and the school was nearly empty.  Before, people had nearly stopped talking about his supposed hatred of muggles – not that they had forgotten about it, they just stopped whispering about it.  But now that Malfoy had made his remark about undesirable relations, everyone had started speculating about it again.  Luckily, the only person to dare to directly ask him why he claimed to have no relations was Granger.  And her “You can’t just lie on a government form.  They count!  Even if they’re muggles!” was countered with his asking where her name was on the form that made it her business, which made her flounce off.   Harry knew that probably wasn’t the best possible response with regards to his reputation, but there was just no way he was explaining his situation to anyone unless he had to.

Mr. Tufty in lap, he sat and began the Christmas book that Mrs. Figg had recommended to him. 

It featured a Slytherin girl in her first year at Hogwarts.  Her mother had suddenly come down with dragonpox so the family home was quarantined, and she wasn’t able to go home for the Christmas break.  Since she’d only gotten the notice the day the Express left, she had no time to make any alternate arrangements with her friends’ families and had to stay behind at Hogwarts. 

No one her age in Slytherin had stayed so she was lonely and homesick until she made friends with a Gryffindor first year, who invited her back to the Gryffindor common room and they spent the whole break toasting marshmallows and sausages over the fire, playing chess and having snowball fights with the other Gryffindors who stayed.

Harry tried to imagine that.  No other first years had stayed this year.  Or second years for that matter.  What if Malfoy had stayed?   He couldn’t even picture Malfoy in the Gryffindor common room.  He’d sneer too much.  What about Weasley?  Harry thought of Ron and himself sitting around the Gryffindor common room fire playing chess and eating marshmallows and had to laugh at how unlikely it sounded.  They would have just fought all break long.  The snowball fights sounded fun though.

Another book she’d recommended was about a misanthrope who wanted to escape the “frivolous” holiday celebrations and rented a small, ancient manor for the season, only to find that the ghosts that lived in the manor held a huge holiday party every year and invited all of their ghostly friends.  Instead of being left in peace, he had half the ghosts in England traipsing through his study and wishing him a merry Christmas at every turn.  In disgust, he retreated back to his family and decided that the yearly Christmas dinner there wasn’t nearly half as unpleasant as eating it alone.

He also read adventure stories about traveling and exploring the world, about cursebreaking expeditions in jungles, about chasing and capturing exotic, unknown animals, about dealing with foreign muggles who are even more baffling than English muggles.

He didn’t spend all of his time reading, of course. 

Virtuously, he spent an afternoon searching the Daily Prophet, looking for Herodotus Tremulous’ obituary and then wrote to his surviving son Augustus Tremulous asking all of the things Harry had wanted to ask his father.

He wrote to Mr. Weasley, thanking Mrs. Weasley for the recommendation on cooking books, answering his questions about ballpoint pens, and wishing them a Merry Christmas.  He’d thought of trying to get him a gift, but the only thing he could think of that he could make that Mr. Weasley might need would be a new set of robes for Ron, and that’d be like giving him an argument for Christmas so Harry decided it’d be politer not to.

He wrote to Mrs. Figg and sent her a card and a bookmark he’d made.  He even convinced Mr. Tufty to put his paw print on the letter wishing her a Merry Christmas.

He and Mr. Tufty did some more exploring of abandoned nooks and crannies.  Mrs. Norris and Mr. Filch had come across him a time or two, and Harry couldn’t decide whether Mr. Filch was disappointed he didn’t have any rule breakers to chase and punish or if he was happy they weren’t around to make messes he might have to clean up.  Harry wished them a Merry Christmas despite Mr. Filch’s grumpiness. 

He did have to do some studying, too.  He practiced from the book Hermione lent him until he could make a reasonable teapot from a rock and delicate teacups from spare parchment.  He learned a shrinking spell so he could fit more things into his trunk.  He even played with trying to put an expansion charm on his pockets but wasn’t too surprised when that one didn’t work at all.   And, grudgingly, he did his homework.  Even the useless transfiguration.

 

On Christmas Day, Harry awoke and as he hadn’t expected any presents at all, he was shocked to find that he had two!

Neville had sent him a package full of tiny packets of various seeds for herbs.  Some would be very useful for the herbal teas he’d mentioned months ago but others were simple kitchen herbs like parsley and basil.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had sent him a lovely green sweater, gloves, and mittens.   Ron really did have the best parents in the whole world.

 

Harry had plenty of time to explore that holiday.  He managed to find a room where he could faintly hear playing from the hallway but all music ceased as soon as he touched the doorknob.  He found a room he thought was an old ball room and another that had scorch marks everywhere and long rectangles and circles traced out on the floor, which he thought was for dueling.  He found another room that looked like it might be a blacksmith’s forge, with a couple of rusty blades lying around.  He wondered what sorts of magic could be put into a blade that would be better than just using your wand.

Of all the wonderful things that Harry found that holiday, the strangest was a mirror he found inscribed with the words “Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.”  Looking into the mirror, Harry saw himself, as he expected, but he also saw his parents and a few other people, some of whom he could recognize from the photographs he’d found in his father’s trunk. All were smiling and waving at him, and his father even had his hand on Harry’s reflection’s shoulder.   

Behind the group was a small, neat cottage, a good size for raising a family.  Behind the cottage, he could see the edge of a garden, and on the front stoop was a trunk with multiple locks and lots of shipping labels that Harry imagined were from all sorts of exotic locales.  It looked like the kind of place one might leave for a while and come home to, time and again and pass down in the family for generations.

Harry contemplated the mirror thoughtfully.  He’d never really thought much about his parents.  He knew he’d had them once, of course, but they’d always been a rather abstract concept to him rather than real people.  Having a home and an acre to put it on was something he could grasp.  He had experience with that sort of thing.  Having a family?  That was completely foreign.

The Dursleys’ insistence that his parents had died while driving drunk hadn’t encouraged him to think much of them, and Mr. Weasley’s brief comment that they’d died during a war didn’t really give him much idea of what they were like either.  He didn’t even know how they’d died, exactly.  Were they innocent bystanders trying to flee? Or fight back? Were they there on purpose to fight? 

And his godfather and father’s friend who moved in to raise him?  He knew even less about them.  He didn’t know exactly what was wrong with them, though he imagined that anything that magic couldn’t fix in a decade worth of treatment probably couldn’t be fixed at all.  He wasn’t even sure what their names were, other than his godfather was a Black.

But seeing them there standing right next to the mirror image of him made them seem almost real.    Harry stood there for a long time wondering what it would have been like to have been raised by people like them in a little house like that. 

Harry returned to look at the mirror again the next day but he saw Headmaster Dumbledore in the room and left before he’d be spotted.  The day after that, the mirror was gone.

 

If he couldn’t look at his parents and godfather, he decided he’d read about them instead.  He spent a couple long afternoons in the library, searching for news articles about their deaths.    Since he knew the date of the attack on the cottage, those articles were easiest to find. 

They recounted that the evening in question, Sirius, Remus, and himself were at the cottage alone when a group of Death Eaters, including Bellatrix, Rudolphus, and Rabastian Lestrange broke into the home, attacked, and, after a brief duel, incapacitated Sirius Black and Remus Lupin,   They then tortured them, seeking information on the whereabouts of You-Know-Who.  The cottage had been under a fidelus charm, making gathering reinforcements very difficult.  By the time that help had arrived, Black and Lupin had been tortured into insanity.  Bellatrix and Rudolphus were captured, but Bartimaus Crouch Jr. was seen fleeing the scene.  After a search of the cottage, Harry had been found safe, hidden in a small cupboard. 

How the Death Eaters managed to circumvent the fidelus charm was unclear.  The Lestranges had been shown the address written on a piece of parchment but neither knew where Crouch had obtained it.

Harry wondered how terrible a torture session it must be to drive a pair of people insane for over a decade.

The only mention he could find of his parents’ deaths was a tiny article saying that on the night of August 13^rd they, along with Peter Pettigrew, had died during a duel with an unknown number of Death Eaters after a powerful blasting hex had blown up the street.  Funerals for all three were to be closed casket.

This, Harry mused, told him at least a little about their deaths, but nothing much about the living people he’d seen in the mirror.  He wished he knew who their other friends had been so he could ask them for stories.

That night, Harry slept and dreamed of men screaming and a female laughing.

 

The night before the other students returned, Harry convinced one of the upper years who’d stayed to cast the anti-vermin spell on his half of the dorm.  What Ron didn’t know, they couldn’t argue about.

Chapter 13: Augustus Tremulous

In early January, Harry got a response from Augustus Tremulous and opened it eagerly. 

Dear Mr. Potter,

I am happy to provide what information I have, though I doubt it’s as much as you were hoping for or need for planning purposes. 

For what it’s worth, I sincerely apologize for the role my family played in your current circumstances.

My father had been ill for some years and was unable to work.  I was only able to work sporadically, as I needed to take time off to care for him during his bad spells, and we relied on the rent income from the cottage to pay our expenses.  We had little in the way of savings so when the cottage was damaged, it was a priority to get it repaired as quickly as possible so we could get it let out again. 

We spent what little we had on a solicitor to sue the estates of the Death Eaters involved, hoping we could force their family to pay for repairs.  The Lestrange family hired their own solicitor who made the case that your godfather and his friend had done a portion of the damage and that their estates be included in the lawsuit as well.  Unfortunately, the Black family also had Death Eater ties and I suspect that they and the Lestranges colluded in delaying the lawsuit in hopes I’d have to drop the issue due to a lack of funding.

One of the delaying tactics they insisted on was to add your parents’ estate to the lawsuit on grounds of providing false information during the rental process.  I didn’t see the harm in this step.  Both my solicitor and my father felt the charge was frivolous and assumed the executor of your parents’ estate would be able to easily get this dismissed – or at least their share of the damages reduced to be fairly trivial in cost.   

To our surprise, we were unable to contact your executor at all.  We sent letter after letter for two or three weeks without response.  My solicitor investigated was able to determine that the executor chosen by your parents’ will was a Mr. Peter Pettigrew, who died the same night as your parents.  We had no explanation for how this had happened – the magic involved in the will should have automatically disqualified him as executor as it’d similarly disqualified your godfather. 

Obviously, a dead man cannot be an executor of an estate so we were at an impasse.  My solicitor advised me that we would have to put the lawsuit on hold, petition for the courts to appoint a valid executor for you, then restart the process. 

Unfortunately, by this point, my family was desperate. We had no steady income and my father’s medical expenses and legal fees were racking up a great deal of debt.  We didn’t have the means to continue the lawsuit but not winning it would mean we’d loose everything we had due to the debt we’d accumulated. 

At this point, we received a visit from an agency named Alvaraz and Sons, who offered to resolve the lawsuit for us.  They’d take the case on speculation, pay us an up-front settlement for the cottage and our legal fees, and if they won, they’d keep all the excess. 

All we had to do was to give them a binding, irrevocable power of attorney to authorize them to deal with the legal matters and take a vow to not comment on the case publicly. 

We knew that Alvaraz and Sons had a rather shady reputation, but we didn’t see the harm at the time.  As I mentioned, the two families involved up to that point both had Death Eater ties and we didn’t worry about their financial state.  We felt they deserved whatever they were forced to pay.  And we assumed that your new executor, whomever that might be, would not have any problems with winning their portion of the lawsuit since the case was so flimsy.   The case had not received much publicity at that point, so we didn’t worry about discussing the case publicly either.

We agreed to sign their papers, received our settlement, and our part in it was done.

We were horrified to read in the paper that the lawyers that Alvaraz and Sons had hired were focusing their lawsuit solely on your parents’ estate and that your new court-appointed executor could not be reached either.  But by then, there was nothing our family could do to stop the lawsuit from proceeding.  We couldn’t even share our side of the story to the Prophet.

I really have no explanation as to why Alvaraz and Sons did what they did.  It seemed completely illogical to my family and our solicitor.  It shouldn’t have worked, and yet, from what I understand, they were awarded significantly more money in total damages than they’d paid to our family. 

I’ve enclosed information on the settlement I received.  But the actual amount your estate paid was far, far more.  I’ve also enclosed the contact information for Alvaraz and Sons.  Hopefully, they’ll be able and willing to provide you the information that you require. 

Once again, I’m deeply sorry for our family’s role in this matter.  I’ve often thought of you and your family over the years and feel horrible about how it all turned out.  We never had any intention for events to play out as they did.  If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please let me know. 

Sincerely,

Augustus Tremulous

 

Harry sat back in shock.  From what The Prophet had reported, he’d expected Mr. Tremulous’ family to be the driving force behind the lawsuit.  He thought they’d be greedy and money hungry, not apologetic, sympathetic figures trying to survive like he was.

Why on earth would a dead man be appointed as the executor of the estate?  How were those chosen?  The letter said it was the magic of the will, so was the will faulty?  Considering the timing, Sirius had to have been the executor of his parents’ estate up until he was tortured to insanity in early November, at which point the duty fell to Peter Pettigrew, who had been dead for months at that point and shouldn’t have been considered a viable option.  But if the will was faulty, how did it know when his godfather became insane and update it to Pettigrew?  Wasn’t being dead an easier thing to determine than being mentally unsound?

Harry wondered how Alvarez and Sons got involved if the case wasn’t publicized yet, and why would they chose to sue his parents’ estate if the odds of that lawsuit winning were as low as Mr. Tremulous thought. 

He’d write them, of course, and request information.  He needed to know the date for the statute of limitations, and if the remaining debt was low enough he might pay it off but given the circumstances, he felt very similarly to the man in the third book that Mrs. Figg had recommended to him.  He wasn’t all that interested in paying the company any more money than he absolutely had to. 

 

That evening, Harry watched in amazement as Scabbers crossed the line where he could have sworn the anti-vermin spell had been cast.

 

A few days later, he knocked on Professor Flitwick’s office door. 

“What can I help you with today, Mr. Potter?” he squeaked.

Harry showed him the group photo he had of his parents and their friends.  “I was thinking of my parents over Christmas, sir.  I found some photos in my father’s school trunk, but I don’t know who anyone is.  Would you remember any of their names?”

“I can try!  Sometimes names and faces do blur together and it’s been over a decade.  Let me see.  Ah, this looks like it is almost all the Gryffindors of your parents’ year.  This is your mother and father, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin –”  Professor Flitwick went through the photo, trying to recall all of the names. 

“So, this girl, Marlene McKinnon, was my mother’s best friend?  Do you think she’d mind if I wrote to her?  I was hoping to know a bit more about my parents.” 

Flitwick sighed.  “Unfortunately, she died a year or two before your parents.  She was also a muggleborn and her family was targeted by Death Eaters.  Your mother did have one other close friend when she was younger, but they had a falling out in their fifth year and never spoke after that.  I can ask, but since he was not friendly with your father I doubt he’d be willing to speak with you. 

“I can tell you what I remember of them, but I’m limited in my knowledge as I only saw them in class.  Lily’s favorite subjects were Charms and Potions and she had a lovely sense of humor.  James enjoyed Transfiguration most, and he and the other Gryffindor boys were always up to some sort of mischief, always in detention.  At times, he could be a bit of a bully, though when he was older, he tended to focus that mostly on people he thought were in support of You-Know-Who.  I remember one time when he –” and Professor Flitwick continued on for some time relating a few anecdotes about Harry’s parents.  “I’ll see if I can dredge up a few more fun stories to share with you.  Professor McGonagall was their head of house and would certainly have more she could tell you.  She was in charge of arranging all of your father’s detentions, after all.”

Harry laughed, thanked him, and went to see when Professor McGonagall’s office hours were.

 

The first months of the year sped by in a busy blur. 

Harry managed to bargain with Hagrid to trade a week worth of mucking out the thestrals’ barn for some of the resulting compost to use in his garden, though Mr. Hagrid was quite grudging about it and made all sorts of comments that how he’d keep an ear out for complaints children causing mischief with compost or dung.  Really, Harry mused, Mr. Hagrid was almost as grumpy towards him as Mr. Filch was to the other students.

With the compost, though, Harry managed to get the seeds he’d ordered and the seeds Neville had given him for Christmas planted at the recommended times.  The catalog had even had options for ordering potato and onion seeds, which seemed rather cheap compared to the onion sets and seed potatoes.  Since he was going to be harvesting them earlier than recommended, he reasoned that they’d probably be a little smaller than he would expect, so he bought the seeds and planted a lot more than he thought he would need.

And, with that, Harry fell to researching magical stoves.  It wasn’t like he could conjure a fire where the neighbors might see, after all, and they’d be too nosy if they saw him cooking so it had be as discrete as possible.  For once, Ron, Hermione, and Neville weren’t in the library studying about famous people.  Harry supposed they’d managed to find whatever it was they’d been looking for. 

Chapter 14: The Forbidden Forest

Harry was glad most of his pressing gardening chores were in the early spring because by April the teachers were piling on as much homework as they could, trying to get them ready for exams. 

One afternoon just after Easter, Flitwick had held him after class and gave him a scrap of parchment with the title of a book on it.  “I think you might enjoy this one.  A book of short mystery stories staring a boy about your age.  It’s quite topical, with the exams coming up.”  Harry was baffled but decided to read it anyway.  And, even more baffling, it was one of the few fiction books in Hogwarts’ limited selection.

When Harry settled in to read it in his garden, with Mr. Tufty on his lap and his dinner beside him, he found it was a book of very short mystery stories where the main clue in each story would be to identify the charm being cast from the description of the wand movement, or the effect by the incantation, or determine who was lying by whose description of effects versus the incantation didn’t match, and so on.  All the solutions to the mysteries were at the back of the book.  Some of the mysteries, Harry was able to solve easily, but others he couldn’t.  Grinning, he got out his charms book and found that all of the spells could be found in the first year text book.

An hour later, when he was doing the wand motion along with the book’s description to see if it looked familiar, it dawned on Harry that this was the sneakiest way ever to make him study for his exams. 

But, he supposed, this was more fun than reading and re-reading his textbook, trying to memorize it.  Maybe there was something like this for all the subjects!  One could hope, anyway, though he doubted that it was possible to make History seem interesting or Transfiguration seem useful.

He was so wrapped up in reading that he didn’t realize he’d missed curfew until Mr. Tufty started getting irate and interfering with him turning pages.  He wasn’t that late though.  Not if he hurried. Harry packed up his books and rushed back to the Gryffindor tower as quietly as he could manage. 

Unfortunately, though, he ran into Professor McGonagall when he was just a hallway away from the entrance. 

“Mr. Potter!  What are you doing out after curfew?”

“I’m sorry, Professor.  I got caught up in studying for Charms and lost track of time.  I’m on my way back to the tower now.” 

Professor McGonagall examined the books he had in his arms, considered the distance to the Fat Lady’s portrait, then pulled out her watch and checked the time.  “Humph.   Five points will do, I think.  And detention.”  Harry was relieved.  “I hope,” she continued archly, “that you will spend just as much effort studying for Transfiguration as for Charms.  Your grades would definitely benefit from it.” 

Harry gratefully escaped into the tower and up to his dorm.  At least this hadn’t been another fifty points like last time.  Oddly, though, the dorm was empty.  He’d passed Dean and Seamus in the common room.  Ron, of course, had been in the hospital wing with an infected hand for the last couple of days.  But where were Neville and Hermione?  He hadn’t seen them in the common room. 

 

The next day, Harry noticed that the giant hourglass showing Gryffindor’s points was noticeably emptier.  A lot emptier.  Everyone else noticed too, and there was lots of whispering and muttering.  Soon, Harry saw lots of people glaring at Neville and assumed that he was the cause. 

He didn’t really care about the points or the House Cup, but Neville seemed upset about it so Harry stopped by the library table he, Ron, and Hermione were studying at and asked what had happened. 

“Professor McGonagall caught Hermione and me out after curfew and took fifty points each.”  Neville sounded miserable.

Harry was surprised.  “Really?  She caught me out after curfew that same night and only took five, and she likes the two of you way more than she likes me.  I don’t understand McGonagall’s point system sometimes.  Remember when she took fifty points from me, just for eating dinner?”  Neville laughed.  “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like we were in first place anyway, so it doesn’t matter all that much.  It took a few weeks for people to stop glaring at me but it did go away eventually.”

Neville seemed a bit happier.  “Thanks, Harry.  Would you… Uh … Would you like to sit and study with us for a while?”  Ron glared at the offer, but Hermione didn’t seem to mind much. 

Harry considered it, but he didn’t feel like going all the way up to the seventh floor garden to fetch his books and all the way back down to the library.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t.  I just came in here to get a book I needed.  All of my books and homework and things are upstairs.  Maybe another time?”  Neville nodded and Harry got his reference book and retreated to his garden to finish his essay.

 

Two nights later, Harry, Neville and Hermione went down to the entrance hall where they joined Mr. Filch and Malfoy. 

Mr. Filch lead them out outside, lighting their way with a lantern, muttering vile threats the whole time.  “… hang you buy your wrists from the ceiling for a few days,” he said at one point.  “I’ve got the chains still in my office.  Keep ‘em well oiled just in case they’re ever needed.”

Now that Harry was witnessing Filch in the midst of administering a punishment, he thought he was probably wrong about Mr. Hagrid being almost as bad.  It seemed that Mr. Filch’s bad mood was much worse than him in a good mood.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a gray shadow moving to follow them but he couldn’t make out what it was, though it wasn’t very big.

In short order, Mr. Filch had ushered them on out to Mr. Hagrid’s hut where he was waiting for them.  Mr. Hagrid greeted Hermione and Ron cheerfully and told the group about an injured unicorn in the Forbidden Forest then organized them into pairs, putting Harry with a scared looking Malfoy and Fang, while he escorted Neville and Hermione. 

As soon as Hagrid was out of sight, the gray shadow that Harry had seen earlier appeared again.  Malfoy yelped when he saw what Harry was looking at.  “What is that?  My father won’t be happy if I tell him that something tried to eat me.” 

The shadow moved closer into their wand light, then gave a friendly meow.  “Mr. Tufty!” Harry exclaimed.  “Come to supervise us?”  Harry reached down to give him a stroke, but most of Mr. Tufty’s attention was on the surrounding forest. 

“Oh, is that your cat?  What good is a cat going to do?”  Malfoy sounded a bit embarrassed.

“Well, probably nothing.  He’s rather small.  But he’s a half-kneezle and very smart.  Even if he can’t do anything directly, he can warn us if he notices something or fetch help.”  Malfoy scoffed a bit, but they did start moving down the path Hagrid had sent them on. 

They walked for what had to be at least half an hour, with Malfoy whispering all the while about his father hearing of things and servants’ work he was too rich to do himself and how Hagrid was an uncultured oaf who didn’t understand the value of practicing one’s penmanship by writing lines.

Every once in a while, Harry whispered back something he’d read about the Forbidden Forest.  “Did you know acromantulas live in here?  Big giant spiders that will eat anything that moves, including people.”  And “Centaurs live here too.  I heard the war they started a century ago began with them shooting arrows at students they’d found trespassing in the Forbidden Forest at night.”  And “Lots of moonlight tonight.  I didn’t stop to check.  Do you think it’s a full moon?  I thought I heard a werewolf just now.” 

Malfoy got a bit more scared and upset after each of these which, of course, led to him complaining more about how he was too good to be out at night and his father would disapprove.

To that, Harry added, “I think I saw something moving up in that tree.  See?  There, hanging from the tree limb.  Don’t you think it’s moving?  I think it’s a big snake.  I heard there’s giant snakes here.  Very venomous.”  And a while later. “It might not be a snake.  It might have been a Devil’s Snare.  Better not step off the path, it’s very dark out and it’s a long time til dawn.”  

Harry was determined to pay Malfoy back for every snide comment said about his finances all year. 

He had just finished whispering that the low, throbbing noise that they’d heard might be the call of an augury and asking if he was right that hearing it foretold a death when Malfoy gave a shriek and set up a fountain of red sparks.

“What is it?  What did you see?”  Harry looked in the direction that Malfoy was staring.  He thought he saw a hint of motion but it stopped moving before he could make out anything other than that it seemed a bit taller than them. 

“A great, giant shadow!  A monster!  I bet it’s that thing that ate the unicorns!”

Harry glanced at Fang and Mr. Tufty.  Neither one seemed very concerned, so Harry figured that whatever it was, it was probably harmless. 

“I’m sure it was nothing.”

“It was huge! And vicious.  I think that it had big giant teeth.  I saw something shining in the moonlight.”  Draco was becoming louder the more upset he got and refused to move on.  So Harry settled in to wait.  

By the time Mr. Hagrid appeared, Malfoy’s imagination had turned the slight moving shadow Harry had seen had into a horde of vicious, cannibalistic centaurs just waiting to start another long war by killing him and feeding his body to an acromantula to hide the evidence.

Mr. Hagrid was upset at all the noise that Malfoy had made but did listen to Malfoy’s ravings.  When he asked for Harry’s version, Harry confirmed he’d seen something about the height of a man moving in the trees, but that it’d left fairly quickly and never approached.  He also added that neither Fang or Mr. Tufty had reacted badly. 

“Yeh’d better hope it wasn’t a centaur.  Yeh’ll a made ‘em right angry inultin’ ‘em like that.”  Hagrid seemed rather disgusted with Malfoy.

Mr. Hagrid led them back to where he’d left Hermione and Neville, then sent Harry off with Neville while he stayed with Malfoy and Hermione.

Quietly, Harry whispered the story of Malfoy getting scared at what might have, possibly, been a centaur, which made Neville laugh and whisper back about the centaurs they’d met.  Neville did still seem rather nervous, though Harry didn’t blame him.  He hadn’t been lying about the acromantulas, after all. 

Plus, the longer they walked, the more unicorn blood they started seeing on trees and the more uneasy Mr. Tufty seemed to get. 

Then they reached a clearing with something white in the center.  When they entered the clearing, they realized it was the unicorn they’d been looking for.  Neville took a step closer, but Mr. Tufty blocked their way, hackles raised and hissing quietly.  Harry grabbed Neville’s robe and tried to drag him back to the trees.  “Something’s wrong.”  Harry whispered, as quietly as he could.

And then a shadow moved from the other side of the clearing and crouched over the unicorn.

Behind them, Fang gave a big yelp and hurtled off into the underbrush in fear and attracted the shadow’s attention to them.

Just as Harry had gathered enough wits to try to run, Neville collapsed beside him, and Harry crouched, trying to pull him up with one hand while shooting red sparks with the other.    Hooves sailed over their heads as a centaur jumped over them and confronted the shadow, chasing it off.  Harry sent several more streams of red sparks, hoping Hagrid would hurry.  After a minute, the centaur turned and started helping Neville up.  “Are you alright?” He asked them.

Later, Harry sat in the common room, listening to Neville, Hermione, and Ron worriedly discuss the Philosopher’s Stone, Snape, and Voldemort and contemplated how during his first real adventure, his first taste of danger, he’d been too scared to even try to run until it was too late and hadn’t been able to think of a single useful spell, other than to call for help. 

Chapter 15: Down the Trapdoor

The days leading to the end of the term seemed to fly by.

Harry dutifully wrote a letter to his Aunt explaining to her that, in order not to undermine her Termination of Undesirable Relations paperwork, he’d been advised he needed to pay rent and asked her to write out a rental agreement for Dudley’s second bedroom including the provisions like allowed hours of use, chores, what meals she’d allow him to eat, rules like removing his belongings during the day, etc., just so they could have something to point to if someone checked that the laws were being followed.

He wrote Mrs. Figg another letter, asking her if she’d mind noting down who might be in need of gardening or lawn work for him and if she’d mind delivering the enclosed letter to his Aunt since his Aunt hated owls. 

He got a response from Alvaraz and Sons that merely stated the outstanding balance still owed to their company, about as much as the estimated worth of the destroyed cottage, but refused to give any further details, referring him to the official court documents and his executor for any further questions he might have about the amount of the settlement itself.  Harry decided he was under no obligation to pay them a single knut more than he had to. 

 

Harry thought he’d found a partial solution to his cooking problems.  In his search for kitchen appliance designs, he’d found instructions on how to make a children’s toy oven out of a wooden box.   It wasn’t very big and apparently didn’t get quite as hot as a real oven, but it was big enough for cooking for one person, cool to the touch on the outside, wasn’t visibly magical if one didn’t apply all the cosmetic details the book suggested, and the box would hide the food from sight so no neighbors would actually see anything cooking.  Even if they tried to investigate any smells, all they’d see would be him sitting next to a small box.

It involved runes, which Harry had only read about and never tried to use, but most of the difficulty in runes seemed to be in designing them to do what you want. Once you had a design, implementing it was much easier.  If Harry put the box together, following the directions exactly and didn’t try to alter anything, he could handle most of it himself. 

There were better methods to make a stove using transfiguration and charms but making those spell effects permanent wasn’t taught until fifth year and up.  The longest lasting transfiguration he’d managed so far had lasted two days before his tea cup reverted to a piece of parchment.  Whereas effects from runes could theoretically last as long as the runes themselves remained intact. 

Harry carefully put the box together, making sure to follow the instructions as closely as he possibly could, inking the runes where he thought they ought to go and took it up to Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes professor, so she could check his work. 

“Well,” she said as he came into her office, “you look a bit young to be in one of my classes.  What can I do for you, Mr…?” She trailed off leadingly.

“I’m Harry Potter, Professor.   I found a design for a toy oven made using runes and was hoping that you’d be willing to check my placement for the runes before I try doing any carving?”

 “Well, that sounds ambitious.  It depends on the design and how well you followed it.  Let’s see it.  Did you bring the design as well?”  Harry nodded put the box in front of her and opened the book to the right page.

“Hm…”  She looked critically at the box, and compared it to the design in the book.  “It looks like you almost have it.  You need to keep an eye on the length and angles of your lines.  Tiny flaws in those can make a whole design fail – sometimes catastrophically.”  She took out her wand and made a few small changes to the lines Harry drew.    “I think that should do it.

“Have you ever done any rune carving before?”  When Harry shook his head, she went to a storage cabinet and took out a small set of tools and a length of wood.  I’ll show you how.” 

She demonstrated the technique on the sample of wood, then drew a few runes on it and handed him the tool.  “Here, give it a try.”  Harry practiced for a few minutes while she gave him tips on his technique. 

“Okay, I think you’re getting the hang of it.  You can take the carving set for now and bring it back later.  Draw a few dozen practice runes on that sheet of wood and practice carving them out as precisely as possible before you try it on your oven.  Remember, you want to start and stop your carving exactly where the line you drew ends.  Even a millimeter or two off can make a big difference with something like this oven.  When in doubt, carve a shorter line.  A too-short line can be easily extended.  A too-long line might ruin it all and force you to start over.

“Whenever you think you’re done, bring it back to me and let me check it over for you before we try activating it.”  Harry thanked her, then left.

When he finally finished the week before exams, he brought the box back to her to get her approval.  She did a final few tweaks before activating the runes, then disappeared for a few minutes.  When she came back, she had a few balls of cookie dough on a small baking sheet, and she showed him how to turn the oven on and set the right temperature and put the sheet of cookies in the box.

“Now, Mr. Potter, while we wait to see of those bake properly, have you worked out what these runes are for? Or did you just blindly follow the instructions?”

“Well, I mostly followed the instructions, but I have read some of the textbook already.  I think this group here with Kenaz is the one that does the heating, since Kenaz is a fire rune.  And this group –” Harry continued explaining what he thought the runes did, Professor Babbling nodding along at times.

“Good!  You’re missing most of the nuance and fine detail, of course, but that will come with more knowledge and practice.  You wouldn’t normally design something this complex until NEWT level, so it’s quite a bit above what I’d expect a beginner to understand.”  She opened the box and peeked in, then opened it to show the baked cookies. 

She levitated the tray out of the box, then picked up one of the cookies and took a bite.  “It tastes like your oven is working just fine.  I hope I’ll see you in my class in your third year?” 

Harry smiled and agreed. “Thanks for your help, Professor.”  Professor Babbling sent him off with the rest of the cookies, his finished box oven, and strict instructions to not experiment with Runes without her supervision until she said otherwise. 

 

Summer arrangements all finished, except for his hardship waiver which he couldn’t do anything about except wait, and harvesting which he was going to do after exams, he buckled down and studied frantically, even the more useless transfiguration spells. 

 

The night they finished their last exam – the dreadfully boring History exam – Harry stayed up later in his garden harvesting as much of the herbs as he was going to take with him and getting them set up to dry using the instructions he’d found in Our Happy Homestead.  That took much longer than he’d intended but he couldn’t stop right in the middle of it, so he kept going.

When he was finally done, it was past curfew, so he had to be careful sneaking back to the tower.  Luckily, he made it without getting caught.  But as he stepped in, he saw Ron, Hermione, and Neville in the process of getting ready to leave, looking worried about something.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Nowhere, Harry.  Nowhere.”  Neville hid something behind his back.

All three of their faces looked guilty and a bit frantic.  “You’re obviously going out,” Harry said.

“No, we’re not,” said Hermione.  “Why don’t you go to bed, Harry?”

“Why are you going out?” Harry tried.  “You guys look worried about something.”  Harry thought for a moment.  “Is this about the Philosopher's Stone you were discussing after our detention?” 

“Yes!  We think Snape’s stealing it right now.  We’re going to stop him,” Neville exclaimed.

Harry thought there was something a bit flawed in this plan.  “You guys are going to stop Snape?  Do you think you’d win against him in a duel?  Have you tried telling a teacher instead?” 

“Well, yes, but Professor McGonagall just told us to go play outside.”  Hermione sounded disgusted.

“What about Professor Flitwick?  McGonagall’s a pain but Flitwick is great.  He could take on Snape.”

Hermione huffed in frustration.  “We’re running out of time!  Snape could be there right now!”

“Harry!” Ron exploded, “get away from that hole and don’t be an idiot!”

Harry moved out of their way.  “Why don’t I go get Flitwick and send him there too?  If someone’s really trying to steal the stone tonight, he’ll be able to help.  He was a dueling champion and everything.  If I tell him you guys went to the third floor, he’ll have to go investigate, if only so that you don’t get hurt.”

“Do whatever you want,” Ron snapped as the three of them rushed out the door.

Harry ran to Flitwick’s office but he was no longer there.  Then he checked the Charms classroom and the teacher’s lounge.  All were empty.  He went back to the hallway Flitwick’s office was on and started waking up portraits, asking them how to get to Professor Flitwick’s quarters and making quite a bit of noise, hoping all the while for a professor, any professor to come investigate the racket.  He was contemplating going back to the tower and waking up a prefect for help when he finally found a portrait willing to give him directions and knocked loudly on a rather short portrait located at ground level. 

A minute later, Professor Flitwick opened it, wrapped in a dressing gown, and gazed up at him.  “Mr. Potter,” he exclaimed, “what on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

“I’m sorry, Professor, but Neville, Ron, and Hermione think someone is going to try to steal the Philosopher's Stone tonight.  They went to the third floor to try to protect it.”

Professor Flitwick gave a start of shock.  “How do they know about the Philosopher's Stone?” he squeaked.  “Why do they think someone’s going to steal it tonight, specifically?” 

“I don’t know.  I just caught them in the middle of sneaking out and they told me where they were going, so I thought I ought to tell a teacher just in case they were right.”

“Well, Professor McGonagall would have been closer, I’m sure, and she’s your head of house. Or  a prefect.  But, yes, I’ll go take a look.  Even if they aren’t correct and there’s no one in there, that corridor is dangerous.  In the meantime, why don’t you head back to your tower and go to bed.  I’ll send them up to bed too, when I find them.” 

Relieved, Harry walked back to the tower and waited impatiently for any news. 

 

It was a very long time before the portrait opened and Hermione entered alone.  Her eyes were red and it looked like she’d been crying. 

Harry was on his feet in an instant.  “Is everyone okay?  What happened?”

Hermione nodded, eyes wet and nose sniffing.  “Neville’s unconscious and Ron’s hurt too.  madam Pomfrey said Ron will be fine by the morning.  She said Neville would be alright eventually, but I could tell she was still worried when they made me leave.”

“What happened?  Was Professor Snape really down there?”

“No, it was Quirrell.”

“Quirrell?” Harry exclaimed.  “Why did he want to steal it?”

“I don’t know.”  Hermione sniffed again.  “I just overheard Dumbledore and Flitwick talking.  They said he’s dead.”  Then, Hermione related all that had happened, with them going through the obstacle course, then Dumbledore and Flitwick showing up together just as she and Ron were trying to get back up the pit with the Devil’s Snare and how Flitwick had escorted her and Ron to                       the hospital wing while Dumbledore went ahead to check on Neville and the stone.

“Wow…” Harry finally said.  “I’m sorry Professor Flitwick didn’t show up to help any earlier.  He wasn’t in his office and it took me forever to find a portrait that would tell me where he lived.  If I’d just given up and gone for Professor McGonagall instead or come here to find a prefect to tell her, maybe she could have gotten there sooner.”

Hermione shook her head.   “It’s not your fault.  You tried.”  They sat and talked a while longer before going to bed.

Chapter 16: The End of Term

The week between exams and leaving was fairly busy for Harry.  He had plenty of work in his garden, harvesting, cleaning up, and storing all of the vegetables he’d planted that spring. 

Starting with the root vegetables, dug up the potatoes and onions and cleaned them off and set them out to dry a little and cure, using a spell suggested in Our Happy Homestead.  They were still rather small but he’d planned for that and planted a lot extra so he still had enough of them to last him the summer.  The carrots he dug and packed them into a makeshift bag he’d made from one of Dudley’s old shirts and some of the dirt from one of the beds to help keep them damp.  The radishes were similarly gathered up.

While he was bending over to scoop up some dirt that’d fallen to the ground when he’d gotten a little too enthusiastic digging up a stubborn potato, a series of symbols etched onto the sides of the raised beds caught his eye.  They were positioned in the middle of the bed, right under a small lip, where they’d be difficult to spot.  Curious, he inspected the other raised beds and found the same symbols in similar positions in the other beds as well, all positioned to be invisible from anyone standing anywhere, or sitting in the central area or at any of the tables lining the windows of the room.

Harry grabbed a quill and parchment and sketched down the symbols as accurately as he could, vowing to look them up later.  They seemed to be more ideographic than the runes he’d studied so far, but they obviously had some sort of purpose.

Once he was finished harvesting and cleaning the root vegetables, he moved on to the leafy ones.  He had found a spell to extend the freshness of greens by a couple of weeks, so he also had only planted as much lettuce, spinach and rocket as he thought he could manage to eat in that time period.  It was a simple matter to harvest those as well.

With everything harvested, he shrunk them as much as he could and packed them into transfigured jars to keep them organized.  The spells would wear off if he didn’t recast them every few days, but they’d at least fit in his trunk this way.  Then he worked on the dried herbs, crushing those for later easy use when cooking and packaging them up as well.  And, finally, he picked more of the mint and lemon verbena and applied the same freshness charms he’d used on the leafy greens and packaged that up to make tea for as long as that lasted as well. 

His diet might end up being a bit basic with mostly root vegetables, but at least he wouldn’t starve during the summer.

After that, little by little, he started smuggling all of the jars of food back down to his dorm room, along with all of his books, parchment, quills, ink, his oven box and even the remainders of a couple of bolts of cloth and various sewing implements. 

Really, Harry mused, he must have brought half his trunk up to the garden over the course of the year!

It was a struggle to get everything packed up in his trunk.  Harry just barely managed to get it all to fit, even with the shrinking spell he learned and the extension charms on his trunk.

 

Just when he thought it’d never show up, his hardship waiver finally arrived, accompanied by a ledger to use for a new Gringotts Debtor’s Account.  Enclosed in the package was a note stating that his law breaking, as proven by him having income to report on his application, was being noted on his criminal record but as this had happened in the muggle world and was such a low amount, they’d consider it a matter for muggle authorities and not pursue it legally, nor require him to forfeit any of the earnings to his creditors.  Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

 

In between the bouts of gardening and packing, he visited Neville, though it took several attempts before madam Pomfrey finally agreed that she’d allow him to go in.

Harry handed him a small bouquet he’d made of sprigs of mint and lemon verbena.  “A get well present.  Should be enough there for a few cups of tea.”

Neville took a deep sniff of it and smiled.  “So you did get it to grow, wherever it is you disappear off to to study.  I’ve been wondering.  I’ve seen you with dirt on your robes a few times so I figured you were working on something.” 

“Yeah, everything grew great.  Thanks.  Do you mind telling me what happened?  Hermione told me all she knew.”

Neville related how Voldemort had possessed Quirrell all year in order to steal the stone.

“So, not dead after all.” Harry stated in shock when Neville was finished.

“Seems like it.  Gran’s not going to take it well.  She’s already pretty paranoid.  She’ll be even worse when she hears about this.”

“Suddenly, I’m wishing Binns taught us more recent history, not just old goblin rebellions.  I really don’t know anything about You-Know-Who, just what was in that tiny chapter in the book for Muggleborns, and it didn’t really say much at all.”

“Same here.  I know some, of course, but not a lot of details.  No one really likes talking about it.  They’d rather just move on and try to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“You know,” Harry said, changing the subject, “I wonder if your mirror is the same one I saw when I was exploring over the Christmas holidays?”  Harry told him all about the mirror he’d found that showed him his parents, and they’d moved on to talk about the other interesting and strange things Harry had found when madam Pomfrey finally shooed him out the door so Neville could rest some more.

 

Neville was released just in time for the leaving feast which Harry attended for once.  Dumbledore had awarded Gryffindor a hundred and seventy points at some point during the past few days – Harry presumed this was for what happened on the third floor – which brought Gryffindor up from dead last to a respectable second place so almost everyone cheerful about it even if Slytherin had won the cup in the end.  The one exception to this was Oliver Wood who was crying that if only they’d had a better seeker, they could have earned more points for Quidditch and won both the house and Quidditch cups. 

 

The morning they were to leave, Harry got a package delivered in the post at breakfast, accompanied by a short note.

Mr. Potter,

After our chat about your parents this spring, I took the liberty of writing to some of the students who’d been in school at the same time as James and Lily and asking if they had any stories about them that they’d like to share with you.  Enclosed are their responses and a few photographs.

Sincerely,

Professor Flitwick

Harry opened the package and found a small box full of a few dozen letters in various handwriting.  Touched that the professor had gone to such a great effort, Harry went to go thank him, but the professor had already left the Great Hall.  Harry had to settle for leaving him a note of thanks stuck to his office door.

 

Then, suddenly, everyone was in a rush to finish packing and meet the train.  Harry, who’d done most of his packing when he brought his belongings down from his garden and had returned his final set of library books that morning, was able to sit and observe the chaos.  Finally, Neville surveyed the area around his bed and closed his trunk.  “I think that’s everything, other than Trevor.” 

“Do you need help finding him?  I can go find a prefect to cast that pet finding spell again,” Harry offered.

“Nah.  I can get him.  It’s only a variation on the Point Me spell.   I thought a third year spell would be too hard to learn, but then you did that sixth year spell, so I kept working at it and managed to figure it out right before exams started.” 

Harry grinned as Neville pulled out his wand and cast the spell and followed a glowing blue line in the direction it was leading him.

 

Harry wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but he ended up sharing a compartment with Ron, Neville, and Hermione on the Express.  Though he mostly read instead of talked, and Ron still had bouts of suspicious glaring, and Hermione was still rather chilly towards him, it was a far more pleasant trip than the one at the start of the year had been.

 

In the pushing and shuffling to line up to exit platform nine and three quarters, Harry got separated from Neville, Hermione, and Ron and found himself several places ahead of them in the queue.

After he’d made it through the barrier, Harry spotted Mrs. Weasley and Ron’s sister and headed over to say hi.

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at him.

“Busy year?” she said.

“Very,” said Harry.  “Thanks for the sweater and the scarf, Mrs. Weasley, and thanks for the list of cook books.  I didn’t get a chance to try any of it, but I’m sure I learned a lot.”

“Arthur and I have been talking, and we thought you might want to come visit at the end of the summer.  I know you can’t stay very long, things being what they are, but we’d love to have you over for a few days.”

Harry grinned.  “I’d love to come.” 

Behind him, Ron’s sister said, “There he is, Mum, there he is, look!” Harry glanced back to see Neville, Ron, and Hermione had just exited the platform.

“I’m sure Arthur will be owling you soon, and you can work out the details.  Have a safe trip home.”  Then, as Mrs. Weasley was distracted by greeting Ron and Neville, Harry slipped away to catch his bus.

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Undesirable Relations