Chapter Text
“I shouldn’t have done that,” were Harry’s first thoughts as he shook from adrenaline under the fluorescent streetlights.
In just ten minutes, he had blown up Aunt Marge, run away from home, and now found himself standing in the cold, plotting a way to seek refuge at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. How was he going to get there anyway? He couldn’t apparate, nor did he have a portkey. Harry groaned as he wrapped his arms around himself against the freezing summer night, wishing he were at the Burrow with his friends.
He can’t believe he had done that. Most people say that accidental magic stops once you start learning magic, but clearly that wasn’t the case with Harry. As it usually is. He was tired of being the exception, the one person people can’t stop staring at for no reason other than that he did something when he was a child that he can’t even remember. And frankly, he thought it was stupid.
Why did people expect him to be some sort of superhero when he’s fundamentally the same as everyone else, minus some anger issues?
The rage and fear from escaping the Dursleys' house slowly ebbed out of his body, instead being replaced by a wave of panic. What was he going to do? He was in a muggle neighbourhood with no money, no way to get help, and no way to get to London. To make matters worse, Harry also realised that he had performed a bout of underage magic. Would he be arrested? Detained? His wand snapped? Locked in Azkaban? Or worse, expelled from Hogwarts?
He kicked a rock mindlessly, his mind whirling with the recent events and the stress that had accumulated throughout his entire life so far. Memories of the Dursleys’ treatment of him flared up, along with the open wounds on his back— no. Not now. He pushed those painful memories to the back of his mind, where no one, not even he, could access them.
A sudden rustle in the foliage across the road from him startled Harry, pulling him from his rapidly spiralling thoughts. He squinted, adjusting his taped-together glasses.
“Lumos.” He whispered quietly, not wanting to alert whatever was lurking in the bushes.
The form of a humongous jet-black dog suddenly took shape in the shadows, its skeletal sides heaving with each breath. Its eagle-like yellow eyes shone ominously at Harry, who yelped in shock, tripping over his own feet and falling hard onto the bitter cold pavement.
He scrambled around in the darkness for his glasses and miraculously found them just as a large, blurry purple shape materialised before him with a loud BANG. Clambering to his feet, he hastily shoved his glasses onto his face and took in the scene before him.
A double-decker bus screeched to a halt only inches away from where he had originally been standing, and Harry stumbled back slightly in surprise. He glanced around, looking for the dog, but it had vanished back into the night. Feeling uneasy, Harry read the golden, painted name atop the bus doors: “The Knight Bus”.
********
After a long and somewhat awkward ride, Harry was finally dropped in front of the Leaky Cauldron with his luggage and owl cage in tow. The back of his neck prickled; the recent discovery of Sirius Black being on the loose as not just a Muggle murderer, but a wizarding killer, still unnerved him. If he were to go to Azkaban, would he look as crazy as the man Stan Shunpike had shown him a picture of? Was he going to have to spend the rest of his days in hiding? Would the Aurors be coming for him at any moment? Harry figured he might as well enjoy his last day before being shipped off to Azkaban or going into hiding.
Glancing around Muggle London for the last time, savouring his final moment of freedom, Harry sighed and tentatively stepped into the Leaky Cauldron.
The bar was bustling with patrons, albeit a tad quieter than usual, which contrasted sharply with Harry's anxious, fidgety mood. The landlord, Tom, stood as he always did, polishing that one glass with a microfibre cloth. Harry offhandedly wondered if anyone had ever actually used that glass, or if Tom just polished it to keep himself looking busy.
A hand clamped down on Harry’s shoulder, and he bit back a yelp as he was spun to face the owner of the hand.
“There you are, Harry,” said the figure, not unkindly.
As Harry’s eyes came into focus, the figure of nobody but Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, came into view, and his stomach sank even lower. His life was now officially over.
The Minister flashed a professional smile at Harry, but the ruffled hair and undone top button of his pinstriped cloak told a different story.
The little man turned to the landlord, “Tom, could I request a pot of tea?” He eyed the other patrons, who were now watching the scene closely, and added, “And a private parlour, if you will.”
Tom eagerly nodded and immediately directed them to a passageway leading off from the bar, clicking his fingers to ignite a small flame in the grate. Once Tom had bowed himself out of the room, Fudge hastily took off his long cloak and sat down, draping it over the back of the chair.
“Sit down, Harry,” he instructed, beckoning towards the cushioned seat nearest the fire. Everything in Harry was telling him to run, to hide under his invisibility cloak and run off to another country; nevertheless, he swallowed his rising anxiety and forced himself to sit down. This was it—he was going to Azkaban. What would Ron and Hermione think? What would Dumbledore say? He could already imagine the sneering voices of Malfoy and Snape, “He deserved it, serves him right for being such a brat.”
"I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic." Fudge extended a hand, and Harry hesitantly took it, shaking it briefly before returning to wring his hands nervously.
Harry already knew who Fudge was, of course, from both word of mouth and from seeing him at Hagrid's hut while under his father's invisibility cloak, although he wasn’t to know that.
Tom reappeared, bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placed it excitedly on the coffee table in between the two and flashed them each a toothless grin. Harry responded with an uncertain grimace, his stomach still in knots. Why can’t Fudge just tell him he’s going to Azkaban already?
“Well Harry,” Fudge suddenly said, pouring himself some of the steaming tea, “you had us all in a right frenzy, what with running away from home and all that—“, He put the teapot down, plopping an obscene amount of sugar into his tea, “—At least you’re safe now.”
Fudge took a sip of his tea and scrunched up his face, and Harry assumed he had burned his tongue. Trying to mask his blunder, he set his cup down and pushed the tray towards Harry.
“Eat, Harry, you look like you’ll drop dead any second.” Fudge directed kindly.
Harry subconsciously adjusted Dudley's old clothes, which hung loosely on his gaunt frame, hoping the Minister wasn’t referring to his weight. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to notice how he had been treated all summer, especially with the looming threat of Azkaban.
“Now then, you’ll be pleased to hear that the incident concerning Miss Marjorie Dursley was promptly managed on scene by two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department, and she has no recollection of the events that transpired this evening. However— “
Harry's soul stopped. This was it. These were his final moments of freedom before a squad of Aurors stormed in and dragged him off to Azkaban. He clenched his fists, staring a hole into the tray on the table.
“—There’s some good news and some bad news. I’ll spare you the anxiety and tell you the bad news first. You were expelled from Hogwarts for breaking the Statute of Secrecy and attacking a Muggle— “
Harry's head snapped up. “She was insulting my parents! It was accidental magic; I couldn’t help it!”
Fudge raised his hands placatingly, “While we at the Ministry understand that, the Trace wasn’t aware of it and automatically expelled you from school without our knowledge. Since then, we have been working tirelessly from behind the scenes to re-enroll you at Hogwarts. The good news is that you are now a student again for the coming years.”
Harry sensed an underlying condition and asked nervously, “What’s the catch?”
“You will have to be resorted since, in the castle’s records, you are now considered a new third-year student— “Before Harry could interrupt, Fudge raised his hands again. “Now I’m sure that won’t be a problem, given your brave track record. You may as well be the very image of Godric Gryffindor himself, lad!”
Harry awkwardly shifted in his chair as Fudge quietly chuckled to himself.
The Minister slapped his knees and got up, beckoning to the tea tray once more, “Well then, Harry, have yourself a crumpet. I’ll go and see if Tom has a room for you.”
He strode out of the parlour, and Harry watched his retreating back with barely contained shock and a newfound anxiety. Ok, so he wasn’t going to Azkaban, but what if he was sorted into Slytherin? He trembled at the thought. In his first year, the Sorting Hat had been adamant to send him to Slytherin, claiming it's where he’ll find his true friends. He did not believe that for a second, recalling his previous encounters with the Slytherin body. They were all bullies and pure-blood fanatics. He wouldn’t be caught dead allying himself with the likes of them.
While Harry was deep in thought, Fudge waltzed back in with Tom dutifully following.
"Room eleven's free, Harry," said Fudge, glancing at the still uneaten tea tray, although thankfully, he didn’t comment. “Just one last thing before I go, though, I’m sure you’ll understand: please do not venture out into London and only go to Diagon Alley. And remember to come back to your room before nightfall. Tom’s gonna be keeping an eye out for you.”
Harry cocked his head to the side, confused. “Okay… but why?”
“Don’t want you to get lost again, do we? No, no… It's best we know where you are,” He chuckled warmly. He cleared his throat, pulling his cloak off the chair.
“Well, I’ll be off now, work is always waiting,” he said, fastening up the silver buttons on his cloak.
Harry nodded slowly, watching the man finally finish buttoning his cloak. Fudge smiled at him, stretching out his hand for Harry to shake. Harry took it and said as politely as he could muster, “Was nice meeting you.”
The Minister gave him a curt nod, fixing his jacket, “The same to you, Harry. Enjoy your stay.”
********
Harry spent most of his days lazily exploring the shops in Diagon Alley. The sun beat down warmly on him during his adventures, and he relished in it. Other than the start of summer, this summer was turning out to be quite nice. He could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and eat as much as he liked (while he still wasn’t able to stomach too much food yet, but his appetite was improving day by day). However, the looming threat of being resorted still troubled Harry, although he tried not to think about it. Earlier that week, he sent Ron and Hermione a letter about what had happened, but he had yet to receive a response.
Today was another calm day of wandering through various shops to see what they had to offer, but today the Magical Menagerie caught his eye. While he had no interest in acquiring a new familiar, he wanted to look around and perhaps buy some new treats or toys for Hedwig.
The shop was pleasantly cool, in contrast to the warm, stuffy air outside. Harry breathed in happily, taking in the scent of dusty feathers and kibble as he made his way to the owl section. After picking up a new little mirror and some bowls for Hedwig's carrier, he noticed a small enclosure with two Mokes -a species of tiny reptile that hid itself from Muggles.
In his first year, Harry had noticed that if he focused while he was around Norbert —actually Norberta — he was able to pick up a few heavily accented words. He quietly approached the exhibit with the intent to test his theory and crouched down, concentrating intently on the light brown reptiles.
“Hi.” He whispered, his voice first coming out in English. “Hello.”
Suddenly, the two lizards fixed their gaze on him.
“A speaker…?” one of them said, followed by a few more words that were difficult for Harry to understand.
“…unheard of…”
“…cold…”
“Are you guys cold?” Harry whispered softly, hoping he understood the snippets correctly.
“Yes…” The reptile on the left answered, walking closer to the glass, “The wind is …” Harry couldn’t quite catch what they said, but he fortunately glanced up to see a charmed cloud that was probably not supposed to be hovering directly above them. He moved it cautiously to the side with his wand, looking at the Mokes once more.
“Is that better?” He asked hopefully, putting his wand back into its holster.
“Yes…!” the lizard on the right hissed contentedly. “Thank you…”
Harry nodded happily, standing up. So Parseltongue did work with other reptiles! He made a mental note to tell Hermione about it, as she seemed incredibly curious and spent many hours in the library once he had told her about Norberta in their first year.
********
The rest of the day dragged on, and Harry decided to make one final stop at Flourish and Blotts before retreating to his room to wallow in his thoughts again.
He thumbed through random books, seeing if one would catch his eye, but a familiar voice pulled him out of his search.
“I am not!” gasped an easily recognizable smooth, posh voice —Malfoy.
Harry stiffened. So far, he managed to avoid any trouble while at Diagon Alley, but if Malfoy spotted him, that was sure to change.
“No way you’re scared of gnomes!” squealed a feminine voice that Harry recognised as Parkinson’s.
“I mean, they are kinda creepy…” chuckled a deeper voice. Zabini? Harry hadn’t heard much from him, as he usually remained quiet during Harry and Malfoy's confrontations.
“Exactly. I know you’re scared of mooncalves, so you should be quiet, Pansy dearest,” Malfoy replied in his signature drawl. Harry edged closer to the wall between him and the group.
“But their eyes are so big; they freak me out!” Parkinson whined in response.
The group laughed easily.
“We should go, I see Father waiting outside. Is everyone done here?” Malfoy asked the group softly.
He heard three different "yes's" and the sound of the bell ringing above the door. Glancing out the front window, he noticed that Nott was there as well and saw Lucius Malfoy greeting the four. Although he appeared cold, his body language was relaxed, and soon the group walked away together.
For the rest of the day, Harry was left thinking about the interaction. He had never seen Malfoy joke so light-heartedly, not at his expense, and without the usual venom. He had also never witnessed Parkinson tease anyone so softly, and see Lucius Malfoy so… pleasant? Harry shook his head. The man was a Death Eater, as were the group's parents. He probably just wanted to stay on their good sides. But he couldn't shake the memory of how Malfoy had asked the others if they were done. The idea of Malfoy caring about anyone but himself felt entirely foreign, even if it was such a small gesture. But then again, he had been friends with that group for years, so they must know each other well. Still, maybe Malfoy wasn’t as bad as Harry thought.
He quickly dismissed that thought, reminding himself of their past encounters, and besides, why did he care so much?
********