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Chapter Text

It was nearing the end of July, the mid-day sun smothered by clouds, and Harry was weeding the garden.

"The clouds are blocking the sun." A low hissing voice stated dryly.

"Yes." Harrys own, higher pitched, but no less sibilant reply was quick as he steadily plucked weeds from out of the newly planted orchids.

"I can already feel the ground getting colder. I don't like the cold." The bright orange and red snake complained, pitch ever so slightly rising.

Glancing at the snake, Harry warned, "You've been in the sun long enough. Be careful or you might overheat.". Harry had been talking to the garden snakes for a couple years now, he saw how they regulated their temperatures. And while this corn snake was new, he didn't think they were all that different from each other.

Checking over the orchids, Harry concluded there was nothing unwanted growing. He then switched over to the last section of the garden, the Hydrangeas. Carefully picking around the flowers, Harry pulled any weeds growing, adding them to the small pile he had amassed.

"Why don't you just use magic?" The corn snake questioned, slithering over to rest his body against Harrys leg.

It took Harry a minute to process that forbidden word. "W-what? M-magic?" He questioned, barely voicing the word, as if it would summon his Aunt Petunia if he even dared to speak louder than a whisper.

Coiling up, the snake continued nonchalantly, "Yes, magic. You are a wizard."

"No, I'm not." He denied, shaking his head.

"Yes you are. You're warm," The snake rubbed his head against harrys knee, "I like warmth."

"That's just my body heat, not m-", Harry lowered his voice, taking a peek at the window to make sure his Aunt wasn't looking for him, "magic."

Drawing himself up, the snake re-coiled on harrys leg, difficult to do as Harrys leg was not very big and the snake was almost three feet long. Making sure to rise his head to be level with Harrys, as if to make sure harry was focusing solely on him, he continued, "It's magic. You're a wizard. Why are you arguing with me?"

"Because magic isn't real." Harry said firmly, reaching out to move the snake off his leg. He had to prep supper for Aunt Petunia, and didn't have time to listen to lies.

Nipping at his approaching fingers, the snake countered, "Then how do you explain this? Us talking?"

By not thinking about it. By just accepting it. Because if he thought of it as magic, the Dursleys would find some way to take it away.But harry didn't say any of that, and just resolved himself to stand and let the snake fall off his leg naturally. He was not a big person, the ground wasn't far.

Before he could follow through with his plan though, he froze at the snakes next words, "If I lead you to others, will you stop being a fool?"

Not really believing, but really wanting to, Harry thought quickly and nodded. "But it will have to be tomorrow, I have to go prep supper now. I'll meet you here after my chores." Finally getting the snake to leave his leg, harry stood.

"There was a mouse in the shed yesterday. It may still be there, if you're hungry." He said softly, getting ready to go back inside and deal with his relatives.

Seeing the snake head towards the backyard, Harry assumed he would take care of the rodent.

The next day, Harry sped through his chores with a grudging hope trying to take root in his stomach and an excitement rising in his chest. With Uncle Vernon at work, Aunt Petunia having tea with number 5 and 7, and Dudley at a friends house, it was the perfect day for a trip.

Dressed in his over-sized hand-me-downs, Harry left number 4 Privet Drive with a snake in his shirt and pep in his step.

...And returned four hours later, tired, and with aching feet, because apparently the corn snake had somehow traveled by bus and it was a lot longer to walk.

Another attempt at finding this magic area had Harry taking a bus back to the Dursleys, paying with some pocket change he had thankfully brought along.

"We're getting closer." The snake said in harrys ear, hidden in his shirt so he didn't alarm anyone else on the bus.

"Are we? How can you tell? " Harry questioned, just a touch grumpily from walking around all day.

"I just follow the trail." The snake said, as if that explained everything.

"What trail? " He asked, less grumpy and more curiously, with a tilt of his head towards the corn snake.

"I'll show you next time." He promised instead of answering.

Accepting that, Harry instead asked, "What should I call you?" Because he didn't want to continue calling him 'the corn snake' in his head.

"My owner called me Mel, I didn't mind it.", He said, his tongue flicking against harrys neck.

"Owner? " Harry questioned.

"Yes, I didn't like being cooped up, so I left. " He said, nuzzling Harrys neck, "He was a wizard." He tacked on, almost like an after thought.

Harry didn't say anything for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "What are wizards like?", He finally asked, giving in to his curiosity.

Mel was silent for a minute, before starting with, "Wizards are weird. You're better than the ones I've seen."

"Weird? " He wasn't quite ready to face the idea that he could be better company than people with magic.

"They're all lazy. And at least you speak." Mel said, and then launching into how lazy his old owner was. Filling Harrys head up with levitation charms, and cleaning spells that left a room spotless in seconds.

Leaving Mel in the shed, Harry saw Dudley saying goodbye to one of his friends on the driveway.

Dudleys friend didn't see Harry when he passed by, nor did Dudley notice when Harry passed him on his way into the house... not that, that was anything new.

Slipping out of the house with Mel once more hidden in his shirt, Harry found the bus stop he had been dropped off at, a few streets over from the Dursleys. A couple other people already waiting, probably on their way to work. Yawning at the early hour, Harry settled in to wait with them. No one glanced his way.

Uncle Vernon had coworkers coming over for supper tonight. He had been coaching Dudley on what to say the night before, and Aunt Petunia had a roast marinating over night. All Harry had to do was to stay away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Not that Harry had any complaints with his orders. It gave him another chance to explore.

Harry watched the bus coming down the street and pulled out his fare. Feeling Mel tighten around his torso, Harry shivered a little from the cool scales, and for once thanked his baggy clothes for making it easy to hide snakes in.

Following the others on the bus, Harry slipped his money into the fare box and waited for the others to find their seats.

Trailing to the back, Harry picked a window seat and curled his arms around Mel, settling in to take a nap. It was rather early still, and he had some time until they reached where they had left off from before.

A little over an hour later, Harry was woken up when his head bumped particularly hard against the window from a sudden stop. Looking around Harry realized they had passed their stop by quite a bit, jumping up, he held onto Mel, jostling him in the process, and rushed to get off before they closed the doors. Making it just in time, he felt the doors brush his back.

He heard a muffled hiss in protest of the abrupt awakening. Harry ignored him, and instead searched for a sign to figure out where they had ended up.

Looking past the few people heading to work, he found a sign above a bench proclaiming their destination.

London.

London.

London was pretty far from the Dursleys.

"We're pretty close." Mel commented, peeking out of Harrys shirt collar.

"We are? ", The magicals were in London?

"Yes, Now just follow the trail.", Mel said, flicking his head down the nearly empty road.

"You said that last time, what trail? " Harry questioned, starting down the street as directed.

"This way, can't you feel the magic? ", Mel questioned, flicking his head down a side alley. It was a little cluttered with forgotten boxes and litter.

"I can't feel anything." Harry said, watching the ground to make sure he didn't step on anything.

"You just have to try. Come on, focus on the heat, use your...what did he call it? " Mel paused, climbing up to bump Harry on the face, near the bridge of his nose, and under his eye, "The Heat Pits!"

"I don't have Heat Pits. I thought only vipers had those." Harry said, stopping, and trying to recall anything else from when he studied snakes after he found out he could talk to them.

"Boas and pythons do as well. And me, of course." Mel said proudly, lifting his head in a regal pose, as if waiting for applause.

"You're a corn snake." Harry stated flatly, still trying to figure out what the heat sensory organs had to do with finding this magical trail.

"Exactly. And I have heat pits. Which means you should too. You already talk like us, so you should be able to do this too." Mel insisted, and really, Harry had no reason to doubt him. He knew more about magic than Harry did, and if it let him find this magic trail on his own, it would be easier than waiting for Mel to guide him.

Closing his eyes, Harry focused on the spot Mel had tapped. He remembered how the book described it, like seeing in infra-red, or like night-vision goggles. But Mel also said something about a trail, Harry didn't recall anything about that in the books.

It took a few minutes, and Mels quiet encouragements, but eventually Harry felt the spots under his eyes tingle and tighten, then shift, dipping into a small divot.

"There you go! I told you. You just had to focus. Don't become like those other lazy wizards. " Mel congratulated and scolded at the same time.

The change was immediate, even before harry had fully opened his eyes he could see his hand was a shifting red and orange color, almost like Mels coloring, he distantly thought.

Compared to his hand, Mel was darker, more purple. Then his vision shifted, and he could see Mel with his regular bright coloring, but it was like his new sight was just a layer under. Easily brought back to the forefront with a thought.

Harry looked at the walls of the alley, watching as it went from gray stone to cold blue with spots of green, and back to gray stone, he didn't have a very large range he noticed. This would take some getting use to.

"Can you see the trail now? " Mel asked after giving Harry a few minutes figuring out his new sight.

Focusing on where Mel was gesturing in front of them, his eyes prickled, but slowly he was able to make out some sort of shimmer. It was colorless, but at the same time not. Like a prism, you had to catch it at the right angle to watch it glimmer in various colors.

Re-focusing on the world around him felt like coming out of a daze.

"Yes. I can see the trail now, Mel." He said with a bright smile towards the snake.

"Good, now we should go before you have to return. We still have to find the end of the trail." Mel urged lightheartedly.

Agreeing, Harry moved forwards, keeping track of the shimmer in front of him, before he realized something. Harry stilled, causing Mel to tilt his head inquisitively.

Harry spoke softly, almost breathless,"Mel, I'm a wizard."

Chapter Text

Following the shimmering trail led Harry and Mel to a small pub called the Leaky Cauldron.

Very inconspicuous.

The pub was small, wedged in between a bookshop and a record store, dark and rather shabby looking.

Taking a deep breath, and resting a comforting hand on Mel, who had ducked back under his shirt, Harry calmly walked into the pub.

And felt like a wave of smells swamped him. The smoke made his eyes water and the smell of alcohol stung his nose. Even if it was a way into the magical world, it was still a pub, and it still functioned like one. He heard Mel hiss his displeasure, tucking his head under Harrys arm.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Harry moved out of the doorway, accidentally slamming the door, and rubbed at his eyes, taking shallow breathes.

He almost jumped when he opened his eyes and saw a large, bald man next to him. The man was looking out the door curiously, before closing the door, grumbling about flighty muggles, and walked across the pub to the bar.

He never noticed Harry.

"Who was it Tom?", A low voice called out to the man, Tom, who was apparently the barkeep.

Harry finally focused on the few people in the pub. An older woman was sitting at the bar with a glass of amber liquid, A man next to her was smoking a pipe, making smoke rings that changed shapes.

"No one that I could see. Probably muggle parents who have problems with my pub." He said, with a rather gentle voice for his words.

"It's not your pub that's the problem. They just don't like their kids being in the pub." The woman said, taking another sip of her glass.

"So it is my pub." Tom replied, waving a stick (Is that a wand?) and sending clean dishes to stack on the shelves.

Harry was stuck staring at the blatant display of magic. His new sight tracking little waves and shimmers around the dishes that seemed to connect to the barkeep.

A soft light was entering from the large window, showing the high ceiling and casting shadows on the walls covered in framed pictures (the ceiling wasn't suppose to be that high and those pictures were moving). Candles were lit around the large room, giving it a warm orange tint, large beams cut across the expanse of the room at varying distances. A large wooden staircase took over a far wall and disappeared behind a section of the second floor.

As distracted as he was, he almost didn't see the door open again. He had to move when a small girl and her parents hesitantly entered and nearly bumped into him.

"Um, we were told we could get to Diagon Alley from here?", The man said, voice lifting at the end like he was asking a question, eyes locking onto the few remaining dishes still in the air.

"Yes, If you would follow me, please. My name is Tom." The barkeep said, coming from around the bar and directing the family to follow him to the back of the pub.

"I own this pub, and help others enter Diagon Alley." He continued, opening the back door.

Harry rushed over to join the family, staying behind them while Tom led them out into the back courtyard and to the brick wall.

"Remember, three up and two across." Tom said, gesturing to a trash can and following his own instructions. Tapping the brick with his wand, he backed up to let the family have a clear view of the brick wall curl into itself and form a large archway.

"When you get your wand you'll be able to open it on your own too." Tom said to the little girl, smiling. "Just remember, three up and two across." He repeated before leaving to go back inside the pub.

The family quickly crossed into the Alley, and Harry got his first look at Diagon Alley.

It was bright, full of shops and already filling with people. Store fronts were filled with all sorts of objects and advertisements for things Harry had never heard of. The shimmer of magic was everywhere, almost overwhelming in its abundance.

Stepping into the alley, Harry heard the bricks behind him make a grinding sound as they shuffled back into place.

By the time Harry could tear his eyes from the alley to glance back, the entrance was already back to being a brick wall.

But that was okay, he had other chances to see it. For now, he had a new world to explore.

Happy birthday to me.

Over the hours of wandering, the alley had steadily filled with people.

People watching had quickly become just as interesting as window shopping. The divide between the magically raised and the not was very clear in not just their clothes, but also their mannerisms.

The magical crowds bustled around like a school of fish, groups of people congregating only to swarm their targeted shop. Repeating this over and over. While the non-magical families, like the one from earlier, were stumbling around, staring at a piece of paper (that everyone seemed to have) before cautiously entering the same shops as the others.

Watching a group of teenagers leaving what seemed to be a bookstore without anything to show for it, Harry wondered how they carried their purchases. (Because that was a lot of people to spend a substantial amount of time, only to leave without anything. So, they must be buying, he just had to figure out where they put their books.)

Shrink and store? Some of them had bags. Did they have someway to directly send their books home? Sent by owl? (He had seen them flying overhead all day, seemingly just as busy as the people below.)

Before he could think of other methods, he saw one of the teenagers drop their paper without noticing.

Ah, Harry thought, that was probably important.

Quickly slipping into the crowd without taking his eyes off the paper, he swiftly picked it up before it got trampled. Looking around for the boys, he fortunately spotted them not too far away.

Knowing they wouldn't hear him in this crowd, Harry followed after them. Speeding up, when the crowd thinned out a bit, he reached out to tap the one who dropped the paper.

The boy jerked, tensing and quickly turning around. His hand had dropped to his pocket in what seemed to be reflex, before finally seeing Harry holding out his paper.

His eyes scanned Harry, focusing on the rather large scar on his forehead, before staring at the paper being held out to him.

Harry stared at the boy blankly util he cautiously took the paper. Scanning the contents, the boy searched his pockets only to come up empty.

"Adrian? What are you doing? Come on." One of the other boys said, realizing his friend had stopped.

The boy, Adrian, nodded his thanks to Harry, who returned his nod, before turning to catch up to his friends.

Feelingly slightly smothered in the thickening mass of bodies, Harry was about to retreat back to the fringes when he heard something odd.

"Do you think Harry Potter will be there?" A little girl was excitedly asking her father.

The man smiled, before replying, "Probably not, sweetheart. Now don't make that face," He picked her up,"being a hero is hard work, you know!"

Still pouting, the girl turned her head away. Then the man swung the young girl up and onto his arm, using his other hand to tickle her and flick multicolored sparks in the air. That brought a laugh out, her high pitch giggles getting drowned out in the crowd as they walked further away from Harry.

...The sparks were nice.

But not the point, why did that little girl ask about him? It could have been another Harry Potter right? His name was rather common. (He had a feeling it wasn't another Harry Potter.)

He needed to figure this out.

Slipping out of the crowd, he found a relatively clear area with a bench.

"Mel, do you know anything about Harry Potter?" He asked the snake, who had somehow fallen asleep while Harry was walking.

Waking up, Mel took a second to answer, "Yess, my owner did mention him a few times. Something about ending the war." He said, stretching out on Harrys shoulders.

Ending a war? That couldn't be him. He hadn't even known about a war until now. But that nagging feeling wasn't leaving his stomach.

Standing up, Harry headed to the bookshop from earlier, hopefully they would have a history book left after all their customers.

It was probably just a strange case of him having the same name with what appeared to be a magical war hero.

Not the worst thing that could happen, surely. Perhaps just a little annoying.

It was worse than he thought. And the magical world was crazy.

"I told you the wizards were weird." Mel had said to Harrys rant over his findings.

Harry had found a hidden corner deep in the history section of Flourish and Blotts, and had a few books stacked up around him, namely Everything You Need to Know About The First Wizarding War By Rose Swallowtail. Which, first of all, was a lie. There had been many wars in wizarding history, supported by The Many Wars from 1700-1980 Part 2 By Justin Time.

"They think I ended a war!" Harry exclaimed, holding up another book and reading the first couple lines, "War hero Harry Potter, aka The Boy Who Lived, has done it again and saved a cruise ship full of people stuck in the Caribbean from a sea serpent. The Boy Who Lived has been on a people saving streak this year! Starting his career from a record breaking age (only 15 months old!)-"He had to stop there from the sheer absurdity of it.

This sounded like a badly written gossip magazine. Looking at the official looking hard cover book, Harry wondered how it even got published.

"I heard. That's so unbelievable, you couldn't fight anything with that soft skin of yours. We'll have to work on that next." Mel said, reaching up from his position on Harrys lap to nudge at his arm.

Sighing, Harry started stacking up the books to put them away, and thought about the few consistencies.

There had been a dark wizard, known as You Know Who, also known as Voldemort (it had taken a few different books to track down that name), who 'reigned' in the 1970's.

A rebel group fought against him, and he attacked the Potters on October 31, 1981. (His parents were probably a part of the rebel group. That's why they were targeted.)

James and Lily Potter were betrayed by family friend Sirius Black and killed, leaving their son, Harry Potter to be raised by his relatives. (His parents names were Lily and James. They didn't die in a car crash.)

Somehow Harry survived the killing curse, Avada Kadavra, leaving him with a small lightning shaped scar. Mostly true, although the wizarding world seems to think it's a small scar, shaped like a lightning bolt found in children's coloring books. Rather than his bigger scar that closely resembles electricity scars.

And he apparently defeated the Dark Lord. Harry didn't see how that could be even remotely true. He had been a 15 month old baby, not really able to fight in a war, let alone become a war hero.

But the wizarding world didn't see it like that. The media pictured him as the darling of great Britain, the poor orphan war hero raised out of public eye, but seen saving people all over the world. (How old did they think he was? His apparent age was obscure and skewed. Even though they knew the war was almost a decade past and he was proclaimed a hero at one.)

As far as anyone was concerned, Harry was growing up a proper little hero celebrity. Who would bask in the medias eye, and soak in any attention given, expect it even.

There's a major problem with this.

Harry didn't like attention.

Celebrities got hounded by the press. The press meant attention.

Attention meant punishment. Attention meant his every action would be scrutinized, and when he didn't fit the mold they created in their heads, it would bring more attention in the form of public outcry.

But...That was only true for Harry Potter.

Only in Britain. Other countries might not care about him. Hopefully.

But he could only focus on one thing at a time, and right now, that was ensuring he still had freedom as a person with some form of privacy.

He needed to separate Harry Potter from Harry.

Starting with his appearance.

Opening the last book in his hands, to a picture of what the people assumed he looked like. He realized it wasn't too far off.

His messy hair (Potter hair, the book said, he shared something with his family) was short like it was in the book (although his hair looked smoother, and was bouncing in the book). Dark hair was rather common, so that should be fine to keep. Maybe he could grow it out? His hair had once grown back after Aunt Petunia had cut it a few years back.

His fringe was covering his scar, same as the book (People don't like looking at scars, even legendary scars). Then maybe he should brush it back? People might expect him to hide his scar, or maybe they expect him to show it off, it could really go either way.

Hmm, Harry Potter will hide his scar, Harry will let people see it. But the other problem with that was the different images of his scar. The most common was a simple lightning bolt, he would have to cover the rest and only leave the center (that looked most similar to a lightning bolt) uncovered. But how would he hide the rest of his scar?

He found his answer when he remembered how his Aunt would apply a light layer of makeup whenever they had important guests. To smooth out her face, she had said when Dudley had asked about it. Maybe it could cover up his scar? Or maybe he could find a spell that could help? He'd have to look into it.

Next were his eyes.

He rather liked his eyes, to be honest. But everyone knew Harry Potter had green eyes, maybe he could change their color with magic? Or get a pair of contacts?

Could he fix his eyes? He'd have to look into that too... He should probably make a list.

Changing the main points of his appearance should be enough.

Okay, I have a plan, now I just need to follow it.

But now he needed to buy makeup, figure out if he can change his hair on purpose, and get contacts.

Makeup and contacts cost money.

Money he didn't have.

He needed to get a job.

His next couple trips to Diagon Alley were devoted to job hunting.

But no one wanted to hire him. When he managed to get the owners to take him seriously, they would take one look at his scar (he was trying out his new hairstyle, brushing it back, out of his face) and turn him away.

He didn't understand why they wouldn't hire him, he was a good worker, he could cook and clean. And if they had other tasks for him, well, he was a quick learner. He might not be able to reach tall shelves just yet, but that's nothing a stool couldn't fix. And most of the shops seemed to really need help when they were swarmed by parents and teenagers buying school supplies.

...Other people had scars too, it's not like he was special.

"Why don't you try down there?" Mel asked, gesturing towards a dark alley.

Looking at the narrow entrance, Harry said "I was saving it for after I had explored all of Diagon. Then I forgot about it."

Well...If no one in Diagon would hire him, he would just have to try his luck somewhere new.

Chapter Text

"Not buying? Get Out!"

Job hunting in Knockturn Alley wasn't going as well as he'd hoped.

Harry sighed, leaving Borgin & Burkes.

It had seemed like an nice shop, full of interesting antiques. But the owner hadn't taken it well when, after waiting a few minutes for him to notice Harry, he had tapped his arm to get his attention. With a full-body finch away, the man had spun and had Harry at wand point before he could even start his well rehearsed "Pardon me, sir-".

After realizing Harry wasn't there to buy, and was in fact trying to take money (in the form of paid services), the owner had promptly booted him out of his shop.

So far, Knockturn Alley was just a darker version of Diagon Alley. The both shared the same cobblestone road, and the only real differences were the lighting, the wares, and their clients.

The shops here were rather eclectic in their products compared to Diagon. Much was the same, but the store across the street sold shrunken heads, and he didn't see any of those in Diagon.

Although, he thought eyeing the store next to Noggin and Bonce, The Coffin House, that sold items for necromancy, perhaps they needed that partnership for the shrunken heads?

The people he saw didn't dress too differently than the other magicals from Diagon (although they did tend to lean towards darker color schemes here). He did see more people trying to personally sell things in the streets than Diagon, but they hadn't bothered him, so he didn't pay them much attention. (Their magic was weird, sticky.)

And neither Alleys seemed to need anymore hired help. Magic made things far too easy.

While most of the shops he tried hadn't been so bad, some had been rather nice actually, they ultimately didn't need extra help. He couldn't even offer that he could help during the rushes, as there were no rushes to mention. For some reason, not many students had expanded their shopping this far.

Maybe they just liked using the stores they already knew? But from looking at multiple shops and absentmindedly price checking, he knew Knockturn had a few better deals than Diagon (and a few supplies that were priced unnecessarily high, it was sort of a toss up). But if you shopped in both places, you could save a decent amount.

"Let's try that one next." Mel said, gesturing across the street with a flick of his head. He still stayed hidden, but seemed to enjoy picking out which shops to check out next.

The shop was simply named, Wizarding Supplies, and didn't seem to have any customers at the moment.

Accepting Mels suggestion, Harry crossed the street and entered the shop, noting how silent the door was, most others had creaked or made a ringing sound.

"Welcome." A cultured voice called out from the back.

Following it, Harry passed shelves full of an assortment of what seemed to be common household items for magicals. Some things he was left completely clueless about their function. Finally he passed the last shelf, full of packed sets (simple broom-care kits to beginners quill, ink, and parchment kits) and found a well dressed man sitting behind a large counter.

He was an older man, pale and slim with long brown hair tied back with a red ribbon. He wore nice black robes, clearly of a higher quality than the others that Harry had seen so far. With dark eyes and an ever-present smile, he seemed nice. (There was something different about his magic, it was very still.)

Something about the man made Harry think old.

It seemed to take a moment for the man to focus on Harry, and after a quick glance at his scar, kept his gaze on his eyes, smiled and said, "My name is Keyon. Are you looking for anything specific?"

A little awed that the man saw him without needing Harry to initiate contact, He paused for a second before launching into his speech.

"Pardon me, Sir, but I was wondering if you had any openings for hired help? Or if you'd be willing to hire me?" Harry rushed to finish without looking at the man, "I can help clean, and if you show me how I can re-stock the shelves or-" He was cut off by a hand on his shoulder.

Harry hunched even more when the man said, " My apologies, young man, but I already have all the help I need."

Harry nodded, preparing to leave, when the man continued, "However, I do know of someone looking to hire. If you'd be interested?" He trailed off with a knowing smile.

Nodding, Harry said, "Yes! Whatever it is-", He was cut off again when the man held up his hand.

"You should be more careful agreeing to things. You don't even know what the job is." Keyon said, lightly scolding.

"Is it a bad job?" Harry asked, thinking again.

"Depends on the perspective. The man runs an apothecary, and needs help running the store." Keyon sighed, "Unfortunately, he's not open today." He said, elegantly raising one shoulder and waving his hand, as if saying 'what can you do'.

Oh, that put a bit of a damper on Harrys mood. But at least he had a chance now.

When the boy had first come in his little shop, he hadn't quite* been able to focus on him. He knew he had a customer, but at the same time it was like something was whispering in his mind, don't mind me, there's nothing here, forget me. It had been rather easy for him to shake it off, but most others probably would not notice the boy at all.

Curious.

Then the boy approached him, and it was as if he had a bubble around him, that prevented people from really seeing him.

No, it did a bit more than that. His smell was faint as well, and he was rather quiet.

But, not looking at a customer was rude, and he was a professional. So, he popped the bubble.

And got a good look at his rather young customer. Clearly smaller than was probably healthy, with a decently sized scar on his forehead that cut through his eyebrow, peculiar little holes placed under his eyes (piercings? ), worn muggle clothes, and an awed look at his environment.

Obviously a muggleborn who had wandered in.

He had thought about scaring him off. This really was no place for outsiders, especially young ones.

But.
Then the boy had asked for a job, something he had clearly rehearsed, and he was so earnest, it was adorable.

And then he got a good whiff of his scent, and Oh, it was positively tantalizing.

Didn't little Ilya need some help with the apothecary? It was perfect.

So, after regrettably informing the boy that he had no need for more workers- and the way he drooped was just heart-wrenching- he told him about Ilya's need for a worker, and the way the boy brightened literally lit up his shop. Adorable.

Now, Keyon stared at the boy in front of him, and contemplated what to do next.

He could just tell the boy where the apothecary was, and send him home.

Or, he thought as he caught another hint of something bittersweet, I could make him an offer.

Smiling, he said "Tell me, young man, do you have a trainer?" He should ask for his name.

His face answered well enough on its own, but he waited for him to vocally answer anyway.

"No, Sir." The boy said, tilting his head inquisitively. A strip of bright red scales caught his attention, was that a snake?

Curiouser and curiouser.

Stepping out from behind his counter, he led the boy to the wall of the shop that was filled with thin, color coded boxes.

"You will be needing one if you plan to stick around." Reaching out, Keyon pulled out a dark box that was larger than the others, "These are training wands, usually shortened to trainers. They're made with synthetic wand cores, and while not powerful they are good for practice."

"I thought you could only get a wand when you got an acceptance letter?" Harry said, watching Keyon take the lid off to reveal various little cubes neatly stored in individual cubicles.

"That is the general mindset, yes. But families with a lower income often have their children help around the shop, which usually requires the use of magic." He explained, now holding the box out to harry, "Besides, most of the upper class already have family wands for their children to practice with, and we wouldn't want them getting lonely." He said with a wink, "Now, the synthetic wand cores will bond with anybody, albeit not a full bond, they will only bond with one person and usually last around five years, adequate for children before they start school." Or while they're in school.

Using one hand to hold the box and the other to gesture at the little wooden cubes, he continued, " This is used to test which wood is currently suitable for you, easier than trying them out one by one. Just touch the lid with a finger, focus a little bit of magic, and the box will do the rest."

Watching the boy do as instructed, he internally sighed, the boy really shouldn't trust so easily, not everyone was as nice as he was.

Watching the wooden cubes shuffle and twist around, he absently wondered what wood would suit his young customer.

It had taken a moment to direct his magic to the box, but once he did, it turned into a flurry of movement. The cubes rising up and falling rapidly, shifting to another section, there were obviously more wooden cubes than the box should physically be able to hold. Magic.

After a few minutes, Harry had to wonder how Keyon managed to keep the box so still, wasn't his arm tired yet? He was distracted from his musings when the cubes finally settled down, leaving one cube floating.

"Pine, a splendid wood." Keyon said, closing the box and putting it back in its place on the wall, then moving on to pull out a dark brown box.

Taking off the lid off, he held out the bottom, with the wand in it, to Harry.

As he was reaching to pick up the wand, he had a sudden thought that sent his good mood plummeting.

He had gotten carried away, he thought, retracting his hand, he didn't have any money to pay for a wand.

"I don't have any money to pay for this, Sir." He said quietly, miserable.

"Now, that's not quite* true, young man." Keyon said, suddenly sounding far too amused for this situation.

Looking up, Harry saw that Keyon still had his ever present smile.

"You have other things to offer than money, young man." He said reasonably.

That sounded ominous, Harry thought with a sneaking suspicion of where this was going.

"You have your magic. Or," Keyon paused, "your blood." He finished, it was clear witch one he preferred, and watched Harrys reaction.

Blood? Well...That wasn't as bad as what Harry was thinking.

"Why would you want my blood?" He asked, curious. Could it be used for something? Rituals were a thing, right? What would it do?

Keyon looked taken aback for a moment, before quickly recovering, "Well," he started, before flashing a fang at Harry," I am a vampire."

Oh, that explained the odd stillness of his magic. Sort of.

How did he miss his fangs before? They seemed obvious now, maybe even exaggerated. Were they retractable?

"How much blood would you want?" He asked, trying to remember how much blood a human body could lose before becoming dangerous.

Keyon chuckled lowly, seemingly amused, "How about, a teacups worth? As payment for the wand and potentially finding you a job? " He said, conjuring said teacup.

Harry looked at the cup dubiously, it seemed rather large to fill and still leave healthy.

"That looks like a bit too much for me." He said, still eyeing the cup, was he sure that was a tea cup?

"Ah, then how about two cups and I throw in a blood replenishing potion and a sandwich, the potion always works best with a meal." He offered, waving his hand and a red potion floated in from a back room Harry hadn't noticed, along with the ingredients for the sandwich that was quickly made in front of him.

Harry sent him a confused look at the cup doubling.

"The blood replenishing potion works best when there is substantial blood loss, if not your body may try to expel the excess blood. It's not usually pleasant." Keyon explained, smiling convincingly.

Well, Harry thought, I suppose the vampire would know better than me.

So, nodding, Harry agreed to the terms. Excitement rising again at the idea of being able to practice magic.

"How are we doing this?" Harry asked, wondering if it would be the classic bite on the neck, or maybe the wrist?

"Leave that to me," Keyon said, waving his hand again, this time conjuring a chair for Harry, and a needle attached to a tube and pouch, "May I see your arm?" He asked, holding the needle.

Sitting down, Harry pulled up his sleeve and held up his arm to Keyon. He once more waved his hand, and Harry felt a cool spot appear on the crook of his elbow, the smell of alcohol wafting up.

While Keyon was getting the needle ready, Harry subtly checked on Mel as he had been quiet for a while, and found his sound asleep...Well, he supposed that was fine.

"There we go, now just a little prick, very good." Keyon said inserting the needle into the vein, and they both watched as blood steadily filled the pouch.

Keyon sighed, lightly shaking his head at Harry, “As happy as I am, you should be more careful when you make deals, young man."

Pulling his eyes away from the slowly filling pouch, Harry asked, "What do you mean, Sir?"

"Take this for example, you didn't specify when this deal ended. You could have found yourself agreeing to give two cups of blood a day, every day. In exchange for a trainer, a potion, and a sandwich. And while I’d have no problem supplying such, I know that was not your intention. You must specify all of your terms when making deals here, do you understand?" Keyon explained, reaching out to pull out the needle, quickly covering it with a conjured band aid.

Harry nodded, taking the lesson to heart. Ignoring the slight pain in his arm. He felt lightheaded and rather chilly from the blood loss.

"That will disappear in a few hours, it should be scabbed over by then, but you might be sore. Here, drink this." Keyon said, pressing the opened potion to Harrys hand.

Harry drank, making a face at the taste, but finishing quickly. Next, the sandwich was passed over, along with a cup of water.

Looking up, Harry watched as Keyon calmly poured his blood into the teacup, taking a sip and letting out a contended sigh.

"This is divine." He told Harry, eyes bright, and taking another slow sip.

That was a compliment, wasn't it?

"Thank you? Or Your welcome, I guess?" He said unsure, and followed up with, "This sandwich is very good."

"No need, young man. The pleasure is all mine."