Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: The Magician

The Dursleys were a normal family. They lived in a perfectly normal house, with a perfectly normal (if not slightly above average!) lawn, on a perfectly normal street, in a perfectly normal neighborhood, and had one, perfectly normal son. Yes, the Dursleys were a very normal family, thank you very much. Some might even call them aggressively normal. They were the kind of people who would do anything and everything to “Keep up with the Joneses” (quite literally, as the Joneses lived just up the way) and stamp out anything that wasn’t “normal”. So, it was no surprise that when their nephew decided to take up performing magic tricks, that they took some immediate measures. You see, magic is not, so to speak, normal. Well, that is say, at least to any other muggle—that is, normal—family it might be considered to be well within the realms of normal, but knowing just what the boy’s parents were, and just what he would surely become, if left unchecked, Vernon and Petunia Dursley could not in good conscience allow such eccentricity to take root in their household.

And so, when a seven-year-old Harry Potter came home one day from St. Grogory’s Primary School, innocently asking his aunt and uncle if they would like to see a magic trick, they knew they had to immediately shut it down.

“Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, come see this nice piece of magic we learned at assembly!”

For a moment all was still. Both Petunia and Vernon’s faces were frozen with eyes wide, Vernon’s cheeks rapidly reddening, even as Petunias became white and whiter still.

“Boy!” Vernon roared, face flushed red with anger, “We will not have such freakishness in this house!”   

Vernon ripped away the brandished “magic wand” from little Harry’s grasp, before snapping the cheap, black plastic over his knee, shattering it, suddenly releasing the spring-loaded streamers from inside, which intended to be released when the white cap on one end was removed, instead sprung out into Vernon’s face. If possible, Vernon’s face got even redder, not quite purple. With one great, meaty fist he grabbed the front of Harry’s uniform, which was now dotted tears, and shoved him roughly into the broom cupboard, locking it behind him.  

“What the devil are they teaching at that ruddy school!” Vernon huffed to Petunia as he brushed the stray streamers from his person.

Their son, Dudley, too came home brandishing an identical black magic wand, which was likewise promptly confiscated and thrown in the rubbish bin, much to his vocal displeasure.  

But as many parents have learned throughout all of human history, when you deny something to a child, it only makes them want it all the more.

It wasn’t fair! The plump boy huffed to himself as he stomped up the stairs to his room. What’s so wrong with a little magic? For the very first time, Dudley had actually paid attention in assembly when the magician had gone up the stage and pulled a rabbit out of a hat. Right from the start, Dudley could hardly look away. Okay, well only after stuffing ice down Davies’ pants. In Dudley’s defense, his knee had felt better after being sent to the nurse’s office the period before and he had to put the ice pack somewhere. Plus, it was funny! Almost as fun as Harry Hunting with Piers and the rest of the gang. But when the magician on the stage started sawing his classmates in half and making Ms. Smith cluck like a chicken, Dudley could do nothing else but sit there, open-mouthed, gaping in wonder. It was simply…well, magical! When he got home from school earlier that day, he was very much looking forward to messing around with the wand and shooting streamers in Harry’s stupid face. But he never got the chance. Before he knew it, Mum and Dad had banned magic for life! “Freakishness”, they had called it. But Marvin the Magnificent hadn’t seemed like a freak at all. In fact, Dudley asserted to himself, magic was cool.

“Pet, I won’t have any such nonsense in this house!” Vernon was still vehemently raging at what he saw as an invasion into his home. “It’s not natural!”

“Vernon, dear, it’s only a piece of plastic. Yes, the boy certainly needs no more encouragement to be a freak, but our poor Dudders! I hate to see him so upset,” Petunia herself was rather distraught at seeing her precious son in such a state.

“He’ll be fine. It’ll toughen him up. No son of mine will be tainted by such filth! Don’t you see, Pet? This is how it all starts. It’s like a gateway drug for these kinds of people and I won’t have it in this house!” 

“But Vern—”

“No, Petunia! We have to draw the line here. If we don’t stop this here and now…” Vernon’s voice trailed off with a shudder. He took a deep calming breath before continuing much softer than before, from near shouting to a hushed, yet earnest whisper. “I need you on board with me, Pet. We are a team, we must present a united front against this. I won’t let those freaks ruin our perfectly pleasant, normal lives! That ruddy Potter boy was a no good lay-about! And he dragged your sister down with him. I won’t allow such influences on our son!”

“Oh, Vernon…I-I suppose you’re right. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. With the boy being what he is, and his parents being what they were…freaks!”

And with that, the discussion was over. In the coming weeks, the m-word became a taboo in the Dursley household and would remain so for many years.

Of course, the consequences of Vernon and Petunia having their heated discussion and subsequent resolution in the den, meant that the young Harry Potter was able to hear every word from his spot in his closet. He wasn’t really sure what Uncle Vernon was talking about, calling his parents “lay-abouts”. Marvin the Magnificent sure didn’t seem like a lay-about to him. But he tossed that thought aside focusing on the more salient piece of information.

My parents could do magic?

Harry sat up on his futon, still puffy-eyed, pulling his knees in to his chest. Petunia and Vernon had always been very strict and short with him, but it was only because he kept doing everything wrong. Pulling out the wrong plants in the garden, burning the breakfast bacon, not folding the laundry with crisp enough creases. Such offenses were always accompanied by a cuff over the ear, some stern words, and occasionally being sent to his cupboard without supper. He was only seven years old, but he had promised them that he would get better! This time, however, Harry had no idea what had caused this explosive reaction from his aunt and uncle. He had never seen them quite so flustered and enraged.

But there was one thing that he understood from that night: My parents were magicians!

Harry always tried to avoid the Dursleys’ ire, though it rarely worked. However, this piece of knowledge, the very first thing he truly knew about his parents, was not something that he would let go of so easily. Harry Potter finally had a chance to make his parents proud of him. Surely once he became a great magician himself, they would be smiling down on him from beyond the grave.

And so, Harry Potter vowed to himself that he would do whatever it takes to become the greatest magician the world has ever seen.

For the first time in what felt like many months, Harry found himself that afternoon utterly un-accosted by Dudley and his crew, who appeared to be just as fascinated by the magic as he was. So distracted, in fact, that they had completely forgotten all about the joys of Harry-hunting in their awe of what seemed, from a certain perspective, to be utterly impossible.   

And now, to know that the very thing that let him get away scot-free for an afternoon and that he found so fascinating and wonderful was also connected to his parents? It was like the stars had aligned for Harry Potter, for the very first time in his life.

Little did young Harry know, that his magic and his parents magic were not in fact very similar at all. Indeed, in his parents’ eyes, Harry would be considered to have no magic at all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Evan White

Harry had taken to visiting the library for books about magic in the free time that he now has without daily “Harry Hunting”. He knew that it would probably only be so long before Dudley and his friends might lose interest in magic (for Dudley was still fascinated by magic and was indeed going to friends’ houses after school to see what kinds of tricks they could perform, with Vernon and Petunia none the wiser). For now, it was a brief reprieve. But if he could get good enough to keep Dudley’s interest…and pay homage to his parents all the while. Well, that was killing two birds with one stone really.

Harry knew that the first thing that one must do in order to be a real magician was to have a good stage name. Marvin the Magnificent was indeed magnificent, but his name? Significantly less so. Even one of his favorite magicians, with whom he thought he shared a name, Harry Houdini, was known more by his stage name than his real one. Ehrich Weiss was both too boring and too foreign to relate to his primarily American audience. Harry was amazed by the feats that Houdini had accomplished. It was a very different type of magic from what Marvin had shown them, which was more sleight of hand, hypnosis and misdirection, but no less fascinating. Harry wanted to pay his respects to such a legend, yet knew he wanted to make a name for himself while honoring his parents. And thus, Evan White was born. Evan for his mothers’ maiden name, Evans. White for Ehrich Weiss, Harry Houdini, his hero.

Harry’s research that day proved fruitful, wowing his cousin with some sleight of hand card tricks, leaving Dudley begging him for more.

Harry went on performing small shows for Dudley and his friends, including the initially disdainful Piers Polkiss. But even Piers was not immune to Harry’s charm and sheer presence while performing. As Evan, Harry had a charisma about him. A mischievous and smooth confidence, with an almost knowing twinkle in his eye, that broadcasted that he always has an ace up his sleeve. Sometimes literally.

At first, when Big D brought his scrawny freak of a cousin before Piers and the rest of the gang to perform magic, Piers was sure it was all just a big joke to humiliate the younger boy like usual. Piers opened his mouth to mock him, but was confused when Dudley nudged him hard in the ribs to keep him quiet.

Piers’ mouth stayed open when the freak in front of him suddenly transformed.

Gone was the almost demure posture of a raggedy orphan with no friends. In his place stood a boy of assured confidence and power. His green eyes seemed to dance with life as he spread his arms grandly in front of him. He no longer seemed lost in his worn out, baggy clothes. The loose fabric instead practically billowing as he fluidly pulled his arms apart, empty hands splayed out to the audience. There was a sort of grandness to the action that invoked an image of a man in the limelight on stage with an audience of hundreds if not thousands in Piers’ mind, rather than the meagre five in attendance on that day, sitting cross-legged in the park.

In a flash, he brought them back together before once again separating them, this time drawing a deck of cards between them, flicking them from one hand to the other with ease.

“Lads, ladies. Welcome to the show,” A cocksure, yet oddly warm grin spread across his features. An expression Piers had never before seen on his face. Piers’ mouth was still agape as Harry reintroduced himself. “I am Evan White, magician and escape artist extraordinaire.” 

Piers could not reconcile the two images of the boy in his rather simple mind. Scrawny Harry was just a loser freak with no friends, but Evan White? Evan White was a goddamn magician. Piers started seeing the two as completely different people. The contrast was just too jarring.

Over the next year and a half, Harry’s home life continued almost exactly as it had before, only practicing magic in the safety of his cupboard or after school in the park or the library with Dudley and his gang. He still had to cook breakfast, fold laundry and work in the garden at the beck and call of his aunt and uncle. But as much as things were the same as before, they were different. 

Harry was the happiest he had ever been in his entire life. He understood why his parents had become magicians if this was the way they would feel every day. While performing as Evan, Harry felt that he could unleash his true self. He felt free. It was as if magic, real magic, was reverberating through his body and linking him with his audience. Their joy and wonder were matched by his own when he took the stage. Whether his stage was just some park bench or not, it did not matter to him.

And then there was Dudley. Gone were the afternoons spent hiding away in libraries or running through the neighbor in desperation to escape the older boy’s clutches. The bigger boy had become an avid fan and at times his “lovely assistant” during performances.

Dudley had become utterly obsessed with magic, almost as much as Harry himself. Whether it was watching Harry, as Evan, perform or even helping Harry develop new tricks, Dudley loved every second of it. Even as he got better at spotting the movements for certain tricks, Harry got better with his hands. Even if Dudley knew exactly how a trick was done and was looking for it, he sometimes still couldn’t catch the movement. It was perfection. Those moments were the best.

But Dudley’s favorite part was just watching the magic happen, so to speak, without agenda. Simply enjoying the show without trying to pick apart each trick. Just sitting there and being amazed at his cousin’s craft. Glancing over at the open-mouthed faces of his mates in wonder.

And so, when it all came crashing down again, Dudley was shell-shocked.

Dad was at work and Mum had gone out for the afternoon, leaving Dudley and Harry to their own devices at home. When she returned, she was white as a sheet. She paced about the threshold until his father came home, before uttering in a furious, hushed tone, “That freak has tainted our sweet boy!”

You see, Petunia had just gone out to tea with some of the other mothers from the neighborhood. Soon enough the small talk turned into gossip, when one of the other mothers, Piers’ mum, said the…well the magic word.

“Why Petunia, I really have to thank your nephew. My little Piers has never been so focused! Piers’ mum gushed. “You know how young boys can be these days, always up to no good. I was so worried about all those afternoons he spends with his little friends when I heard that your nephew was just showing them magic tricks of all things. They’re all enthralled by it.”

Petunia stiffened as if struck by a physical blow. Her tea halted on its path to her mouth.

“I assure you, Deborah, I had no idea,” Petunia replied, an unhealthy pallor washing over her face.

“Well, I think it’s marvelous!” chimed in one of the other mothers.

A few others lumped on their own praise in favor of this new hobby, but by then Petunia had blocked out the rest of the world into white noise. Her hand trembled as she brought down her teacup into the saucer. All she could hear were Deborah’s words reverberating throughout her mind. Her nephew. The freak. Her son. Enthralled by magic. And the whole neighborhood knew.

“Petunia, dear, are you quite alright?”

Petunia’s heart hammered in her chest as she jerkily stood to her feet.

“How dare that freak taint my son,” Petunia snarled under her breath. She addressed the ladies. “That boy has violated the rules of our household. We told him that we would have none of that nonsense in our home!”

“But Petunia surely it’s alright. Magic tricks are certainly better for children than some of the other things the children could get up to. Besides, it’s all in good fun!” implored Deborah.

“Who are you to tell me how to run my household? Vernon and I have forbidden it and that is the end of it!” Petunia huffed, before pausing and turning to Olivia Jones, who was hosting. “Thank you for the tea, it was wonderful.”

Petunia left without another word.

Vernon came home, punctual as always, though by then Petunia had almost worn a trench into their carpeting in the foyer with her pacing.

“Pet, what’s the matter? I haven’t ever seen you in such a state.”

Petunia was practically frothing at the mouth as she hissed, “That freak has tainted our son!”

“What. Happened.”

“The neighborhood ladies were talking about it. Vernon, he has all the neighborhood boys under his spell. Deborah said they were enthralled.”

Vernon’s face swelled up like a storm. His cheeks skipped red altogether, going straight to plum purple.

“BOY, get in here!” Vernon roared.

Harry knew better than to run. Delaying it would only make things worse for him.

“What have I told you about keeping your freakishness to yourself? We took you in out of the goodness of our hearts and you taint our son with your unnaturalness?! And not just our son, but the neighbors as well! What do you have to say for yourself?”

Harry hissed in pain as a meaty fist grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, but said nothing.

His silence only infuriated the already livid man further. Vernon stormed to the cupboard, ripping the door open before roughly hurling Harry inside and slamming the door shut behind him.

“There will be no more funny business from you, boy,” Vernon spat at him through the vent. “You won’t be eating for a week.”

With that, the latch crashed shut, locking poor Harry inside.

Dudley was upset. Enraged even. But mostly, he felt guilty. It was a strange feeling. One he hadn’t really felt before. He didn’t like it.

He heard about Harry’s punishment. It wasn’t right. How could Mum and Dad not understand how marvelous magic was? If they could just see it…

But Dudley knew they would have none of it. Still. It just wasn’t right that his cousin couldn’t eat. Food was like one of the best things in the world, behind maybe magic of course. To not have it for days? Dudley couldn’t fathom such an ordeal.

A small part of Dudley, the part that was the spoilt only child of indulgent parents, the part of him that existed before he discovered the wonders of magic, was just glad that he wasn’t the one facing such punitive measures. It was the same part of him that whispered that Harry was a freak. The same part that was drowned out whenever he saw “Evan” take the stage. The part of him that grew quieter and quieter as time went on. His parents were depriving Harry of two of the best things in the world. Even if he was a freak, of which Dudley was less and less sure of by the day, he didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that.

Besides, Dudley was a bit selfish. Harry could do magic that Dudley could only dream of. His parents were really punishing him if Harry couldn’t do magic anymore. And that was just unacceptable, Dudley reasoned.

 That night, some time after he heard his parents’ hushed goodnights, Dudley crept out of bed.

Dudley winced as he reached the foot of the stairs, the last step creaking loudly. He froze, listening for any stirring coming from up the stairs.

Instead, he was surprised to hear light rustling from the kitchen.

He crept past the cupboard, heart in his throat. Coiled and ready to scream bloody murder and run like hell if it came to it, he peeked around the corner into the kitchen.

“Bloody hell, Harry. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Dudley, what are you doing up? Midnight snack?” Harry had almost slipped back into his Evan persona with that kind of nonchalance.

“I was on my way to get you some food actually.”

Harry’s eyebrows arched up in surprise.

“It’s not fair that they punished you like that,” Dudley wasn’t good at this sort of thing. “I-I mean no one deserves to go without supper.”

His cousin’s face broke out into a grin.

“I think I’ve got it sorted, but it’s the thought that counts, I suppose.”

There was an awkward silence between the two.

“…Well alright then, I suppose I should head back to bed then.” Dudley turned back towards the stairs.

“Thanks, Big D. I mean it.”

Dudley wasn’t used to being thanked, so he just shrugged awkwardly, before he paused. “Wait…” He twisted back around to face the young magician. “How did you get out of your cupboard, anyway? I thought Dad locked it from the outside?”

Harry just winked at him.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, Dudley,” His face broke out into Evan’s trademark cocksure grin, before saying, “I’d be disgracing the name of Houdini if I let something as silly as a locked door stop me.”

Chapter Text

A/N: I haven’t had too much experience writing dialogue before, so if anyone has advice/comments about that or any sources to recommend, it would be greatly appreciated! Either leave a review or PM me.

Chapter 3: The Pub

Harry’s secret life as a magician continued in the Dursley household, kept under wraps thanks to Dursley and the rest of their friends—for, indeed, Piers and the rest of the gang had become such, even to Harry. There were no more mentions of magic to the adults, after Dudley explained to the others what happened. He left out the specifics of Harry’s punishment for the sake of Harry’s privacy. Harry did not want them to know. When he was with his friends, he was Evan White, magician extraordinaire. Evan didn’t have to deal with Harry’s problems.

Instead, the boys told their parents that they had grown bored with magic (blasphemy in their eyes) and had instead begun to “hang out” at the park after school. In reality, whenever the boys went outside to “play” it was really an excuse for Harry and Dudley to show them whatever new tricks they had come up.

Harry’s eleventh birthday passed by without much fanfare, as was typical at Number 4 Private Drive. But the gang celebrated by lighting some small firecrackers off in the park, to the ire of some of their neighbors. Dudley had become a bit of a pyromaniac in his time as a magician’s assistant.

That very night, Albus Dumbledore received a note in his office.

No owls today.

-AF

Dumbledore was bemused. He was sure that the Potter boy was the Chosen One from the Prophecy. It all fit. Born to those who thrice defied him. Check. Born as the seventh month dies. Check. The Dark Lord even marked the boy, his scar was plain as day! Surely it had to be him. So, why hadn’t his Hogwarts letter arrived?

“Tilly!”

A crack answered him.

“Yes, Headmaster Dumblydore?”

“Get Minerva for me, please.”

The little elf bowed, before snapping its fingers and vanishing with another crack.

Minerva McGonagall arrived in his office a few short moments later. As Deputy Headmistress, it was her duty to oversee the distribution of Hogwarts acceptance letters on the eleventh birthdays to all magical persons in Britain eligible to attend. If she sent Harry Potter a letter and it simply didn’t arrive, someone was blocking the owls from reaching him. Which would be indicative of a problem, but something easily fixed with a quick visit to Number 4 Private Drive and some investigation into the wards. But if Harry Potter wasn’t even sent a letter in the first place…

Albus shuddered at the thought.

“Ah, Minerva. Please come in. I trust you sent Mr. Potter his letter?” Albus inquired, offering his Deputy Head a seat in front of his desk.

Minerva sat down looking slightly shaken.

“Lemon drop?”

Minerva politely shook her head.

“I’m afraid, Albus, that Harry Potter’s name did not appear in the Hogwarts register.”

You could hear a pin drop as Albus’ worst fears were confirmed. He took a moment to collect himself.

“You’re certain of this?”

“Indeed I am. I checked the register twice before I myself believed it.”

There was another long pause before Minerva spoke up again. “Are you sure we shouldn’t do something, Albus? They really are the worst sort of Mugg—”

“No, Minerva.” Albus cut her off softly, but firmly. “Harry Potter isn’t a wizard. We must let the boy have a normal life, without magic. He belongs to the muggle world now.”

“But Albus—”

“It would be best if the wizarding world wasn’t made aware of the Boy-Who-Lived’s helplessness.” He said with finality. Any sort of retort died in Minerva’s throat at the pointed glance from over his half-moon spectacles.  “We will let them believe that he is receiving special tutoring away from the prying eyes of the public. The boy will be safe enough where he is. One day they may find out the truth, but we will deal with the threat of Voldemort before that happens.”

He ended the discussion with Minerva with an assurance that he did not truly feel. Albus was not sure what this news meant for the prophecy. Could he have been wrong about the prophecy referring to Harry Potter? Was the Dark Lord in the prophecy even referring to Voldemort? Or maybe the Child of Prophecy it was the Longbottom boy after all…

“It was supposed to arrive by now,” Petunia whispered at Vernon from across the bed. Both lay side by side in the stillness of the night. Petunia’s blonde hair bobbled in its curlers as she turned over to face her husband.

“What was, Pet?”

“Lily got hers just before she turned eleven. Both her and that horrid boy from Spinner’s End. His own letter should have arrived by now. Someone should have come by the house to take him to wherever it is their kind go to buy their school supplies.”

“Maybe even his own kind don’t want him now,” grunted Vernon in reply.

“Maybe…” Petunia remained unconvinced. She was sure that one day, one of their kind would darken their doorstep to take her nephew away, only to return him later on, a full-fledged freak in his own right.

Harry was twelve when the Dursley’s once again caught wind of his magic. Determined as he was to become the greatest magician of all time on honor of his parents’ memory, he knew that it was inevitable that they would hear about his exploits. Evan White was the talk of the town in Little Whinging. His classmates had slowly learned about the magic that he was doing for his cousin and his friends and soon enough he was performing in front of crowds of people in the park. It was really only a matter of time before the Dursley’s connected the gossip of Evan White the magician to Harry Potter, the son of two magicians himself.

It was the last straw for Vernon and Petunia.

“OUT! GET OUT! You are no longer welcome in our home! We swore that we would stamp the unnaturalness out of you, but you are clearly beyond our help.” Vernon raged, shoving his meaty finger into Harry’s chest, still holding his briefcase in his other hand, having just returned home from work. He had been mortified in his office at Grunnings, when his coworkers had told him about a child magician performing around the town, mostly in parks. It didn’t take Vernon long to connect the dots.

Vernon’s shouts had drawn Petunia out from the kitchen and Dudley lumbered down the stairs at all the commotion.

“Dad, you can’t just make him leave! Where’s he got to go?”

“I don’t care where he goes, so long as it’s not here!”

“But Dad—”

“It’s alright, Big D,” Harry cut him off, surprisingly calm. “It was always going to happen eventually.”

“Harry…”

Harry turned to his uncle.

“Just hire me a cab to London and you’ll never have to hear from me again. We’ll say I’m off to see a relative downtown. I’ll just grab a bag from my cupboard, so they aren’t suspicious.”

Harry wasn’t thrilled at leaving so soon, but it was an eventuality he had prepared for. He had some meager funds from performing for people at the park and kept most of his supplies on hand in his school bag.

As he passed Dudley, who was still standing at the foot of the stairs in disbelief, he turned to him, giving him a reassuring grin.

“I’ll be alright. I’m gonna miss you, Dud,”

Harry extended his hand, only to be crushed by a bear hug, which he returned after a moment’s hesitation. Harry walked out the door to wait for his cab, without looking back.  

Harry glanced out the cab window as Little Whinging burred by. In spite of everything, he was going to miss Number Four. His cousin and probably best friend. Even Piers and the rest of the gang. Years of sharing magic and having fun had long tempered any indignation he had felt all those years ago towards his former schoolyard bullies. But even so, Harry was excited for the future. New audiences. A clean slate. He had always dreamed of going to London, Paris and beyond. He couldn’t wait to see the big city.

Petunia and Vernon were lying in bed together, like they always did. Petunia was wearing her usual curlers and nightgown. Vernon with his customary blue and white striped pajamas. Unlike usual, however, Petunia was curled up on her side facing away from him. Vernon lay flat on his back.

“We’re finally rid of him,” Vernon broke the ice. Relief flooded his tone, though Petunia’s deviation from routine put him on edge.

There was a stretch of silence before Petunia answered. It came out as a whisper; her voice was almost fragile in its softness.

“What if he was just a normal child all along?” Petunia’s eyes started to water. Vernon could tell, despite not facing her.

“There’s nothing normal about that child, Pet,” Vernon insisted. “You saw the way the neighborhood kids changed around him. It was like they were all under his spell! It’s just not natural. You know what your sister and that gadabout were. What their son must be. They were freaks and he is just the same.”

“You’re right, of course Vernon. But I can’t help but think…he’s the only thing I had left of her…and we sent him away.”

Petunia shuffled around to face him. In her hands was a tear-stained photograph of Lily Potter. Vernon shifted onto his side to hold her.

“His unnatural ways were having a negative effect on our son. He was a bad influence. He had to leave.”

Vernon sucked in a deep breath, letting it go with a sigh.

“Who knows, Pet. Maybe with his unnaturalness…maybe he’ll be alright.

Harry was having the time of his life. The past year since coming to London was just a blast. Incredibly profitable too. God bless American tourists. The other tourists were lucrative as well, but the Americans were a bloody gold mine. Especially if you’ve got a young face like his.

Harry ran con after con on these poor saps. He played for sympathy, he performed, he pickpocketed. And the best part was that tourists almost always carried a decent hunk of cash. Cards were of no use to him, so if he nicked a wallet off of someone, he just emptied out the cash before either returning it to their pocket or just dumping it down an alleyway. He never stayed in one place for too long, else locals catch wind of a twelve-year-old running around town without parents and stayed mindful of school hours. It wouldn’t do for someone to try to call in the bobbies if he looked like he was skiving. He stayed out of sight for most of the day and slept under bridges or in alleyways. Harry enjoyed the open air, even if he often didn’t have much to sleep on. It was freeing after having been stuck in a cramped cupboard for so long. Every so often he snuck into a youth hostel for a quick shower and sleep on a proper bed. He made sure to get up and out of there before he could arouse any suspicion of being unaccompanied. On the weekends, particularly in the summer, there was enough activity that it didn’t matter as much. But still, whenever someone asked, “where are your parents?” Harry knew it was about time to move on.

He still loved performing the most, but money was money and being a busker can only make you so much, even if some people gushed at you for being a child. That got old pretty fast too, but Harry also knew that it was a big reason that people didn’t get too upset when they lost their money. Harry’s favorite con was a “classic card game” called Three-card Monte. It was a game in which the dealer has full control of who wins and who loses. The goal is for the player to find the queen out of three cards, which are picked up and swapped by the dealer, as the player tries to follow where the queen goes. In reality, the dealer can palm the queen whenever he likes and switch it out with another card, before placing it back in the rotation. The player often ends up following the card as a result. Only true suckers fell for it and played the game, but those types of people are the kind you want to swindle anyway. But it was also the closest thing to performing that most of his cons could get. It was one of the cons well-known enough that he couldn’t do it very often, especially where a policeman might see him. It was risky, but his youth gave him some leeway in either feigning ignorance or disappearing into a crowd. It was also excellent for drawing in marks. Over time, he learned how to palm watches and wallets by watching other swindlers on the street. There weren’t many of them and they could be tough to spot, but Harry had an eye honed by years of sleight of hand. Replicating the feat only took a couple practice tries on the other swindlers themselves before he felt ready to try it on a real target.

It was around September the following year that Harry noticed something strange. Throughout his city-wide travels, Harry had seen several people in odd garb that looked like it came straight out of the 17^th century. Men wearing cravats and cloaks, women wearing long, flowing dresses. They looked out of place in the modern streets of London. Like stick figures in a masterpiece. Patches in an otherwise contiguous background. He had never really paid them any mind, just assuming that they were having some sort of silly costume party. But now, there were too many out and about to be ignored. At first there was only a couple, but then, like mites coming out of the woodwork, there were suddenly more. A lot more. Even stranger, nobody else seemed to notice these people. All the other passersby, sans Harry himself, just continued on their merry way, walking around them, yet paying them absolutely no mind. It was as if they weren’t there at all, as if it was perfectly natural to walk around something that is not there. And so, Harry followed them.

It was only a few blocks away on Charing Cross Road that these oddly clothed people stopped in front of what appeared to be an old, abandoned storefront, windowless and sitting unscrupulously between two other weathered shops; both of which looked only a mite livelier on the interior than the abandoned storefront in between. The oddly dressed people entered the abandoned storefront without a thought, vanishing from Harry’s view. Harry himself was cautious, watching several groups of people enter the strange building over the course of half an hour before his curiosity overwhelmed him.

Harry was not sure exactly what to expect when he himself opened the door to the highly trafficked, yet oddly abandoned looking storefront. Maybe some kind of cult doing a ritual or a weird period-themed costume party. But it certainly was not a relatively crowded pub with people just going about their business. Just a normal pub, aside from the fact that it looked like something straight out of the 17^th century, of course.

Harry’s modern plain clothes, a set of jeans and casual collared shirt that his aunt and uncle had gotten him for the sake of keeping up appearances when out in public (it would not do to let others think that the Dursley’s could not afford to provide for him, after all) and a flat cap that he had nicked off a vendor a few months prior to cover up his most identifying feature, his scar, all of which was carefully chosen to easily melt into a crowd when the situation called for it, did nothing to help him blend in here. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

An older man who stood behind the bar, presumably the proprietor of the establishment, if not just the barman, eyed him up and down, taking in his “strange” clothing. He grunted before calling out to him in a gruff voice.

“Muggleborn, are you?”

“What? Umm…yes,” replied Harry, as smoothly as he could. For a moment, he was stuck marveling at the rather shabby interior, more amazed that it existed at all within what previously appeared, from the outside at least, a vacant building, than anything else. Once one got over the ostensible time travel that occurred after stepping through the threshold, it was rather unremarkable. Still, Harry knew to be polite.

“I was just taking it all in. Lovely place you got here. It’s certainly got character.”

The barman just grunted.

“I’m Tom, this is the Leaky Cauldron. You seem a bit young to be in here for a pint. You looking to get into the Alley?”

“Oh. Uh, yes. Yes, please. I’m Evan.”

Thrown as he was after his entrance, Harry had long since learned to just run with what was given to him. If someone gave him an excuse or a reason to be somewhere he probably should not be, Harry certainly was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He knew how to make plans on the fly, even as he was assaulted with new information by the second. First rule of improv on stage: always say yes.

The man grunted again, before walking out from behind the bar.

“Follow me,” said Tom, beckoning Harry over with an outstretched arm.

Tom led Harry out a door that sat at back corner of the pub. They entered the small courtyard, stopping in front of a red bricked wall. Harry was a bit confused, as he thought he was to be shown some back alley. Not knowing what to expect, he waited for Tom to explain, palming a small firecracker just in case he needed to make a quick getaway.

“You been through here before?”

Through?

“Uh, no I haven’t.”

This time, saying no was the safer option. Improv rules can go out the window in the face of common sense.

Tom pulled out a stick from his back pocket.

“All you gotta do is tap these bricks, in this order,” Tom demonstrated to Harry the motion once in the air with the stick before repeating the process on the wall itself.

Harry’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as the bricks suddenly peeled away, as if by magic, rearranging themselves into an archway into a bustling walkway packed with vendors.

“Impossible…” muttered Harry under his breath, mouth agape in delightful disbelief. His green eyes seemed to come to life at the sight, alight with sheer wonder. There was an overwhelming surge of emotions as Harry witnessed the utterly unfathomable happen in front of his very eyes and a new world opened up before him.

Simply magical.

“Welcome…to Diagon Alley.”

Well, Harry thought, even a guy like Tom has to have some dramatic flair.

Harry still locked in place in complete awe, open mouth morphing into an elated grin, ignored Tom, who rolled his eyes with a grunt.

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

Tom left without another word.

“Hey, Big D! Wait up, mate!” Piers puffed out, as he struggled to catch up to his friend.

“Oh, Piers. What’s going on, mate?” Dudley was quite a bit less out of breath than his rail thin friend, who still had not filled out his rather lanky frame. Dudley had been starting to wonder if it would ever happen.

“Bloody hell…give me a mo’,” Piers huffed a few deep breaths, bent over at the waist. “Not all of us are built like a bloody lorry.”

Dudley looked over at his out of breath friend with an amused grin, rubbing the sweat from his brow. Piers may not be as in shape as him, but Dudley had always sweat more than most, especially in the heat of summer.

“You’re the one who asked me to help you bulk up a little. It’s just a little cardio to warm us up before heading to the gym.”

“A little? Three miles is not a ‘little’,”

Dudley let out a hearty chuckle.

Dudley was in the best shape of his life. Over the past year, a lot had changed. With his cousin and best friend gone, Dudley and the other boys had slowly drifted away from magic. They tried to keep things going after school, but something about it just seemed less…magical. It just was not the same without the magic man himself. It seemed that the impossible had happened and magic started to lose its luster. The sadness they felt at the absence of their friend tainted much of the wonder. Let alone the fact that it was Harry who was always the best at it and was showing them new things. As much as Dudley assisted Harry, he lacked the natural affinity that Harry seemed to have for it. The lads moved on to other things, and though Dudley still hung out with most of them, it was becoming a rarer and rarer occurrence. After Dudley’s parents gave Harry the boot, Dudley had been in a rage. This was not merely the discontent of a spoilt child throwing a tantrum, but a white-hot rage the burned bright against his parents. Two people who he loved with all his heart. He had always known that they hated Harry because he was different or because his parents were different or whatever. Heck, Dudley had been the same way when he was younger, before Harry shared magic with him. Dudley was deeply ashamed at who he had been. And at who he parents were still. But he loved his parents. He needed an outlet for all that anger so that he did not take it out on them. He knew he parents were wrong to kick Harry out, but…they were his mum and dad.

Nothing let him rage quite nearly as much as he could when he boxed. There’s just something about just wailing on another person that was immensely satisfying to Dudley. You know, in a non-criminal kind of way of course. It certainly did not hurt that he was very good at it. He was a little slow in the beginning, but boy could he pack a punch. Vernon was all for it. Of course, Petunia very much was not. She was always worried about her ickle Dudleykins before a bout. She almost put a stop to it when Dudley first asked Dad to take him to lessons. Vernon had argued that he was proud that his son wanted to be a real man and defend himself. Petunia was vehemently against an activity which she described as “barbaric and dangerous”. But if there was one thing his mother was not particularly good at, it was denying her son anything he asked for. And so, Dudley trained. He joined the local gym over the holidays, while training with the school team at Smeltings during the year. He took to it like a duck to water, just as Harry seemed to when it came to magic. He trained almost every day, working out all of the anger he felt towards his parents over Harry’s departure. After turning thirteen, Dudley had started to lose some of the baby fat. Much of his bulk still remained, though most of it was muscle now.

In all, Dudley looked good. He felt even better. He was happy again, a little over a year after his cousin left. Piers had been a big part of that. He was a true friend to Dudley, not trying to replace Harry, but sticking to Dudley’s side. As he always had.

“What are you smiling at?” said Piers, narrowing his eyes at him. “Something on my face?”

Dudley shook his head. “No, it’s nothing,”

“Seriously, Big D, why are you smiling like that? It’s creeping me out, man.”

Dudley let the smile drop from his face for a moment, bending down quickly to scoop up some mud from the side of the road. Dudley’s grin suddenly came back full force, a glint of mischievousness in his eye, before he lunged at his friend. In seconds he had the smaller boy pinned in the dirt, face now smattered with mud.

“Oops! Sorry, it’s really hard to keep your balance when you’re trying to stand on two stick legs and you’re built like a ‘bloody lorry’,” chortled Dudley. “Oi, Piers, I think there really is something on your face now.”

“Ouch, mate! Gerroff! Dudley!”

Yeah, Dudley was happy. But a part of him knew that he was still missing something. That old, familiar sense of excitement and wonder that had become synonymous with spending time with his cousin was gone. Things just were not the same anymore and Dudley was still struggling to come to terms with that. Life moves forward.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: The Alley

Dudley would love this, thought Harry as he strolled through the bustling street, eyes drifting from vendor to vendor, never really able to focus on a single one. Harry was just overwhelmed.

What even is this place? Who are all these people?

It seemed that there were people of all ages in the Alley, the majority of which appeared to be school-aged kids with their families. It was a sea of people, almost all of which were dressed in the same strange fashion as the people that Harry had followed through the streets of London into the Leaky Cauldron. An entirely different society, deep in the heart of plain old Britain!

If Harry was told that some place like this existed, he would not hear a word of it. But seeing was believing. And seeing this? It opened up a whole new set of possibilities in Harry’s mind. The scope of this place…it was like the boundaries for what was and was not possible had just been blown wide open.

Toto, I have a feeling we aren’t in Kansas anymore.

This place was magical. Lopsided building that looked like they shouldn’t be standing, a shop selling cauldrons with an outdoor demonstration that had sparks shooting out of the pewter pot (that seemed to be stirring itself!), shops selling all sorts of merchandise that Harry could never have imagined. Bat spleens, eel eyes, dragon liver, globes of the moon. There were rolls of parchment and elaborate inkpots next to cups filled to the brim with quills. Products seemed to pour out of the shops into the street.

It was not long before Harry was starting to feel overwhelmed. There was only so much he felt he could learn from just observing the chaos that was the Alley. He knew he need to find more information. To at least get some kind of context for all this.

Harry wandered into a bookstore of all places. Now, Harry did not mind books on principle—it was, after all, how the boy had learnt most of his tricks—he was, however, not bookishly inclined. When presented with such a fascinating discovery of a world such as this one, Harry’s go-to course of action was certainly not to simply read up on the subject. But going in blind into the unknown was a good way to get yourself into some serious trouble. And unlike before, where all he could do was follow some strangely dressed people walking around London in broad daylight, he felt the sensible approach was to get some kind of a feel this world was like before diving headfirst into it. He was definitely a “learn by doing” kind of fellow.

And so, Harry spent an hour or so inside the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, perusing over the various tomes—for that was what they were, rather than more modernly printed books—with titles like A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, and A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch. Each of these titles sounded fascinating to young Harry, but even as he delved deeper and deeper into them, Harry came across several roadblocks in their practicality. Particularly, A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration which seemed a rather ostentatious title for what Harry was assuming was developing methods of disguise, which Harry already had somewhat of a knack for, but was ever looking for ways to improve. So, naturally, Harry was dumbfounded to read about the complete alteration of one object into another, which Harry knew to be impossible by conventional means. He harkened back to the bricks at the entrance of the Alley. Was there perhaps more to magic than he originally thought? Clearly, conventionality had become practically irrelevant ever since he set foot in the Leaky Cauldron. After skimming through the more practically focused passages of the transfiguration tome, he turned to the one on magical theory. Just as with the last, conventionality appeared to be utterly thrown out of the window. He did note, that in each book a key element seemed to be necessary for producing magic with reality altering effect: a wand. Harry was almost certain that he could acquire something of the sort at one of the shops along the Alley.  

Harry was about to continue on to A History of Magic when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Young man, are you going to buy anything? This is not a library you know,” It was an older gentleman wearing a cloak, with an air about him that suggested importance. Likely the purveyor of the merchandise that Harry had been perusing though.

“Sorry, sir. I was just caught up in it all. You have a fascinating selection in here.”

A little flattery never hurt anyone. It did not, however, seem to satisfy the man who crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at him.

“Either buy something, or I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Yes, of course. How much for this lot?” asked Harry, gesturing to his three selected books. Out of curiosity and politeness more than anything.

There was an almost greedy gleam in the man’s eye as he listed the price.

“That’d be 29 galleons and 16 sickles, in all.”

Harry was bewildered by the odd terms. Galleons? Like the old Spanish ships from the days of the Armada? This was obviously some sort of currency, perhaps exclusively used in the Alley, which Harry was starting to realize was an utterly separate society from normal Britain.

“Um…do you happen to accept pounds sterling?”

The man grumbled under his breath, some unkind words about “ignorant muggleborns” or some such. Come to think of it, Tom had called him something similar. Perhaps some kind of term for people new to this society? And surely it had to be some kind of society if they had their own form of currency. Harry regretted not reading the other tome now. A History of Magic seemed like it may answer many such questions. If this man was a nicer fellow, Harry might have felt inclined to ask about it, but as things were, Harry was left with the impression that this man was grouchier than most. He was sure that he would come across someone with a friendlier disposition later on, who might be more receptive to such questions.

There was a brief stretch of annoyed silence from the man before he gritted out a response.

“No, we don’t take muggle money here. You can make an exchange at Gringotts. Don’t come back until you do.”

And with that, Harry was ushered out the shop, brushing passed a bushy-haired girl with a tall, red-haired boy about his age, arguing about a cat of all things. It was perhaps the most normal thing Harry had encountered all day. They were even wearing normal clothes!

“Pardon me,” he uttered as he was forced to squeeze between them, as they had stopped in the doorway to glare at each other. They both ignored him as he stepped between them into the bustling cobblestone street.

It had been a few hours at least, judging by the added heat of the afternoon sun. Harry supposed that if he wanted to be able to disappear into the crowd here, he would need a new set of clothes to play the part. And, naturally, he would need some money in order to do so. Fortunately, the street seemed to be packed with people.

Perfect pickings for a little pickpocketing.

Ordinarily, Harry might have listened to the gentleman about making an exchange at the bank, but in Harry’s experience, banks have rules about making dealings with minors without a parent or guardian present. Additionally, it would likely require some form of official identification to perform any kind of transaction. Harry did not have anything of the sort at the moment. So, stealing it was.

Harry felt a little bad whenever he stole money from people, but as someone off on his own, unable to get a job to support himself due to his young age…well, he needed it more than they did. Besides, something told him that performing his own magic tricks for cash here would not be well-received. How do you impress someone who could do real magic? Not to mention it would draw a lot of undo attention. In a place like this, where Harry had little to no idea about much of anything, let alone the laws and practices of law enforcement, he definitely wanted to appear as just one of the masses. Thankfully, it seemed normal for school-aged children, such as himself, were expected to roam about the Alley without direct adult supervision. For once his smaller stature seemed to be a boon, making him appear young enough for these people to believe he was just starting school as a new wizard entering society. A “muggleborn”, as it were, who, he had overheard, only found out about wizarding society when they turn eleven, attending some boarding school with all the other magical children in Britain—a place called “Hogwarts”, which people seemed to insist was the greatest school there was. But then, if it was where every magical person in Britain went, what made it the best? The best compared to what? Harry had ignored the rest of the conversation, as it moved on to more inane things that did not really interest him.

A few purses pillaged later, Harry had successfully acquired quite a few gold coins, on top of a respectable number of silver and copper ones.

The “galleons” mentioned by the bookstore owner were likely the golden coins, Harry deduced, noting the way the owner mentioned them first. Convention was typically to list the larger denominations in regular Britain, at least. But sickles? Copper or silver…? Harry could not be sure, but he supposed he could always ask someone for help. But not the man from before. From what he could tell, that man was trying to swindle him with an absurd price for those books he was looking at earlier. Almost 30 galleons appeared to be a lot of money, if the purses Harry had come across were anything to go by. It seemed that people barely carried more than 30 galleons at any given time! Not to mention, it appeared that there were no larger denominations in the form of bills—at least, not that Harry could find. That meant carrying around thirty gold coins on you, which is certainly not light, nor convenient. Or it would not be, if not for some of the pouches that Harry had come across, which seemed lighter and deeper than they should be. Harry supposed he should not really be surprised, considering all that he had seen in the Alley by this point.

With that business done, Harry made his way into the first clothing store he could find. Madam Malkin’s Robes for all Occasions seemed to fit the bill.

He entered the shop. The door dinged behind him as he entered, despite the lack of a visible bell. There was a short witch in the back of the shop, who turned a friendly smile at him and said, “Be with you in just a moment, dear,” before turning to finish her task of pinning flowing fabric onto a boy, who appeared to be about a year or two younger than Harry himself.

Harry strode towards the back of the room, not without apprehension, but trying not to show it. His last interaction with a shopkeeper in the Alley had not gone so well. Then again, this woman seemed a fair amount friendlier than the man in Flourish and Blotts. Perhaps he would finally be able to ask some questions. Not too many, of course, he still had to be careful to act like he belonged. He thanked his lucky stars that he looked enough like one of these “muggleborns”, who were not expected to know everything about wizarding society.

“Alright, Hogwarts, dear?” said Madam Malkin

“Umm yes, I’m a muggleborn,” said Harry, almost apologetically, to see how she would respond.

“Oh, not to worry, dear! Haven’t seen you here before. You’re going into first year? Don’t know what house you’ll be in then, I suppose?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Alright, then. Let’s get you sorted. Just a standard uniform then?” asked Madam Malkin, as measuring tape appeared out of nowhere and starting measuring Harry’s dimensions without a word from the squat woman, seemingly having a mind of its own.

“And a casual set as well, if you please. Figure I might as well try to blend in a bit,” Harry tried to keep his tone as bashful as possible, tongue in cheek as the statement was.

“Of course, dear. I hope no one has been giving you much trouble over it,” said Madam Malkin, as she grabbed some fabric from the back and began pinning it to Harry’s form, marking appropriate lengths with an elegant wand that seemed to suit her.

“Some people were definitely friendlier than others,” Harry said honestly. “If…if you wouldn’t mind, I have some questions about wizarding society and how things are done here. Some people that I’ve met in the Alley don’t seem to be receptive to new people like myself, so I haven’t really been able to ask too much for fear of annoying them.”

Madam Malkin gave him a look of understanding that accompanied a world-weary sigh. “Unfortunately, not everyone in the Wizarding World is accepting of those with a background like yours. They view muggles as inferior beings and believe that their children, magical or not do not belong in their magical social circles. Some even believe that these muggleborn children stole their magic from magical folk, pinning the blame on them for the existence of squibs.”

That already was a ton of information for Harry to process. He supposed that normal people were refered to as “muggles” here, which made his fake identity that of a magical person—wizard—who was born to normal people. But it also sounded like there are magical people who could be born without magic, based on that last bit that she said about…squids? Either way, it seemed that Harry might not want to get his hopes up about performing similar feats to those that he had already seen in his brief time in the Alley. He might actually be one of these “muggles”. Then again, maybe he could hold out some hope. His parents, he realized, could very well have been a part of this wizarding society (he dared to hope). Which means it was possible that he himself was capable of performing magic. He was getting excited, even though he knew that he really should not. He tried to calm himself, even as his heart was racing. He needed to get a hand on one of those wands.

“Alright, that’s you done dear.”

Before he knew it, Madam Malkin was done fitting him with robes.

“Oh, right. Um…I’m afraid I’m not too familiar with how wizarding currency works…”

Madam Malkin was happy to explain. Seventeen sickles to a galleon, twenty-nine knuts to a sickle. Sickles were silver, knuts copper, galleons gold. Not exactly helpful for Harry in determining their worth relative to British pounds sterling, but Harry didn’t dare ask about the bank system, which he was supposed to already have visited, having used the wizarding money to pay for his robes. The robes were much more reasonably priced, relative to the average purse contents that Harry had sifted through, which only cemented the fact that the bookshop was overcharging the books they were selling. Whether it was because of Harry’s supposed status as a muggleborn or that they simply overcharged everyone, Harry didn’t know. Either way, he certainly was not going back there, when he was sure there was at least one other bookstore or a library at least. He hoped. Harry left the shop happily, wearing his new robes with a Hogwarts logo on the front, his normal clothes stuffed into his rucksack. He figured that wearing the school uniform might lend credence to his belonging in the Alley.

Lunchtime had long since come and gone, but Harry was much too distracted by the very existence of such a place to be hungry. He went shop window to shop window, eyeing all of the merchandise in amazement. There was an owl store, which Harry learned sold owls that could carry post for their respective owners, an apothecary, which sold all sorts of ingredients to make potions (ingredients, which often seemed, to Harry’s refined tastes, to be utterly disgusting), and even a store selling broomsticks of all things! It was not until Harry overheard that they could fly that he knew he had to have one. There was even a sport that was played up in the air while riding them! He knew he was looking for a wand, but that could surely wait a few moments, assuming Harry could even afford such a thing. Then again, the world was his wallet. He was usually fairly frugal, but on something like this? This was just too cool to not splurge on.

“Excuse me, sir?” Harry approached one of the store clerks. “How much is it for that broom out on display?”

Harry balked at the price listed by the salesman.

“But that broom is top of the line, of course. We have some cheaper models available in the back…” The salesman eyed him curiously for a moment. “Sorry, but are you going into your first year at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sir” said Harry, keeping with his story that he had used since entering the Alley.

“Then, I’m sorry to say that we cannot sell you a broomstick without the presence of a parent or guardian. You see, first year students aren’t allowed to have broomsticks at school,” said the salesman, looking a mite disappointed himself.

Harry was, well, not exactly crestfallen, but he had really hoped he could get his hands on one of them. Oh well, just because he could not now, does not mean he could not acquire one later. He considered coming back and shoplifting one, but that seemed a lot riskier than necessary, with all the pickpocketing he was doing already (not to mention that he suspected that his very presence in the Alley was of questionable legality, as he entered under false pretenses).

He left the broomstick shop in disappointment, but he was still vibrating with excitement for what was coming next. He had spied Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands down the street just before entering the broom shop. It was fairly nondescript from the exterior, though he did note that the entryway claimed that the store had been in operation since 382 BC. Which was utterly absurd.

Harry took a deep breath to contain his excitement before stepping inside. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, he knew. He knew, but he just could not help it. It was magic! His parents were magical—he was sure of it!

He entered the shop, feeling stiff as a board. He flinched at the tinkling of a bell that sounded off as he pulled the door open. The interior was quite unsettling, almost to the point of being creepy, not much light and dusty like you would not believe. Narrow boxes were piled up floor to ceiling. Harry could not see the back of the shop in the darkness. The rows and rows of boxes seemed to extend out into oblivion.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter.”

Harry jumped, as a white-haired man appeared out of nowhere to his left.

“Um, pardon me, sir…how did you know my name?” The words stumbled out of Harry’s mouth as he tried to collect himself. He was utterly thrown by everything about this man.

“You look just like your father. But for your mother’s eyes, of course,” said Ollivander, wistfully. “I remember the days they came in to buy their first wands like it was yesterday. Your father, James, 11 inches, mahogany, pliable. Excellent for transfiguration. Your mother, Lily, ten and three quarters inches, willow, swishy. Excellent for charm work. They were both wonderful people, your parents. Quite talented as well. It was such a terrible thing that happened to them.”

Harry was just as unsettled by the old wizards’ memory as he was impressed by it. The man seemed as barmy as he was brilliant. But even still he was elated by the discovery that his parents were indeed magical. He wanted to ask what Ollivander meant, about something terrible happening to his parents. He was always told that they had died in a car crash, but now? He was not so sure. But before he could even begin to form the words in his mouth, Ollivander snapped out of his brooding reverie.

“Now, let’s see what would work best with you, shall we? After all, it’s the wand that chooses the wizard, Harry.”

Without so much as a sound, a narrow box appeared in front of Ollivander, which he subsequently opened, eyeing the work inside with reverence, even as he eyed Harry calculatingly.

Harry was practically shivering with excitement and anticipation as he reached out for the wand. The wood seemed to be vibrating with life in Ollivander’s hands as he held it out for him. But no sooner had Harry touched it than all life vanished from the wood. A stick, devoid of all magic, replaced the wand as it passed into Harry’s hand.

Ollivander gasped, before composing himself.

“I see…many, like yourself, come into myself hoping to prove themselves magical to their families and prove their worth before they can be disowned. Unfortunately, they, like yourself, so often leave disappointed. The wand chooses the wizard…but I’m afraid no wand will choose a squib.”

Harry did not need to fake his disappointment as he left the wand shop. He was gutted. He knew now for a certainty that his parents were part of this world, Ollivander having confirmed his earlier suspicion. But the euphoria that came with that revelation was so immediately tempered with the reality that Harry was not.

Tears threatened to spill over from Harry’s eyes. He was so thrown by everything that had just happened that he had completely forgotten to ask Ollivander about what happened to his parents. He allowed a few drops to fall, ducking into a side alley briefly to compose himself. He would ask another time…for the time being, he didn’t want to go back in there.

He clutched his chest as he took several deep breaths to calming himself.

As he finally regained control over himself, he was struck by a realization.

I’m here, aren’t I? Even without magic…this world is open to me. I am a part of it already, whether it wants me to be or not. No wand? No magic? No problem.

Harry heaved a final deep breath before stepping back out into the Alley.