Work Text:
Now, when Hagrid declared he was going off to the pub for a pick-me-up, Harry was of the opinion that it would make the man's stomach more upset. He'd had to clean up after Uncle Vernon after a few drinks too many before, after all. But as much as many adults liked to think Harry was stupid, he was fairly bright. So he knew that Hagrid might not yell at him or anything if he said that, but the man would certainly ignore him either way.
But the problem was that Harry Potter, small and completely new to the world of magic, had no clue what stores he was supposed to be going to. Hagrid had told him to get started on the shopping, but Harry had no clue what each store sold. And beyond that, which store was he supposed to go to when multiple ones selling the same sort of things. From where he stood, he could see Flourish and Blott's and Obscurus Books, and both looked like they were bookstores. But which one sold the books he was supposed to get?
As Harry wandered miserably back and forth, peering into windows as he tried to figure out what to do and looking an awful lot like a homeless waif, what many people might call calamity struck. At a trunk-shop, a second-hand item kept under lock, key, and spell alike suddenly burst free, charging through the store— quite literally. There were many screams, and quite a few colorful spells shot at the rampaging monstrosity as it demolished half the store's on-display stock, barrelled over three assorted families, and crashed through the wall like a wrecking-ball— or like an overpowered bombarda, if one wanted to be strictly magical. Shoppers, shop-owners, and window-shoppers alike scattered in alarm as an old chest charged down the street on several dozen small human-like feet, lid banging loudly—
Until it skidded to a stop right in front of Harry, who had been watching the spectacle in morbid confusion— he was new to this place, after all. It looked quite strange to him, but maybe huge wooden chests with human feet were the norm around here? He'd seen people react similarly to large dogs at the park, throwing themselves out of the way as if their life depended on it. And it hadn't exactly hurt him as of yet, either.
That stated, he was getting the incredibly odd sensation of being studied. This was especially odd because for all the feet the chest had, Harry saw no eyes on it whatsoever. But surely it must've had some way of seeing? He'd just watched it very plainly run out of a store and turn to follow the road. Maybe it's eyes were very small? He didn't want to make any assumptions about the magical world, not when he'd heard the saying about you and umption!
As several of the trunk-shop attendants came running out, pale at the damage and the sight of a small child staring down the abomination they'd been keeping, the chest seemed to come to a conclusion, because it very dramatically flipped it's lid open.
“Oh!” Harry gasped in surprise, taken aback by the sight of all the sweets and treats inside. The chest bounced encouragingly, taking several steps closer to him. “Huh? For me?”
The chest bounced again.
As the closest shop-worker yelled, “Kid, look out!” Harry accepted what looked like a cream puff with sparkly purple frosting. He startled at the yell, though, and dropped the pastry like it had burnt him. The chest had been preening when he picked it up, but the second Harry reacted in fright, the lid slammed shut, the chest spinning around with far too much grace for such a massive, unwieldly piece of furniture. The lid opened again, but this time Harry could see sycamore-white teeth and a mahogany-red tongue. The shop-attendants all grew pale, skittering back like frightened cats, as the chest snapped it's lid menacingly, and Harry couldn't help but throw his hands out, yelling—
“Stop!”
The chest froze, the attendant it had been closing in on racing away. The chest turned halfway back to Harry, as if asking if he had been speaking to it— which was also weird, because the trunk had no ears that he could see. But maybe it had very small ears, like it's very small eyes?
But anyway, Harry hadn't actually expected the chest to stop. It had just been an instinctive reaction. But now it had stopped and seemed to be looking to him for instruction— which was even weirder! No one looked to Harry for instructions! Harry was the one who was given instructions!
And so, not entirely certain it was the right choice, Harry awkwardly twitched his fingers in that universal ‘come hither’ gesture, saying, “Here boy, here boy!” at the same time. He had no clue what drove him to say it— but it was what people said to pets, wasn't it? So maybe that was what you were supposed to say to weird magical trunks with several dozen human feet?
That stated, it did seem to be the thing to say, because the trunk obediently snapped it's lid shut and tottered over to him. Plonking down on the ground with an honestly alarming clatter, it flipped open again, once more offering the array of snacks.
“Oh— that's okay,” Harry reassured it, quickly scooping up the purple cream puff from before, a little misshapen and less glittery since it'd been lying on the cobbled street for a while now, “I still have this one. Thank you, though!”
The trunk stayed open for a few more seconds, but then Harry got the distinct impression that it shrugged, and shut it's lid. He wondered how it did that— was it related to how it seemed to be able to see and hear?
“H-hey, kid.” someone called, making him look up. Someone turned out to be a particularly brave shop-keeper. Specifically, the owner of the trunk-shop the chest had escaped from. “Are you okay? That thing hasn't hurt you?”
Blinking in confusion, Harry shook his head. “No sir. It has given me a snack, though!”
To prove his words, he held up the cream puff. The shop-keeper looked absolutely flabbergasted by it. Was there something weird about it? Oh wait, Harry realized, the man could probably tell the pastry had fallen on the ground, and people tended to look down on anyone who ate food that fell on the ground. Blushing, he hid the cream puff behind his back.
“It... huh?” the shop-keeper said, rather intelligently. It was far more than most were saying, after all! Everyone else nearby was watching with their jaws dropped, because they'd just seen something totally uncomprehendable— that is, most witches and wizards of London were taught that only powerful aurors could deal with rogue magical objects, and yet they'd just witnessed a tiny waif of a boy in ugly muggle clothing bring one to heel! It was, for them, completely reality-shattering! So by that measure, the man who owned the trunk-shop being able to say anything at all spoke leagues of his intelligence!
Meanwhile, Harry was figuring he'd done something wrong, because he was bowing his head and quietly explaining, “When it came up to me, it opened up and had lots of sweets inside. And it seemed like it wanted me to take one, so I did. Should I not have?”
Now the chest— known once upon a time, not nearly as long ago as some might think, as The Luggage— had been sold to the trunk-shop well before the current owner's time. In fact, he had been warned that the chest was incredibly dangerous and should probably be turned over to some department at the Ministry or other! But every time someone from the Ministry had come by, no one could agree what department had jurisdiction over it. Some said Misuse Of Muggle Artifacts— but it very clearly wasn't a muggle item, so it wasn't their problem! Others said it was a creature— but how could it be? It was a chest! A very nice chest made out of pearwood, and yes it could sprout feet and sometimes swallowed people whole when they jabbed it too hard with their wands, but it was most definitely not a creature! Plenty said the Department Of Mysteries, but no one from said department had ever showed up— in part because the paperwork regarding the trunk had gotten lost en route to them, not that anyone actually knew that— so everyone assumed they had no interest in it. If they had known about it, that would have been a lie of hilarious proportions, because the Unspeakables would have fought each other for the rights to study The Luggage. But alas, they didn't know, so The Luggage had been kept under lock and key and magically reinforced brick walls in the back of the trunk-shop for several decades now. It had only gotten out of it's prison because everyone in Diagon Alley knew this was the year Harry Potter was going to Hogwarts, and everyone wanted to be the one to sell his trunk— so everyone had forgotten to renew the spellwork keeping The Luggage trapped.
And as far as The Luggage was concerned, this knobby little waif dressed in ugly clothes with a frankly horrible haircut and the lingering traces of DEATH on his soul, bore an uncanny resemblance to a past owner. And for The Luggage, that was good enough.
Not that anyone really knew what The Luggage thought. It wasn't exactly the most talkative piece of travel gear.
The shop-keeper, however, did have enough business-sense— or perhaps it was self-preservation and desperation to be rid of the seemingly cursed object— to merely say, “It'll be twenty galleons, then, since it seems to like you and ain't brand new.”
Harry, not knowing anything about the one-of-a-kind— in this world, anyway— nature of the chest, figured it wasn't a bad price. At least, he didn't think it was— he'd still never bought anything, and knew nothing about the economics of magic. But he did need a trunk. This one could walk on it's own, at least in magical areas, and it was quite a good size. Surely he'd have no problem at all fitting all his school things in it?
“Okay.” he nodded, shoving the cream puff into his mouth so he could dig out the gold coins in his pockets. The chest rocked back and forth as if eager, and as soon as Harry had handed the shop-keeper twenty galleons, it jumped up in the air, kicking it's many heels together. Not for the joy of having a new owner, like Harry and everyone watching thought— but because now no one would be pesky and try to keep it from it's owner.
As the streets of Diagon Alley returned largely to normal, no one realized the waif in possession of the strange chest was Harry Potter. Most of them were just too relieved to have not been trampled, eaten, or be in possession of the so-called cursed trunk any more.
“Well,” Harry said, partially to himself and partially to his new Luggage, “I guess that takes care of a trunk. I still need parchment and quills—”
The lid of the trunk snapped eagerly open, exposing stacks upon stacks of high-quality parchment, a tray of wax beads in various colors, a box of envelopes, a jar full of brightly colored feather-pens from various birds and non-birds, and a little rack of colored inkwells.
“Oh!” Harry gasped in awe, leaning in closer. “That's amazing! I know he said you aren't brand new, but I didn't expect your old owner to have just never cleaned you out! Hang on, let's find someplace to sit so we can see how much of my list you already have!”
The Luggage swelled up proudly. It didn't tell Harry that not only could no one clean it out if it didn't want to be, it was proper, well-bred Luggage— of course it had anything it's owner might need in day-to-day life on hand! Not that it could tell him that, of course. As previously stated, it wasn't exactly the most talkative thing in the world.
While it didn't have the exact titles Harry needed, The Luggage did have a lot of books he thought would make good supplemental reading. There was one he saw titled So You Think You Can Talk To Snakes by someone called Hissyfit that reminded him of the incident at the zoo, and a few that looked more like works of fiction.
It didn't have any Hogwarts uniforms, but it did have a huge selection of clothes in all sorts of colors and styles, all neatly folded and smelling faintly of lavender. Harry almost wanted to find someplace to try some of them on— with this many clothing options, he'd never have to wear Dudley's ugly castoffs ever again, even if the fashion of a bright orange robe with gold constellations and red velvet lining seemed somewhat questionable. There were even shoes! And glasses that Harry resolved to go through later and see if any were better than his current pair!
The Luggage did, however, have a very complete potions kit. Several, in fact! Harry couldn't help but marvel at the variety of cauldrons and ladles and stirring rods and vials and bottles the chest presented him with, as well as a large rack of very sharp knives. Harry suspected that no matter what sort of equipment he'd need for potions in years to come, he'd be set! He didn't even know what some of those things were, but they looked almost scientific! Perhaps potions was the wizarding equivalent of science class? That might be fun— he knew Dudley and his gang always had a blast making small, messy explosions of foam at their desks and then blaming Harry for it.
“So all I need,” Harry mused, looking over the list, “Is these books, some school uniforms, and a wand. I really got lucky with you! I'd been a bit worried, see— a hundred galleons doesn't feel like a lot, and I don't know much about how this money works, so I thought for sure I was going to be cutting a few corners!”
After a moment spent looking somewhat thoughtful, The Luggage lifted it's lid— just a peek, this time. Not enough that just any old person could wander past and see what it had. Then they might try to do something pesky, after all— like try to take it away from it's owner. That would be annoying.
Curious, Harry leaned down so he could see what the chest had. His jaw dropped at the glitter he could see across gold and gemstones and what looked like a crown and a couple swords.
“... I reckon you're worth more than twenty galleons,” Harry informed The Luggage, “Especially since no one cleaned you out at all— did you come from an estate sale? Should I be trying to return any of this?”
It snapped it's lid shut and wiggled back and forth in a firm but resounding no.
“... Well,” Harry said uncertainly, shrugging as he straightened up, “I suppose you would know better than me. Come on, I reckon we better find Hagrid— he's supposed to be shopping with me, but he said he needed a pick-me-up at the pub. I don't know where to go for the rest of this stuff, though.”
The Luggage got agreeably to it's feet and followed after it's owner as the boy went in search of his half-hearted chaperone.