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Oak and Holly in Diagon Alley
The morning after shopping with Hagrid and purchasing a night in The Leaky Cauldr Inn, Harry put the light purple robe back on and got directions to the wand shop from the bartender. Ollivander tried talking to Harry in the strange not-English, then the French-sounding one, then went back to the near-English once Harry got his wand. It had a phoenix feather inside, and was made from hollywood, Harry eventually understood.
Harry showed Ollivander the same section of the supply list he’d shown Hagrid, but rather than scoffing, the wandmaker nodded and gave him directions. Harry needed to go back down Diagon Alley to the road between Gringotts and Madame Malkin’s, the one with the buggies and gigs and carts, follow the road to Leg Alley , and then… find a barrister or something.
Harry doubted he had enough Galleons for a lawyer, but he set out to see anyway. He began walking back towards the Leaky, and turned left when he reached the intersection. This time he was looking, and saw the plaque marking it as Cor Road . The first turn he saw was on the right-hand side, so he crossed and looked, but couldn’t see a sign or plaque.
“Excuse me,” he asked a passing woman in a sharply pointed green hat, “is that Leg Alley?” He tried to pronounce the words the way he’d heard Madame Malkin and Ollivander speak.
“Non,” said the gray-haired woman, “thæt is Fisc Alley.” She pointed farther up the road, so Harry followed it past a large building, as towering and white as Gringotts, with many men and women hustling in and out, and on the other side of it he found another alley. A quick question to another passerby, and he’d confirmed it was Leg Alley.
Directly across from the large building was a grand looking archway that appeared to lead nowhere. At the very top was a large gold crest. As Harry watched a man tapped the stone and the archway opened, revealing an expansive chamber filled with people. The man stepped inside, and the archway closed behind him, much like the way from the Leaky Cauldron to Diagon.
Harry continued down Leg Alley, but he was feeling rather more lost the farther he went. He showed his Hogwarts letter to a woman, pointing at the line in question, but couldn’t understand her answer.
“Are you quite well?” A voice asked from behind him and Harry spun to see two men, or rather, one man and person who looked like a man except for the two bumps sprouting out of his forehead. Feeling inordinately relieved to hear regular English, Harry felt his eyes prickle with the warning of tears. “Are you lost? Where are your parents?” The shorter, bump-less man asked. He was wearing a fur-lined cloak over a black three-piece suit.
“Dead,” Harry answered. “I’m trying to get my school supplies, but I don’t know what this is, or if I even need it.” He showed the men his letter, and the line in question.
“Let’s see. It seems they’re all types of personal attendants, and you may bring no more than three.”
But that didn’t tell Harry anything he hadn’t already worked out. The man looked at him, and his face softened. “Do you know the name of your solicitor?” Harry shook his head. “Who is in charge of your care?”
The man slowly steered them towards the side of the road, and Harry explained about the Dursleys and the letter and Hagrid.
The English-speaking man’s lips pinched. “Deplorable. Whoever your barrister is, they’ve done a very poor job managing your affairs. We’ll have to go to the Guildhall, check the archives to see who it is.”
“We?” Harry asked, and the cloaked man froze.
“Aye, an it so please ye,” the forehead-nubs-man said. He had a deep voice, and his accent was closer to the shopkeepers Harry had met than the smaller man’s.
“We’ve finished our business for the day,” the shorter man picked up, “and are at liberty to accompany you.”
“That— yes, please,” Harry said, “I can’t understand a word anyone’s saying.”
“It took me a time to learn as well,” the man answered.
The taller, not-quite-human looking man gained as much or more attention from passersby as Hagrid. They made their way back to the intersection with Gringotts, the archway, and the bustling building, and up the stairs through the hall.
The inside was filled with people of all ages, wearing robes of different colors, trims, and lengths. Some were only as long as the tunics they wore underneath, and others were so long they brushed the floor.
The shorter man seemed to have a clear idea who to ask directions from and where to go, Harry and the taller man trailing behind him up stairs and down hallways and through doors.
Then Harry and the tall man waited on a bench while the cloaked man spoke firmly with a teller and she went to find the right ledger in the archive.
“Sorry, but I was wondering…” Harry said to the forehead-bump-man while they waited. How did you go about asking someone what they were? “I met a goblin yesterday,” he went with, “but I’ve never met someone with—“ he waved at his own head demonstratively.
The tall man smiled ever so slightly at him, and reaching up lifted his hair off his ear, revealing a point. “Many a folk have antlers,” he answered, “but few venture here.”
“Oh, okay,” Harry said, and they lapsed back into silence.
Eventually the ledger was brought out and the cloaked man was able to discover who Harry’s solicitor was. So they left the guildhall and made their way back down Leg Alley to find the correct building.
“One Agnes Prewett, esquire,” the smaller man said as they walked, “her establishment will be on our left side, with a blue door, between one with a green door, and another in yellow.”
They found it, after backtracking. It turned out nearly every door in Leg Alley sported a red, green, blue, or yellow door.
“There,” the antlered man said, pointing, “A.G. Prewett, esquire.” The bronze plaque was half-obscured by a trellis supporting a thriving vine of some sort.
They approached and the cloaked man tapped the bronze knocker. A minute later a ginger-haired woman, who looked like she’d only recently left her teens, opened the door.
“Good day, freo. Efen-gemæca Lofthouse and Ælfrice Ethelweard of Blackthorn, accompanynge an Æthel Harry Potter to Speke with an Agnes Prewett, esquire.”
At last Harry had names for the men. Lofthouse, the shorter cloaked man, and Ethelweard, the antlered man.
The young woman stared at Harry with wide eyes, not speaking or moving until Lofthouse cleared his throat. Then she gave a start, introduced herself as Annie Prewett, and led them inside and up a narrow flight of stairs.
Harry jumped when one of the portraits moved, peering at him from his frame. “A Potter thengling, hmm?” The portrait said.
“Thæt is Æthel Potter, Forealde-fæder,” Annie Prewett corrected.
“The Potters beon Ealdorcyn,” the portrait quipped, moving out of his frame and into the next. The occupant of that frame made a noise of complaint.
“Not this an,” the woman argued, and then they were at the top of the stairs and another door. She opened it to an office with three desks, shelves on the walls filled with scrolls and ledges, and a fireplace with a copper kettle over it.
Two desks were empty, as a second redhead, a man who looked to be in his prime, was setting teacups on a tray. The third desk was the largest and most ornate, and a white-and-ginger haired woman with laugh lines and glasses sat behind it.
Harry and his newly named companions were directed to chairs across from Agnes Prewett, Lofthouse taking care of introductions. “I’ve told her I am lending you my services as an interpreter,” he told Harry, who was quick to agree.
Harry hadn’t expected the visit to be brief, but it ended up taking much longer than he anticipated. Through Lofthouse, Harry began his explanation and answered Agnes — Nancy — Prewett’s questions. First, he had to prick his thumb and leave a bloody print on a piece of paper to prove he really was himself. Prewett gave the paper to the Annie after, who tossed it in the hearth. Then they moved onto business.
“I saw this line on my supply list and didn’t know what it meant,” Harry said, pointing at the offending line.
“Yes, you’ll need to arrange that through me,” Prewett agreed, “Lord Gloucestrscire established your living allowance, and put me in charge of all non-critical decisions.”
“Lord who?”
There was some back and forth between Lofthouse and Prewett before he translated, “Your ealde-fæder means grandfather, so your four-times grandfather, or thrice great-grandfather. He, and your twice great-grandmother, the heir apparent to Gloucestrscire, have given you, as the third in line to the title, a living allowance, to be managed by Theyn Prewett.”
“But—“ Harry hesitated, confused. He had a living allowance? He had family?
Prewett saw his confusion and began speaking. After a moment Lofthouse translated, “her records state you were sent to live with your next of kin, given that after your parents passed neither of your godparents were fit to take you in—“ Harry had godparents?— “and Lord Gloucestershire established your living allowance. Your relatives never sent a request for a withdrawal or access to the vault key, so you’ve got about ten years worth of living expenses in your account.”
He paused, and Prewett continued, then added, “she’s also been managing any bequeathments and gifts sent to you by… admirers? The only access request came from Hog-warts two days ago, for the purchase of school supplies, and she granted permission for a withdrawal not to exceed a sum of a hundred Galleons for that purpose.”
Harry and Hagrid combined hadn’t taken anywhere near that amount.
“So can I get more, then? From my vault, I mean?”
He’d need to wait for Hogwarts to send the key back to Prewett, which they had two more days to do, and then come back and see her himself to get it from her.
Then Harry asked if he couldn’t stay with one of his several-great grandparents instead of the Dursleys. Prewett promised to forward his request, but then she wanted to know why.
Harry didn’t want to whinge about the Dursleys to strangers — it wasn’t like he had it all bad — but more than that he wanted, with a hunger he didn’t know he possessed, to be with a family who wanted him back.
So he told her he didn’t know about having attendants when he’d been filling that role himself, and knew firsthand how unpleasant it could be, but he’d really like if he could exist somewhere in the middle. Not being served by someone and not serving someone. Just Harry.
None of the adults would leave it at that, however. Prewett wanted to know what kind of station the Dursleys held among muggles, how much land they owned, how many servants they employed and where Harry fell in that hierarchy.
“Cheorles. Muggle-cheorles,” Prewett said, “and ye theiren theow!”
Lofthouse translated, “Commoners, magicless ones, and you, their servant.”
Prewett interviewed him on his education, which Harry thought was normal enough, given he’d gone to a public primary, but seemed to distress both Prewett and Lofthouse.
“It sounds like all your textbooks are printed in Latin,” Lofthouse explained, “which is to be expected, as well as the language used in lectures.” He hesitated, then added, “you may also be isolated from your peers, since I suspect very few are likely to speak modern English.”
Harry looked down at the desk, feeling ashamed even though he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. What if they decided he was too stupid to go?
So plans were made. There was a clear back-and-forth between Prewett and Lofthouse, which left Harry with the impression the man wasn’t particularly impressed by her.
Ethelweard, who’d been quiet throughout the meeting, leaned down and in a low burr told Harry “Lofthouse taught me my letters, long after I’d become a man.” Harry’s head whipped over and he stared at the antlered man with wide eyes. Ethelweard inclined his head in return then sat back, and Harry realized he didn’t feel quite so ashamed anymore.
When the debate was settled, Prewett and Lofthouse had agreed Harry would be lodged in an inn on Ide Alley for the summer while Prewett interviewed and hired him attendants for school. She would also arrange for Harry to get a vial of something called Language Elixir, which would give Harry three-months fluency in a single language through false memories. Harry would have that amount of time to create his own true memories of speaking, reading, and writing in Latin, the language and Lofthouse settled on, before the false ones would fade and he’d have to continue learning it the traditional way — through study.
With that settled, Prewett wrote up a promissory note for Badger Inn, and farewells were made.
As Harry and his strange companions stepped back out onto Leg Alley, Ethelweard held out his arm and Lofthouse twinned his through it.
“How much of what we said were you able to follow?” Lofthouse said, and Harry dragged his eyes away from their linked arms. Aunt Petunia would’ve muttered something disparaging if she saw them, and Uncle Vernon would’ve said something foul in a carrying voice.
“Maybe half?” Harry hazarded, “probably less.” Enough to tell Lofthouse hadn’t been lying to him or making things up.
“That’s something, at least.”
They followed Leg Alley until its end at Flya Way, then turned left. Harry looked at the shops and streets as they passed. Second-hand broom shops. All-ages broom shops. Multi-person brooms, flying gear. Then winged horse supply shops with saddles and bridles and grooming kits. Riding shops for flying creatures called hippogriffs, owl shops and falconry stores, exotic bird care.
Flya Way crossed Diagon Alley where Quality Quidditch Supply and Eelops Owl Emporium stood catty corner from each other, and Harry paused, taken aback at suddenly finding himself in familiar territory.
“We’ll pick up your trunk, then head to Badger Inn to get rooms and supper,” Lofthouse declared, “I’ve never been to the Leaky Cauldr Inn. Which way from here?”
Lofthouse was not impressed by the dim pub, and made quick work of getting in and back out of it.
Ethelweard took Harry’s trunk, which he tucked under a single arm, and he twined his other with Lofthouse’s as they made their way back up Flya Way.
“We’ll go and get the rest of your list tomorrow,” Lofthouse said as they walked.
“You— you don’t have to. I can find everything.” He was only somewhat confident.
Lofthouse gave Harry a look that said his answer wasn’t convincing. “How many winters have you?” He asked out of nowhere.
“Erm, ten. I just turned eleven a two days ago.”
Ethelweard shot Harry a bewildered look. Then he turned to Lofthouse and said, “Do you consider that very young?”
“Well hytte’s hardly an infant,” Lofthouse answered, amused, “more of an age where a child might be left unattended at home for short stretches of time, half a day, perhaps, or to make short trips alone to familiar places. Certainly too young to spend the night alone, or wandering unfamiliar towns.”
Ethelweard gave a thoughtful nod. “Very well.”
Ide Alley was just past Leg Alley, on the right side of Flya Way. The turnoff was between a shop selling songbirds and another selling hand fans. The alley was much quieter than the others, with fewer people who moved about at a leisurely pace.
There was a tea house with a burbling fountain out front, a florists, a patisserie, a shop selling musical instruments, a hat shop, a jewelry shop, a paint supply shop — which gave Lofthouse pause as he stared at the display — a stationary shop, a boutique, an perfume and incense shop, and then they reached the Badger Inn.
The first floor was stone, and then the two stories above it were wood. Lofthouse got them checked in with a portly man wearing a bright yellow knee-length robe with a sleeveless black surcoat overtop.
He gave them a suite with two rooms. The rooms, Harry saw, each had a single bed with a washstand and mirror, a wood chair framing a chamber pot, and a small writing desk and chair under a white-curtained window. Ethelweard put Harry’s trunk at the foot of one bed, and then they moved to the shared room, where there was a table, settee and chess set, fireplace, an empty bookshelf, and a wardrobe that opened to show space for putting clothes and shoes.
Dinner was brought up by a teenage girl with a shiny forehead and a pink scarf wrapped over her hair and around her neck. The meal wasn’t as hearty as the ones Harry had at the Leaky, but it was seasoned better.
After they ate Lofthouse helped Harry unpack and looked over the shopping list again.
“Protective gloves made from dragon hide or similar,” he translated, “then added in, three leather shoes and one pair pattens, three pair hose and garters, a dress girdle, and a day belt. It’s a perfectly reasonable list for someone of your age and station, and we can get it easily once you’ve retrieved your vault key from Thegn Prewett.”
Harry, knowing that could be days away, and not wanting to abuse the men’s charity, showed Lofthouse his remaining Galleons. As he thought, the man declared it enough to get the remaining items.
Ethelweard agreed, then he and Lofthouse rose from their seats, hugged, and kissed. “Until the marrow,” Ethelweard said, and with no further explanation, left.
Lofthouse gave Harry a considerate look. “I know English law, and common sentiment has long been contrary to men taking up with men. I won’t apologize for it, but I understand if you wish me to take different rooms.”
Harry had thought earlier how the Dursleys would react to two men strolling arm-in-arm. He said, “My relatives called me a freak because I’m magic, but I can’t help that. I think they’re wrong about a lot of things, and I think you’re a better person than all of them combined.”
“Thank you,” Lofthouse said.
“I can pay you back for the room, and today—“
“That won’t be necessary. I did as I pleased today, because I wanted to for my own sake. You don’t owe me anything.”
Then he told Harry he used to be a clerk for a barrister, and they’d not looked after their two wards closely enough. One had been in the care of his uncle, like Harry, except his uncle had killed him. The other had been a boy, but they’d thought he was a girl and sent him to a girls school, and he’d run away to America.
“All of that could’ve been prevented, if only we’d been more attentive in our duties,” Lofthouse concluded, “so you see, helping you today was something I did for very personal reasons, and doesn’t place you in my debt.”
Harry didn’t know how to argue against that, so he shrugged.
“You’re right to be wary of owing — what do wizards call us? Nymph-folk? — anything, but Butcher and I won’t claim any sort of debt. My own peace of mind, and an interesting diversion are all we seek.”
“He’s a nymph?”
“Nymph, elf, fey. They all overlap, and which one wizards use changes with time and place.”
“Are you a wizard?”
Lofthouse turned his head and brushed his hair aside, revealing a pointed ear to match Ethelweard (Butcher?). “I was human, a century ago. No, I’m no wizard. But you are.”
“I thought I was a magician. That’s what Hagrid called me.”
Lofthouse paused. “I don’t know the difference. Maybe I’ve fallen behind the times, and they’re the same.” If he really was more than a century old, Harry could see how that might happen.
Then Lofthouse declared it late and sent Harry to get ready for bed. Harry couldn’t quiet his thoughts, however, so once his face was washed and he was in his underthings he went back to the shared room, where Lofthouse was still awake and reading a book.
He waved Harry over, and had him lay out on the settee by the fire, draping his cloak over him. The book was one of Harry’s, which they’d stacked on the bookshelf, which Lofthouse told him was titled A History of Magic in Latin. He translated the other titles for him. Theory of Magic. Standard Book of Spells, Grade One. A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.
Harry picked Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Lofthouse began reading it aloud in Latin. Harry listened to his voice rise and fall while he watched the embers of the banked fire flicker, and didn’t notice when he passed from waking to sleeping.
Harry woke to the sun on his face, which he hadn’t gotten used to during the Dursleys wild flight across the country to flee from his school letters.
Lofthouse had moved one of the chairs to the window, and was glancing up at it, and then back down to a sketchbook he had propped on his knee. Harry walked over, and had to fold Lofthouse’s cloak twice over his arm so it wouldn’t drag on the floor.
“Oh, good morning,” Lofthouse said when he drew near, “I hope you slept well. I didn’t want to move you without your consent. I hope the settee wasn’t terribly uncomfortable.”
“It was fine,” he’d only experienced sleeping on beds this last week, after all. “What are you drawing?”
It was the scene out the window, which was obvious, but the question prompted Lofthouse to show it to him. It looked professional.
“Watch this,” the man said, and drew a small feather from his pocket. There was a long silver hair wrapped around the end of it. Lofthouse brushed it across the charcoal sketch and Harry gave a start as the figures in the picture began walking and moving.
He animated several other sketches for Harry. Most were of a medieval sort of farm, which Lofthouse told Harry was his home, Blackthorn. His sketches showed baby goats jumping on rocks and barrels, hens roaming and pecking, and songbirds flitting about and bathing in a stream.
“What are your hobbies?” Lofthouse asked, but Harry didn’t have an answer. The man was still suggesting potential hobbies when Ethelweard arrived, alongside the girl, who was carrying a tray with their breakfast on it.
Over breakfast Lofthouse told the antlered man about trying to find Harry a hobby.
“Have you trained with any weapons?” He asked and Harry blinked at him.
So he drew his sword and let Harry look at it up close and even try holding it. The sword was much heavier than he’d ever imagined one being.
Lofthouse called Harry back to breakfast, and after that, Ethelweard brought out a long leather strip with birds and tree branches tooled into it in impossible detail.
“It’s a simple piece,” Ethelweard said, “And it has no buckle, but Lofthouse said ye are in want of a belt.”
Harry blinked at him. “You made this?”
“Aye.”
Harry looked back at the belt and the minute details set in it. “But who was it for?”
“You.”
“I mean, who were you making it for, before giving it to me?” It felt like too much from a virtual stranger. The two men were really going out of their way helping him, and now he was going to just give Harry this clearly expensive gift?
“No one. I made it last night for ye.”
Harry could only think that he must’ve done it by magic. As he looked closer at the birds and leafy branches, he realized they matched the one’s woven in his red and gold robe, the one he was wearing now. He put it in the pouch Hagrid had left with him, alongside his remaining galleons. Harry could stick his arm in up to the elbow before he reached the bottom, even though the pouch was only a nil longer than his hand.
He used the scrap bit of cord from the day before to tie it to his waist, and then they set out. They got Harry’s dragon hide gloves for school first, then silk stockings and garters to tie over his knee to keep them from falling.
That was followed by a trip to the cobblers for shoes and pattens. Harry ended up being measured for a pair of black leather turnshoes and brown leather turnshoes, which were like what he’d seen Hagrid and a great many of the other shoppers wearing. They had a thicker leather for the sole, but otherwise lacked the sort of hard rubber or cardboard bottom to hold their shape like Harry was used to. The third pair Lofthouse ordered for him were “court shoes” meaning dress shoes. They would have a stiffer leather sole and a short wooden heel, as well as a lower front with a strap across the top.
They turnshoes would be ready by the end of the day, according to the cobbler, but the court shoes would take a bit longer. So they bought Harry pattens — wood clogs with leather straps to wear over his turnshoes if he had to walk over mud — and made their way out to continue shopping.
They got a buckle for Harry’s belt at the goldsmiths, but Lofthouse said they’d have to wait until Harry got his vault key to purchase a dress girdle.
So that was everything on his list covered, and Harry thought that meant they were finished, but then Lofthouse led them farther down Porce Lane past Any Way and Thisa Way to where it met up with Whicha Way in a large square and park. Harry saw folks picking, riding winged horses, playing some sort of game in the air on brooms which involved several different balls. There was a performance being put on by a group of teens by a large fountain depicting a herd of running unicorns, and a painter sitting on a wobbly-looking stool working across from a woman posing with a book and two-tailed dog.
At the other end of the park was Best Road, where there was a great deal more cart, carriage, and buggy traffic. They followed it left past Diagon Alley to Meni Alley. There, Lofthouse found him a comb, hairbrush, and brush-cleaning comb, toothbrush and tooth powder, soap for bathing and hair tonic, a “pocket” which was a pouch with a slit in it for his hand so Harry wouldn’t have to constantly tie and untie Hagrid’s from his belt, and a small sewing kit with a needle that was enchanted to make its own stitches and a threader that was spelled not to break.
Then they began backtracking, but instead of heading north of the park to Porce Lane, followed Diagon Alley for a minute to Gener Alley. There Lofthouse instructed Harry to get a journal, a pen knife, and some spare quills from a stationary shop, as well as a spoon, eating knife, and bowl from the silversmiths.
They ate lunch, where the tableware proved immediately necessary, and then Lofthouse announced it was time to find Harry a hobby. Ethelweard, who rarely spoke a word, suggested getting Harry a sword, and Harry enthusiastically agreed.
Gener Alley had goldsmiths, silversmiths, brownsmiths, coppersmiths, tinsmiths, whitesmiths, an arrowsmith, a locksmith, and a bladesmith. It also had butchers, bakers, potterers, produce stands and dried goods shops, a cannery and spice shop, carpenters, and all sorts of daily necessities Harry hadn’t noticed were absent from Diagon Alley.
Their destination was, predictably, the bladesmithy. Harry ended up with a blunted bronze short sword, because the nymphs (elves?) wouldn’t go near the ones with iron in them, and a much sharper bronze boot knife.
Since Harry didn’t own any boots, and hadn’t commissioned any from the cobbler, they made another stop for a leather garter he could keep on his thigh.
Ethelweard was satisfied then, but Lofthouse wasn’t, so it was back to the shops to find Harry a hobby that didn’t require scheduling time with a tutor.
Painting, pleasure reading, woodcarving, and needlepoint were all ruled out. Leather working sounded more interesting, and Ethelweard insisted it was a very practical skill, so they decided they would go with that if something else didn’t catch Harry’s attention. Musical instruments were next, but Harry quickly decided against them.
“Maybe riding,” Lofthouse said, pulling Harry’s attention away from a very large and white winged horse. “That’s a perfectly suitable hobby.”
Harry couldn’t bring a winged horse to school with him, but Lofthouse seemed to think the school would have some kind of stable or club for riding, so they tabled that idea as well for after Harry knew for certain.
“Well, what about the magical world are you the most curious about?” Lofthouse asked after several hours of walking and browsing. “Maybe what you need right now isn’t a hobby so much as an interest.”
There was so much he didn’t know. Everything was new and interesting. Dragons existed. Winged horses. Flying broomsticks. He looked at the men, at Ethelweard’s antlers. “I guess… nymphs?”
That got a smile from both of them.
“That may be wise,” Lofthouse agreed, and even though Harry had rejected pleasure ready as a hobby, dragged him back to the bookstore to browse the shelves for anything on nymphs. He found a few books, in Latin of course, and after paying for them led the way to Vit Alley.
The alley had an arch like the one on Leg Alley, which Lofthouse translated the emblem above to Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies. The alley had an apothecary, a shop advertising ear trumpets, another for prosthetics, a third for smelling salts, one for canes and walking sticks, and then Harry knew where they were headed because there was a door with a plaque depicting spectacles over it.
Harry got his vision tested, picked out one pair of gold wire frames, and a second of silver, then while his glasses were being made, they went and picked up his new shoes for day wear. The cobbler obligingly vanished Harry’s disintegrating secondhand trainers as soon he’d switched to the turnshoes.
They fit better than anything he’d worn before, made just for him as they were. There was a toggle at the ankle Harry used to fasten the short soft-soled boot, and then it was back to Vit Alley for his spectacles.
“There,” Lofthouse declared with clear satisfaction once Harry’s plastic glasses with their taped-together bridge had been vanished by the spectacle maker, “that’s the whole outfit.”
It was a bit ironic, Harry privately thought, that Lofthouse had worked so hard for Harry’s clothes and accessories to coordinate, when he himself was wearing a medieval cloak over a three piece suit that looked at least a century out of date.
It was around tea time by then, and Harry was exhausted. Lofthouse looked weary as well, and they quickly agreed to return to Badger Inn.
The rest of the afternoon passed more leisurely. Ethelweard showed Harry how to write with a quill, and maintain said quill, while Lofthouse made use of his sketchbook. When dinner arrived, he showed them several pages of Ethelweard and Harry sitting together at the small table by the window. They were really good, and at Harry’s request, he animated one.
After dinner Harry was feeling more energetic so Lofthouse showed him how to hold his sword and do a simple lunging jab. When Harry wore himself out again Ethelweard kissed Lofthouse goodbye and left for the night.
“Why doesn’t he stay?” Harry had already told Lofthouse he didn’t mind blokes fancying blokes, after all.
“Oh, he needs to see to the animals. The goats and the hens.” Harry remembered the sketches Lofthouse had shown him that morning, and felt silly for not realizing.
Getting ready for bed, Harry washed up using the wash stand and basin, and it felt good to brush his teeth again after several days without a toothbrush. This time he was able to fall asleep in his bed, and if he dreamed, he didn’t remember.
The next morning Ethelweard returned with another companion. This man was shorter, and looked more like a goblin than a human, with a mask over his eyes that looked to be made of spiderwebs, a frilly sort of medieval doublet and hose, heeled shoes, and a sword at his hip.
He gave Harry a deep bow with many flourishes. “Well met, princeling,” he said.
“I’m not a prince,” Harry said.
“Ah, a thousand regrets, princess.” He sounded and looked completely sincere. Harry turned to Lofthouse and shot him a pleading look.
“Ætheling will suit, ambassador,” Lofthouse said.
“Yes, m’lord,” the ambassador acquiesced with another bow.
The ambassador was a resident, or somehow associated with Blackthorn Briar, and he’d gotten curious about what in the Wizarding World had occupied Lofthouse and Ethelweard’s attention for the last few days. So Lofthouse told him everything that had happened over the last two days since they met.
While they were speaking an owl arrived from Prewett, letting Harry know his vault key had been returned and he could come get it from her.
So Harry and the three fey men set out for Leg Alley.
“Lord Gloucestershire has sent a reply to your query,” Lofthouse translated for Prewett after she passed Harry his vault key, “and the Potter heir apparent, one Matilda Potter will meet you three days hence, at Gloucestershire Keep to interview you and see you reestablished as necessary.”
There were details worked out between Prewett and Lofthouse on where that was and how they were getting Harry there.
Then Prewett updated Harry on the quest for attendants. She’d reached out to acquaintances first. Her second cousin thrice removed had several Hogwarts age children, and unlike most families who only sent the heir or oldest two, she had prepared all her children to go. After some back-and-forth, they had agreed on hiring the third son to attend Harry. He’d been taking Muggle-Studies and had some fluency in muggle English, and would double as an academic tutor.
“For your second attendant, she is reaching out to the Black family’s solicitor,” Lofthouse translated, “since you stepped up in society and became an æthel on account of being the Black Heir Presumptive, she expects you to have a separate allowance through them — though given Æthel Black’s crimes, perhaps not.”
“What crimes?” Harry asked, then had to sit and wait for Lofthouse to translate his question and listen to Prewett’s answer.
“He betrayed your parents to a Dark Lord,” Lofthouse eventually said, looking a bit baffled himself.
Harry’s parents were drunks who died in a car crash. Harry told him such.
The rest of the morning was diverted to a history lesson on his family, a magical war against Voldemort, and his own fame.
At one point Harry reached up to feel his scar, but of course it was covered by the linen swim cap — the coif. Prewett nodded and told him she thought he’d been hiding his identity to shop undisturbed by the public.
Then the ambassador leaned forward in his seat and began speaking with her in French. At one point Prewett leaned back in her seat looking something between shocked and terrified.
“The ambassador has offered his services as an attendant,” Lofthouse explained, “your situation has caught his interest. You should always be careful entering an agreement with the fey, or you might lose more than you think.” Then Lofthouse joined the discussion himself, leaving Harry in the dark.
After a great deal more back and forth, Harry was told, “the ambassador will be your second attendant. He’s agreed to accept monetary compensation.”
The final order of business was the Language Elixir. It was in a small vial of dark glass, with a cork stopper and wax seal. Harry was to take it that night right before bed.
With the meeting over and Harry’s head full with thoughts of magical wars and dark lords, he didn’t notice they’d come to the park until he was sitting on a bench across from a young woman playing some kind of stringed instrument and singing.
Lofthouse passed him an apple, and Harry ate it without a word.
They stayed in the park for a while after that. Lofthouse made sketches, Harry watched a skit about a hopping pot put on by a group of kids about his age under the careful eye of their instructor, and the other two nymph men pretended not to notice all the strange looks passersby shot at them.
Harry was feeling much better by the time Lofthouse closed his sketchbook. They went to the cobblers to pick up his court shoes, then to Gringotts to withdraw another handful of Galleons. The ambassador went in the cart with Harry and the goblin, and waited politely outside the vault door for for Harry to return.
The final stop of the day was to the goldsmith for a girdle. Harry ended up with one of diamond shaped links stamped with geometric patterns. Has Harry grew, he’d be able to easily get links added to lengthen it.
The remainder of the day was spent in Harry’s suit at the inn, getting an odd mix of swordplay and deportment lessons from the ambassador.
“Excellent! Very good!” The ambassador proclaimed when Harry bowed, this time without letting his shoulders hunch or back curve. “Marvelous!” He said when Harry managed to keep the point of his new sword from dipping as he demonstrated the lunge Lofthouse taught him the day before.
He never seemed to tire, either. By the time supper arrived Harry had stripped to his underclothes and was sweating and breaking roughly.
After supper Ethelweard and the ambassador spared to show Harry what he was working towards. Harry thought he’d have to be a nymph himself to ever reach their level of swordsmanship. It was like watching a dance, but one so swift he couldn’t follow half the movements.
That night before bed Harry drank the slimy Language Elixir which tasted vaguely of olive oil mixed with grape juice. He had odd dreams where Dudley spoke to him in Latin, and then Harry was speaking to Lofthouse in Latin, and Harry understood all of it.
The next morning Harry’s head felt heavy and a bit cottony, but when he went to the bookshelf, he could read the titles.
He could read his schoolbooks.
Harry spent the rest of the morning reading about magical creatures and potions and trying to cast spells with his wand.
“Sentiment is the most powerful magic,” Ethelweard told him after he’d failed to cast a spell for the umpteenth time. “Why do you need a needle?”
Harry glared at the splinter of wood he’d pulled from the stack of logs to the side of the hearth. “What if they’re wrong, and I’m not a magician, or wizard, or whatever?”
“Then you wouldn’t have noticed Butcher’s antlers,” Lofthouse told him, “I’ve given him an enchantment to hide them from the eyes of the magicless.”
Harry bit his lip, unconvinced. At the ambassador’s prompting he tried a spell out of a different book, to make the tip of his wand light up. When he didn’t get it at first Lofthouse drew the curtains, snuffed out the lights, and put his heavy cloak over Harry’s head.
It was warm and dark, and when Harry tried the spell it didn’t work. It would’ve been a great spell to know back with the Dursleys when—
Harry pretended he was locked in his cupboard, in the dark. “Lumos!” He said, and this time his wand lit up. “I did it!” He jumped up, knocking the cloak to the floor, but paid it no mind. “Watch! Lumos!” His wand lit up and the ambassador gave him a cheer.
Harry cast the wand-lighting charm five more times before he went back to the Standard Book of Spells Grade I to find another spell to try.
He hadn’t managed any when lunch was brought up, and afterwards the ambassador insisted on another swordsmanship lesson, so Harry had to put his wand away and do strengthening exercises and drills. Not that he’d lost interest in swords. Who didn’t think swords were brilliant? But he’d managed a spell, had tangible proof he was magic, and he wasn’t quite ready to set that aside.
After dinner Butcher — as Harry had finally been informed Ethelweard was the man’s title — explained in his quiet burr how to stitch a hem up to make something shorter. He had Harry fetch his small sewing kit and raise the hem of one of his under-smocks a half inch. By the time Harry finished that, it was time for bed.
The next morning, he managed to make a wood splinter slightly more needle-shaped.
Lofthouse insisted they go outside and enjoy the good weather, and so that was how the four of them ended up going on a winged horse carriage ride.
“Cariages be onlych allouant on the Roden and lanes in the dei,” the old woman driving the cart informed them.
They made a loop around the magical district, following the tall stone barrier wall, then crisscrossed through it on the roads and lanes. There was also the old wall which had been torn down when the district was expanded. In its place was the northern Over Lane and in the east was Ab Road , and nearly everything beyond those points was residential, according to their driver.
In the south along the barrier wall and at the intersection of Cor Road and Under Lane, was an archway to the train station, letting out on platform 9. When it was time for Harry to leave for school he’d enter the station there, and walk to platform 9 and ¾.
Diagon Alley stretched from the southeast corner to the northwest corner of the old, unexpanded district, and Harry was a bit surprised to discover he’d walked most of it by then.
After the carriage tour of the district they ended up back in the park, where a large section had been taken up by men and women spelling up rope and fences and bleachers. “For the competition this weekend,” Lofthouse translated once they managed to find a man willing to pause and answer. Then the man hustled off, giving no more details.
On the morning of the meeting with the Potters, Harry felt sick with nerves. The ambassador helped him get ready, fixing Harry’s hair, tweaking the fall of the gold girdle, smoothing out wrinkles in the back of his red-and-gold robe.
“You’ll be just fine, Ætheling,” he promised, “m’lord told me it’s very rare for humans to kill superfluous heirs, and if they try, I’ll be right there.”
Harry looked at the ambassador in alarm. Kill him? Harry had been worrying about them simply liking him! Should he be worried about getting killed if they decided they didn’t?
They hired a coach, but unlike the carriage ride through Lundenheorth, these horses spread their wings and flew. Harry watched from the window of the coach as the medieval village shrank then through a layer of mist vanished and they were flying over cars and buses, between skyscrapers, and out over the suburbs.
Gloucestershire was full of forests and orchards, farms and flocks. At one point Harry saw a herd of what could only be unicorns running along the forest's edge below. At another, a large half-bird-half-horse swooped by close enough the coachman had to steady the horses.
Then Harry saw the keep. A stone castle with a square tower on a small hill, surrounded by a high wall with several buildings and a courtyard inside. Flags of red and gold flew from the tower, and Harry could see dozens of ant-sized people moving about the courtyard.
The coach didn’t land in the courtyard, but on the road outside it, then drove forward. The doors to the wall were wide open, and Harry saw a cart full of sacks, and another of barrels ahead of them on the path.
There was a gate guard, of a sort, in that there was a portly woman standing at the gate with a piece of parchment and quill floating in the air next to her. As they drew near, Harry heard her say “threo baril ale, an baril wyne, an baril meode.” And the quill moved through the air, writing it down.
When it was their turn she turned and yelled into the courtyard and a man’s voice answered, then she waved the coach in.
The coachman stopped the horses and hopped down to get the door. The ambassador went out first, then Harry, Lofthouse, and finally Butcher. Harry looked around the courtyard with interest. There were what looked like stables, a chapel, a building that smelled of bread and cooking meat, another that had the clanging Harry had learned meant a smithy.
A man in red-and-gold livery led them to the tower, and inside was a Great Hall. Polished wood covered the floor, tapestries hung from the high ceiling between equally tall windows, and what might’ve been dark stone walls were covered by a bright ivory plaster. A large hearth sat against the middle of one wall, with an elaborate mantle featuring two falcon-headed birds with peacock-length tail feathers.
On the far end was a dias with several empty chairs, and the man in livery led them up it and through a door, up two flights of stairs, and into what looked a bit like Harry’s suite in Badger Inn, if he hadn’t had a wall between his bedroom and the common space.
A woman who looked to be in her seventies, white haired and creased face, sat in a chair at the table.
“Ealdorling Matilda,” the ambassador translated.
“The heir apparent,” Lofthouse reminded. She looked far too old to be just an heir, Harry thought, but didn’t say. He bowed when the ambassador prompted him to, then took the seat he was pointed at.
“Ætheling Harry may converse freely in Latin,” Lofthouse said in the aforementioned language.
“Very well,” Ealdorling Matilda answered, and Harry understood. To him she said, “A strange company you keep, Ætheling, a dangerous company.”
“They’ve been kind to me,” Harry answered, unsure where he stood with her. It didn’t take more than a few hours walking the magical streets of London to notice people kept their distance from Butcher and the ambassador, who looked obviously non-human.
“A nymph’s kindness comes at a steep price,” she said, her tone warning.
“Lofthouse said he’s helping me for his own reasons, and that I don’t owe him or Ethelweard anything. And I’ve hired the ambassador, and Prewett arranged the contract.”
Matilda Potter leaned forward in her seat. “Those were the exact words? That you owe nothing in return?”
“The child owes Ethelweard Butcher and myself nothing,” Lofthouse said, and after squinting for a moment over the rim of her glasses, Matilda nodded and sat back in her seat.
“Freo Prewett wrote she’s discovered deficits in her oversight of your living arrangements. I must say I agree. You’re clearly maltaught and ill trained. Shall I dispense with her and hire you a different solicitor?”
“Erm,” Harry said, “she’s been nice enough. It’s not her fault the Dursleys are awful.”
“I think it is. But I’ve audited your accounts and at least financially she appears to have done well by you. What do you want?”
“I want—“ Harry’s voice caught in his throat. He swallowed, and his throat clicked. “I want to live with family. Family that wants me.”
“Well you can’t live here.” She said it like it was obvious. “I’m too old to get on with a child underfoot, and my Ealdor father won’t have it. James was granted use of the cottage in Godric’s Hollow, but that is no longer available. The Blacks won’t put you up, half-blooded Potter that you are.”
She tapped her fingers against the table. “You’re about to start Hogwarts, and then you’ll be there most the year anyway. We’ll see you established at Hardwin Hus, in Lundenheorth, while you’re underage. Befitting a Potter, if not a true æthel.”
Harry liked the magical district well enough, but it didn’t outweigh his disappointment in being turned away by the remainder of his living family.
Matilda sent a scroll to the steward to see Hardwin Hus staffed and made ready, to Prewett demanding she get Harry a proper tutor for school breaks, and then led the way to the High Hall for dinner.
There, Harry met Ealdorcyn Henry of Gloucestershire, his four-times grandfather, Edward Potter, his five-times grandfather who had retired from the role of Ealdorcyn, as well as Matilda’s younger sibling Eustace, the second in line. Four living family members on his dad’s side.
Harry also learned they were all much older than he’d thought. Eustace was the youngest in hyn hundred and fifties, and Edward was a hundred and ninety three.
They were given rooms for the night, and then the next morning flew back to Lundonheorth.
Harry’s low mood carried over the following days. Lofthouse brought him to the park to see what the competition was for. It turned out to be some kind of dueling tournament, and proved enough distraction to lift Harry’s spirits.
The men and women mostly dueled with wands and spells, in teams of two, but many also carried swords at their hip, and Harry watched one particular duel where the woman created an opening and then rushed her opponent with her sword. With not enough time to cast, or a sword of his own, her other opponent was soon defeated.
Harry spent the next few matches picturing himself pulling the same move.
As it grew dark the competition ended, and they began making their way back. Harry’s eyes lingered on a brown haired boy a few years older than him, as he talked animatedly at his parents, and felt a pang of longing.
“A wonderful exhibition of skill,” the ambassador said, pulling Harry’s attention away, “I’m afraid I know nothing of wand-dueling, but it is within my expertise to teach you to use a sword proficiency with your offhand, if it pleases you, Ætheling.”
“Really?” Harry asked, and let himself think about that instead.
There was less than a week before the start of school when Hardwin Hus was ready. Harry and the three nymphs made their way north past Over Lane and Loy Alley to Reg Alley, then turned west. The townhouses here were larger, with ornate approaches, chandeliers hanging over the porch, pillared balconies, and impeccably maintained flower gardens. And around each was a low stone wall or wrought iron fence. His companions move past those houses quickly and tensely.
A ginger haired woman who appeared to be in her prime and a teenage boy were waiting at the gate to one of the houses with a low stone fence.
The woman hailed them in Latin. “I’m Molly Weasley, and this is my third son, Percival. My husband and I were pleasantly surprised when your solicitor reached out about sponsoring one of our children’s schooling.” She was dressed in a long robe, which had been carefully darned and mended, the red faded to a dusty hue, and a warm brown pointed hat. Her son was likewise dressed in smart blue robes which showed signs of mending and hems being let out, and a hat that Harry recognized as being from the school uniform.
A small creature in red and gold livery, a hus-ælf called Nepsie, led them inside. A second house-elf, called Noil was there, and a grey-haired woman called Eleanor with her equally grey cat who was to be some kind of nursemaid or governess when he wasn’t at school. Nepsie made the introductions and began the tour.
The house was larger than Harry expected. There was a great hall with a grand staircase, a dining hall, a drawing room, a withdrawing room, the kitchen, pantry, and larder. A library, a study, a music room, a parlor with a spindle and chess set, a receiving room, a tea room, a portrait gallery, a ballroom, a dozen different bedrooms and apartments, an orangery full of citrus trees and fountains, a day nursery and a night nursery, and the mews.
It was a lot more than Harry pictured, and with the portraits of his ancestors lining the walls, not half so lonely as he’d feared, even with Latin as the only shared language.
Molly Weasley set him up in the nursery of all rooms. When Harry complained, she told him he could move into an adult bedroom once he’d started school. Percival — Percy — and the ambassador were given rooms next to and across from the nursery, and Molly set Lofthouse and Butcher up in a guest room on a separate floor.
She left after that, apparently she’d left the rest of her children home unsupervised for too long already, and then it was Harry, two house elves, three nymphs, his new governess Eleanor, and Percy.
Percy helped him unpack while the others settled into their own rooms.
“I just made Prefect at Hogwarts,” Percy told him. He was going into his fifth year, had five brother and a sister, and the youngest of his brothers would be in Harry’s year. His favorite subject was arithmancy, and he was going for twelve O.W.L.s, which he explained meant getting high scores on the primary Wizarding competency test in not just the core subjects but the electives as well.
“Will being my attendant get in the way?” Harry asked, and Percy hesitated.
Then he puffed up and declared he was more than capable of taking on multiple responsibilities. He was doing independent study for several electives already, and was confident in his abilities. Ten minutes into the rant Harry was regretting ever asking.
Eleanor arrived after Harry and Percy had both unpacked, and when she saw Percy was going through Harry’s book on magical theory with him, took up a seat in the corner and pulled out some sort of embroidery or needlepoint project to work on.
The remainder of the week continued in that vein. The ambassador tutored him in swordsmanship, Percy tutored him on the first year curriculum, and Frēo Eleanor kept an eye on them, occasionally speaking up to straighten Harry’s robe or correct his posture.
With Harry properly looked after, Lofthouse and Butcher returned to their own home, promising to come and see him off on September first.
So on the morning of September first, Frēo Eleanor ushered Harry, Percy, and the ambassador out the front door to the coach Noil had prepared. Nep loaded their trunks and they all climbed in.
Platform Nine was bustling with families, and their coach had to wait in a long queue to drop them off. By the time they reached the platform, Harry had spotted Butcher’s antlers high above the crowd, and using him as reference, caught a few glimpses of Lofthouse’s smaller frame.
The taller nymph made to help unload the trunks, but Nep waved him off, so instead they walked together passed platforms Nine and one third and Nine and two fifths until they arrived at Nine and three quarters.
Percy spotted his family, a large crowd of redheads, and Harry immediately gave him leave to greet them and bid his parents farewell.
“I’ve got something for you,” Lofthouse said, and proceeded a necklace with a flat square locket. Harry opened it up to find a miniature portrait of a plump old man. The portrait smiled jovially up at him and with a wave called out “Good day! Æthel Harry, was it?”
“That is dear Mister Grigsby,” Lofthouse said, drawing Harry’s attention away from the painting, “he happily agreed to an additional frame, and has offered to keep an ear out for you. His portrait is in the keeping of Mister Hull, in the Court of Hidden Folk. If you cannot reach myself or Butcher by owl, you may reach out to Mister Grigsby, and he will see that your message finds us.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, and after being assured the portrait didn’t mind, closed the locket and slipped the chain over his head.
Percy returned after that with his family in tow, and introduced Harry to his younger siblings. Then they were boarding the train, finding a compartment, and waving out the window. The whistle blew, the train gave a lurch, and they were off.