Harry Potter and The

Harry Potter and the Echoes of Alchemy
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/53627593.
Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Characters: Severus Snape, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise
Zabini, Original Malfoy Characters (Harry Potter), Original Characters,
Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Daphne Greengrass, Millicent
Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Ron
Weasley, Filius Flitwick, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger,
Marcus Flint, Gemma Farley, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy,
Quirinus Quirrell, Rolanda Hooch, Pomona Sprout, Seamus Finnigan,
Dean Thomas, Parvati Patil, Padma Patil, Hannah Abbott
Additional Tags: Severus Snape Raises Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Morally
Grey Severus Snape, Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, Albus Dumbledore
Bashing, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Fanfiction,
Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Serpent's Veil Chronicles
Stats: Published: 2024-02-08 Updated: 2024-02-11 Words: 23,192 Chapters:
9/?
Harry Potter and the Echoes of Alchemy
by Dumoonjun
Summary
"Harry didn't like being a Potter, let alone the strange (and magical!) things that happened
when Aunt Petunia hit him. When there were only a few hours left until he turned eleven and
could finally escape, a bat-like man appeared at the door saying that he was a wizard."
Available in Portuguese on Wattpad.
Notes
This rewrite will likely diverge from the classic 'Severus raises Harry' storyline, so I promise
not to make the characters sad - yet, hahaha.
English isn't my first language, nor is it my Beta's. If you spot any mistakes, please let me
know in the comments!
This was beta-ed by the lovely Jungnyn on Spirit Fanfiction. Thanks, Love.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I'm writing this story for fun
and not for profit. The original characters are my property, and I reserve the right to
manipulate and use them as I wish.
Available in the original format (Brazilian Portuguese) on Wattpad!

https://www.wattpad.com/story/313870269-a-pedra-filosofal
See the end of the work for more notes

The Dursley Family
Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley were proud to be a normal family.
Their house on Privet Drive No. 4 was just like all the others in the neighborhood — except
for the neighbor across the street, Mrs. Figg. The white fence, the neatly trimmed grass, and
the well-painted facade were all that a normal person could want.
Every morning, Mr. Dursley would leave for work in his designer blue suit, looking as red as
a pepper but with his hair and mustache neatly groomed; driving his gray car through the
cloudy horizon at seven in the morning. Meanwhile, Mrs. Dursley prepared to start gossiping
on the phone with the other socialites, and her precious son still slept until ten.
There was nothing to indicate the existence of a second boy living there, unless you were
observant enough to notice a small broom cupboard under the stairs — which strangely had a
lock on the outside. Harry James Potter was a small, skinny child, sneaky as a snake. He had
learned before he could speak that unless the house was on fire, he should be silent as a statue
but get the job done quickly and well. The little boy was like a shadow, living in the
background to escape the inevitable beatings — he would never understand why Aunt and
Uncle called him a Freak.
However, Harry slept cautiously on the thin mattress, which smelled of sweat, in the cramped
cupboard and wrapped in a blue blanket, with shadows of what were ducks when they were
still on Dudley's bed.
"Get up, you stupid child! Get up!"
The boy woke up startled. The voice called again, each time more impatient, ordering him to
leave the peace of his dreams.
"Are you up?" it said. "Great, come serve breakfast. See if you can be less weird while we
eat." Harry grunted slowly in response, sitting carefully to avoid hitting his head on the too-
low ceiling.
With Aunt's shouts, his eyes slowly opened. The usual sight greeted his vibrant green eyes,
with walls too close together, full of childish drawings and covered in cobwebs. The familiar
click of the external lock filled the little place, and the door opened by itself. He knew it was
his cousin's birthday, of course he knew. It was one of the most hellish days of the year; his
muscles ached just thinking about how much scrubbing and cooking he would have to do
(but he would never say "hellish" out loud, that was grown-up language).
With more grace than expected of him, Harry stumbled down the hallway and into the
kitchen. The pile of gifts covering the table was gigantic: you could see the latest computer,
the racing bike, a television, and a bunch of new toys. Why Dudley needed so many packages
of various sizes and shapes would always be a mystery, since all the little boy knew was that
he needed to lie and steal to get some broken colored crayons.
Perhaps, when he was finally an adult, he could work to have a house and his own gifts. For
now, he was still ten years old and had a huge, ragged, and worn-out bundle of clothes. He
wore an apathetic expression on his thin face and the round, black glasses slightly crooked,
the decrepit appearance complemented by the lightning scar, which started at the base of his
hair and branched out to his right eyebrow — it had been there since he could remember, and
he remembered well being punished when he asked his uncle where he got it from.
'"It was your drunken father, Potter" the chubby man shouted, red up to his neck. "He stuffed
you and your loopy mother into a car after drinking, and crashed into the nearest post! It's a
waste that you didn't die too, staying here spending our money!" Uncle Vernon grabbed the
boy by the already somewhat disheveled collar, shaking him violently and spitting on the
child's face with each disgusted word. "Don't ask about them, boy, or I'll kill you!"
Harry, at three, was pushed into the dark closet and locked away for the next few days.'
That was an important lesson: don't ask questions. It was a vital survival rule for the boy. It
avoided some beatings over the years, but brought others. Adults seemed to hate him even
more after each little strange thing that happened around the family.
The small hands held the hot frying pan, turning the bacon to finish frying it the golden way
Aunt Petunia liked it. The smell of fried meat rose through the sensitive nose and churned his
stomach — how long had it been since he had eaten anything besides water?
"Fix that damn hair, Potter!" shouted Uncle, entering the kitchen for his only day off of the
month.
Every time the man was home, he found a way to cause trouble over the small nest that was
Harry's dark red hair. The child had cut his hair more times than his two hands and two feet
could add up — and for someone who had barely learned to read and write until he was nine,
that was a lot! —, but it didn't help. The next morning, it had always grown again and the
beating for being strange would be waiting for him when he came out of the closet. When
Dudley and Aunt Petunia entered and sat down, the scrambled eggs with parsley were ready,
and the two-tier birthday cake had been placed in the tiny empty space on the table. The
cousin looked too much like his father with that dark blond bowl-cut hair, wearing an
oversized purple pajamas with yellow crowns and a pair of red slippers. His mother used to
call him an angel, but Harry liked to imagine that one day he would have the courage to say
that the boy was nothing but a pig in a wig.
The plate of bacon was placed in the even smaller space on the table, while the birthday boy
counted the gifts sitting on the floor. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine when his cousin
started turning red.
"Thirty-five, thirty-six..." the boy lifted his face to his father, full of anger. "Thirty-seven!
There's one less than last year!"
"Sweetie, some are really big," his mother pointed out, anticipating the imminent fit of rage.
"And daddy gave you that trip to Ireland next month. Look, that makes thirty-eight, my little
angel." The Potter boy shrank into the corner of the room, almost glued to the door leading to
the laundry room, afraid of an active reaction from his cousin or a blaming from his aunt.
"Fine, mommy." The boy in purple sighed, the redness slowly fading from his chubby face.
"But I want to go to the zoo!" Dudley shouted. "Without the Freak Potter, dad!"
The only woman in the house looked at her husband pleadingly, fearing that a drama would
start during her darling's perfect birthday. None of the adults could blame the twelve-year-old
for not wanting a lunatic on his special day.
"As you wish, son." the whole room heard Uncle Vernon's sigh. "I'll see if Arabella can take
him," he said to his wife, then the man got up and walked to the living room, stopping at the
door to the hallway. "And Dudkins, my big boy, we'll buy you a gift on the street to make up
for this stress."
The boy seemed to count for a few seconds, muttering that it would be thirty-nine gifts, then
it was fine with him. The mother laughed, sipping her sugar-filled coffee with a lighter air
than the nephew had ever seen. Then, after the thick wall of tension dissipated, Harry
grabbed a half-green apple and left through the door, ready to start the day's obligations.
[◇]
The phone rang in the hallway a few hours later. Petunia answered it reluctantly, as she was
finishing putting on her makeup to go out. It was Arabella on the line.
Mrs. Figg was a very gossiping old lady, but kind to Harry when she needed to take care of
him. Her house was strange, full of seashell amulets that made noise and smelled like musty
cats. It was as if the world had stopped spinning in there, full of strange books and with a
large dusty fireplace in the living room.
Every time the boy needed to be sent there — which happened quite often, since the Dursleys
rarely took him along when they went out —, the lady had warm vegetable milk and
pumpkin potato pies coming out of the oven. The crazy lady always had a photo album with
her, and told what seemed like a rehearsed script about all the cats she had ever had. She had
some funny pots in the kitchen, some with colored sands and others with what Harry
supposed were cockroaches for her animals.
"Arabella broke a leg, Vernon" she said to her husband, who was waiting in the entrance hall.
"She won't be able to look after the boy today. What are we going to do?"
Dudley came down the stairs, in a black suit and jumping on the steps, filling the little
cubicle of his cousin with termite dust. When he heard his mother speak, the boy froze.
"Let's leave Potter here, dear. The boy hasn't caused any trouble so far, it's time for him to
start fending for himself!" the man exasperated, squeezed in his red jacket.
Harry, who was cleaning up the kitchen from the gift wrapping debris, almost smiled at the
phrase; before remembering that it would lead to punishment. Spending what seemed like a
beautiful day without having to run from the neighbor's crazy cats was too tempting, although
the ten-year-old boy also felt sorry for the little old lady.
Without even looking at him twice when she entered the living room, the family left by car
through the beautiful and calm Little Whinging to the Municipal Zoo. The click of the main
door handle and the car engine were the only sounds in the house for a few minutes. The boy
didn't notice the relief that filled his tense body, nor his calm breath after so many days in
fear.
The first thing Harry did was open the fridge. He knew he had a huge advantage in being a
vegetarian, since Aunt Petunia never noticed the significantly constant decrease in vegetables
— maybe because Dudley never ate any of them, so there was no problem in taking some.
With potatoes, carrots, cassava, broccoli, water, and some spices, a vegetable broth quickly
became ready and was slowly digested and deeply appreciated.
With a full stomach for the first time in what seemed like weeks, the boy opened the
cupboard and entered. Pressing with his hand on the board under the penultimate step, Harry
pulled out Dudley's old medium-sized sports bag, filled with his most precious items: the
green toy soldier with the broken leg, the box of dried-out crayons, the failing purple pen, a
pair of yellow gloves, and the miniature of a silver snake. Seizing the chance that had fallen
into his lap, the green eyes filled with tears as he hugged his small stolen treasures and let the
pain take over his small body.
The sobs flowed as silently as the furtive tears, wetting the child's cheeks and shaking him
until everything turned into a tangle of old rags and crying children. Breathing was a
complicated thing, especially when his fingers touched the first drawing he remembered
making: a stick figure woman with fire-colored hair, a messy-haired man with square glasses,
a skinny little boy on the ground, and a Christmas tree.
The urge to run and hide from the world was so big that, as if by magic, Harry was in the
backyard with a click — it didn't scare him, though, because it had happened before. Once
outside, all he did was fall to his knees and bury his head in his hands.
"What's wrong, fancy child?"
Harry went on alert when someone spoke a little further ahead. In theory, no one had access
to that part of the yard. His head rose, looking around. There was nothing but a yellow
butterfly and a tiny green snake. Well, tiny wouldn't be the best description, but the little
snake was barely the length of the boy's forearm. The butterfly flew away, but the little snake
raised its head and stuck out its tongue.
"Don't be so afraid, little boy!"
Harry had gone crazy, or had the snake really spoken to him? It could only be another
weirdness, he was sure Dudley would jump out of the bushes and report him to his parents —
who was he to talk to animals and understand them?
"Hello?" he replied, not noticing his voice sounding like a languid hiss. "Who are you?"
"I have no name, child" the snake slid closer to Harry, almost close enough for him to grab it.
"I have not yet been honored with a good name."
"How can you have no name?" he asked. "A name is the only thing we have in this world,
ma'am!"
With caution, the boy reached out his arm and let the No-Name snake slide and wrap around
his right forearm with a moist and cold shiver. The triangular snout sniffed the child's clothes,
hissing with a firmness that almost scared Harry.
"I was born a long time ago, in a garden not far from here" she began. "I was just an egg,
Mother Snakes don't stay to name the brood, silly human."
"Mothers don't name their children?" he was astonished. "How can I call you then?"
"You still can't, child. You haven't told me your name!"
"Oh, I'm Harry," he said proudly.
"Hello, Hazzy" she bubbled, stretching her small forked tongue to touch the skinny fingers
that scratched her smooth scales. "You can name me if you want.."
With his body relaxed, the brunette got up and went back into the house. Still carrying the
snake on his arm, he slipped into the smelly cupboard again.
Much later, when it had been night for some time and he still hadn't left his cubicle, Harry
almost got up to go to the clock in his uncle's room then he remembered that he didn't know
how to tell time on that huge cuckoo clock, and didn't want to risk going to get food and
being caught stealing some small carrots.
He had no idea when the Dursleys would return, but he knew he would be in trouble for
bringing a snake into the house. The boy had been living with them for almost ten years —
infernal years, he would say if he could. He had no memories of his parents, or the accident
that killed them and left him with a scar, or a point in his short life where his aunt and uncle
didn't treat him so rudely. It was as if he had always been the Potter Aberration, and had
always lived in the closet.
When he was younger, Harry used to dream of strange relatives and a giant men coming to
take him away to distant lands where weird things wouldn't happen; but it was just a childish
fantasy. No one would ever come for him and the Dursleys were the only family he had —
sometimes, when there was nothing threatening him with a hot skillet, the boy liked to
imagine that he lived a life like his cousin's; with parents who loved him and showered him
with piles of gifts.
In primary school, he also had no friends. All the students knew that Dudley's gang had a
fixed target on the skinny boy with worn-out clothes and crooked glasses, and Dudley wasn't
the type of bully you could contradict.
Harry had forgotten to make dinner that night, and that gave him the longest punishment of
that semester. Both the boy and the snake, who had recently accepted being called Arya,
shared some leftovers from packets of cream-filled cookies — which were stolen when
Dudley didn't like them and threw away the bag with some after crumbling most of them —
during the ten days when the sunlight didn't touch his brown skin. They were withered, but
some tasted like lemon and others like chocolate; but his favorites would always be the red
fruit ones. When the punishment finally ended, summer vacation had started and his cousin
had already destroyed most of his new presents. Mrs. Figg was home again, but walking on
crutches and with her leg bandaged.
It was good that classes had ended and with them the daily homework, but his cousin's gang
still threatened him constantly.
Lazy as the wigged pigs they were, Dudley Dursley and his friends spent the day playing
video games and, when they got tired, they liked to do the famous Harry Hunt. The main
rule: run. For the target, it was better to be very fast and escape.
So, he tried to spend as much time away from home as possible when he could: walks
downtown, visits to the library, and hours in the park's tree house; always accompanied by
little Arya coiled around his neck under his shirt. Wandering around, whispering with his new
friend, brought the glimpse of the end of the holidays and the beginning of high school.
In mid-July, when the hot weather was still rainy, Harry was left with Mrs. Figg so that the
Dursleys could buy the precious son's uniform. The old lady didn't seem so bad, she was
already without the plaster and walked with a limp. She gave him vegetable milk and orange
cake when she heard his stomach rumble.
Spark, the oldest cat, almost ate Arya when she slid to sit on his hair, but the boy was quick
to hide her inside his shirt. After that, the little snake spent the rest of the hours they were
there complaining about the danger her poor life had run into, while her human scratched her
smooth skin gently and discreetly passed her some meat snacks that Mrs. Figg kept for the
cats.
The Concept of Arya
Chapter Summary
"Harry didn't like being a Potter, let alone the strange (and magical!) things that
happened when Aunt Petunia hit him. When there were only a few hours left until he
turned eleven and could finally escape, a bat-like man appeared at the door saying that
he was a wizard."
Chapter Notes
This rewrite will likely diverge from the classic 'Severus raises Harry' storyline, so I
promise not to make the characters sad - yet, hahaha.
English isn't my first language, nor is it my Beta's. If you spot any mistakes, please let
me know in the comments!
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I'm writing this story for
fun and not for profit. The original characters are my property, and I reserve the right to

See the end of the chapter for more notes
The sunny day, right in the middle of the summer holidays, started calmly.
In the cupboard under the stairs, young Harry dreamed of flying motorcycles, men in dresses,
and cats that turned into people. Warm to the maximum inside his small space, with Arya
curled up and asleep in his hair and lulled by the eternal noise of the kitchen water filter, he
woke up at the first knock from Petunia at the door.
"I hate her, Hazzy" grumbled the familiar snake. "Let me bite her, then we can sleep.."
"You can't bite my aunt, Ary. Nor anyone who's human" the boy contradicted, without really
having the will or awareness to argue. "Let's get up before she comes back." Staggering from
sleep, Harry sat up, placing the snake (which had grown considerably despite the scarcity of
food, now measuring just over thirty centimeters) around his slim waist and promised her a
stroll through the fields of the old neighbourhood playground.
He then emerged from the cupboard slowly, prepared the English breakfast for his aunt and
uncle — complete with tomatoes and toast — in just a few minutes and heated chocolate
buns for Dudley. While his aunt sipped her tea in complete disgust and looked at a socialite
friend's postcard, his cousin had his face smeared with imported Belgian chocolate and spoke
with his mouth open, still chewing; churning Harry's stomach with such lack of manners.
His own meal was a glass of juice and some loose grapes from the fridge. Vernon cheerfully
talked about the company's new vehicles, singing victory over picking up the new car that
afternoon, and his wife scribbled in response to her correspondence on a somewhat dead pink
paper. With everyone distracted, the boy took the opportunity to steal a raw sausage for Arya.
With the comfort of having his new friend well hidden under his loose shirt, the boy went out
to trim the lawn while the temperature was still fresh. Raking the cut grass into small piles
and then putting them into garbage bags was, in a way, comforting — it helped Harry feel
alive, like a breathing being and not just a mere ghost in his own family's life.
[⚠]
Hours later, on the other side of the dry playground lawn, Harry was high up in a tree. Arya
whispered excitedly about the adventure, but was in a defensive position.
He should have found it strange when his uncle readily agreed when questioned about the
park. Usually, the businessman would come up with countless obstacles to prevent the little
boy from leaving the property for anything other than the municipal school, Mrs. Figg's
house, or the cupboard under the stairs; muttering curses and insults at his nephew for the
next few hours.
However, that afternoon, his request was quickly accepted. Harry should have guessed that
Dudley had a hand in the story, as he headed to the park right after his cousin left.
Settled in the shade, chatting quietly with Arya about slides and merry-go-rounds, the
lightning-scarred boy only realized the sun was blocked from his view when the huge Peter
Pollkins yelled at him.
"Well, if it isn't the Freak Potter!" the boy pushed Harry onto the grass, giving Arya enough
cover to hide under a small bush next to where her owner was sitting. "Big D, Liam! Look
who came to us today for fun."
Dudley came running from the slide, forgetting about the toddlers he had been tormenting
minutes earlier. As the biggest eleven-year-old boy in the neighborhood, everyone smaller
than him feared him. His friends, his gang, called him Big D — extremely self-explanatory.
"Look, Freak!" His cousin squeezed his fists, cracking them as he approached the motionless
body on the ground with a wicked look. "This is going to be so good."
Coming off a nearby bench, the third boy chimed in.

"Shall we get your crazy cousin again?" said the boy, not seeming all that interested.
Liam Beltrain was a skinny Australian, smaller than Harry, but quick and intelligent.
Compensating for his lack of physical strength with elaborate prank plans for the gang, he
loved holding down the boys his friends decided to beat up.
Trapped in place, the young Potter had no idea how to escape that situation. Deep in his
mind, far from his thoughts, he could hear Arya's voice shouting his name repeatedly.
"Hold him, Liam," commanded the cousin, being obeyed by the tiny boy. "It's time for him to
understand that this isn't his place!" With that statement, Harry disconnected from everything.
The first wave of pain hit in the middle of his stomach. Peter's laughter invaded the painful
symphony of the ten-year-old boy's groans, shaking the right foot that had kicked him. His
assailants surrounded the contorted body on the grass, exchanging jokes and swearing at the
smaller child. Harry realized belatedly that his arms were being pulled upwards and towards
the ground, rendering them unable to offer any protection to his face or body.
"St-stop," he tried in vain. "Let go of me!"
The second time, the pain came to his ribs and thighs, which were stomped by his cousin's
riding boots. At least one bone must have broken; it was impossible they remained intact
when the twelve-year-old boy stepped on them.
A few more painful blows were dealt to Harry before Arya finally stopped squeaking in vain.
As the protective familiar she was, she emerged from her hiding spot in the bushes and
advanced menacingly towards Dudley.
The boy yelled for whatever it was to leave him alone, kicking his cousin's left thigh
repeatedly. When his two friends screamed and ran away, he finally realized something was
wrong.
His leg felt like it was being wrapped by something like scout ropes, and as he looked down,
the mighty Dudley Dursley screamed — loud, high-pitched, strangled, and full of terror — as
he saw the medium-sized green snake open its jaws and bare its sharp fangs. Quickly, Arya
sank her teeth into the chubby calf, releasing a minimal amount of venom before letting go of
the flesh and biting again.
The boy shook his leg violently, kicking the snake away and limping away from the
neighborhood towards home.
Totally sore and covered in blood, Harry Potter carefully got up from the ground and
proceeded to gather his poisonous savior around his waist, staggering in pain in the process.
Getting home was as much of a curse as being a victim of Dudley's gang. Throughout the
short ten-minute walk between the park and Number Four, Privet Drive, the tiny, blood-
covered boy caught the attention of all the adults walking on the perfectly aligned sidewalks.
At the entrance of the house, the car was absent. All the lights inside were off, and the only
movement was the neighbor across the street at the window, watching everything.
His cousin, according to the gossiping Mrs. Figg, had gone to the Municipal Public Hospital
delirious about green snakes and with a huge bite on his leg. Aunt Petunia had gone with her
son, crying desperately as she screamed at her husband while they got into the car with an
unconsciously heavy boy in their arms.
Arabella gave Harry a concerned look and told him to go inside the Dursleys' house and clean
up before his uncles returned. Leaning to the sides, still in agony from his ribs and thigh, the
boy stained the perfect hallway and corridor floor with blood, barely managing to get into his
cupboard and close the door.
Suddenly worried about his snake, after the adrenaline considerably lowered, he removed
Arya from the protection of his shirt and was startled by the blood staining her green scales.
"Arya, are you hurt?" Harry grabbed a wrinkled gray shirt from a small pile of clothes and
used it to start cleaning his familiar. "What the hell happened with Dudley?"
"That pig that walks on two feet deserved it" scoffed the snake.
"Arya!" Concerned about what awaited him when his uncles returned, the boy scolded the
snake. "I told you not to bite the Dursleys! Now Dudley's in the hospital, and Uncle Vernon is
going to kill me!" Harry sat on the old mattress and curled up as much as he could.
His scaly friend climbed up his thin, pale arm, carefully passed over his shoulder, and coiled
around his owner's neck.
"He was going to kill you, Hazzy" she whimpered. "He was hurting you non-stop; I can feel
what you feel!"
Harry pressed his right palm against her, trying to move as little as possible.
"I'm sorry..." the boy whispered, fragile with pain. "I should have known there would be an
ambush, Ary. I put you at risk; now I might lose you!"
The sorrowful cry was barely audible, sounding like desperate sobs of pain and fear.
"I swear, Hazzy..." the snake flicked her forked tongue across her owner's cheek, wiping away
a salty tear. "I swear if that pig tries to touch you again, I'll kill him! And the same goes for
Uncle and Aunt."
Listening to his scaly friend's promise shouldn't have been comforting, but it was. For the
first time since he could remember, Harry James Potter had someone who cared about him. It
didn't matter that it was a relatively small snake, one he seemed to be the only one capable of
talking to and understanding. Arya seemed to be the only thing that still kept the boy with his
faculties intact living in that house — clearly, he wasn't all there, as he talked to snakes and
disappeared from one place to appear in another.
The serpent slithered from her perch and climbed up to the open drawer in his friend's tiny
clothes dresser. Hissing disjointed things, without really forming a word, the ten-year-old boy
finally lay down on the tattered mattress and groaned under the fractured rib until he fell into
the vastness of unconsciousness.
It was already dawn when Vernon parked the new car on the lawn of the house and entered,
shouting, followed by his wife, who froze in the doorway. The front door slammed shut, Mrs.
Figg's cats began to meow loudly, and a battered boy was shaken out of the dark of peace.
"POTTER!" The heavy sound of Vernon's brutish footsteps drew closer to the cubicle where
the boy was.
Harry cowered in fear in the cupboard, hissing for the green snake to hide quickly before the
door that separated him from the outside world was almost torn from its hinges by his uncle.
"You miserable bastard!" The man, purple with anger, grabbed his nephew by the fractured
leg and dragged him into the hallway. "My son is in the Hospital, at death's door! What
freakishness did you do to him, you freak?!"
Terrified, Harry crawled to the kitchen entrance without ever taking his eyes off his uncle,
moving slowly so he wouldn't notice the snake in attack position behind him.
"You son of a bitch!" the man cursed, bursting into laughter. "You're an ingrate, Potter. We
took you in after your idiotic parents blew themselves up, clothed and fed you." Vernon
grabbed the boy's almost tattered shirt and lifted him off the ground. "And then what does the
little brat do? YOU GO AND LET A DAMN SNAKE LOOSE ON MY SON!"
"Uncle, I-I..." Almost suffocating with the hand that circled his neck, Harry used his fingers
in vain to try to loosen the grip. "I d-didn't mean to..."
"I didn't mean to, my ass, Potter. I'm going to kill you, you bastard!" A cruel smile filled the
angry man's face. "You'll wish you had died with your idiotic parents in that damn car."
"Vernon, dear," Petunia called from the entrance, finally mustering the strength to separate
the commotion. "Shove the boy back into the cupboard; I don't want my husband and my
floor dirtied with that cursed blood."
The woman seemed to have an extra-strong calming effect on the man, who tossed the almost
inert form of the skinny boy into the cupboard under the stairs and closed the door with the
latch.
The silent sobbing consumed the child as he could hear his uncles having a conversation
about his cousin's condition, who would be hospitalized for the next week under observation
after the application of the antidote and the closure of the wounds.
Arya, curled under the curve of Harry's shoulder-neck, whispered her small plans to poison
the Dursley family while they slept, swearing to protect her human from anyone who touched
him from then on.
[◇]
Three days later, still not having left the cupboard for anything other than going to the
bathroom once a day, Harry James Potter thought Arya was a genius.
Even though his left thigh was bruised, his ribs on the same side almost black and too painful
to lie down, he couldn't help but feel at peace for the first time.
With plenty of time to talk, the green snake devised a brilliant escape plan, to be executed
two days later — on his eleventh birthday.
"Are your things packed, Hazzy?" she asked for the tenth time that day.
With no idea what time it was, since with his uncles keeping vigil over the hospitalized
cousin the house was eerily empty, he slowly opened the loose floorboard under the last step.
The old sports bag seemed strangely full. Inside it, along with the boy's small relics, were
some decent clothes to wear and a bag with forty-six pounds in coins collected from the sofa
and pocket of laundered clothes.
"I've checked again, Ary" he replied, rummaging through the squeezed and sparse contents of
the bag. "Everything's here."
Along with the vital survival items, a few crumpled chalk drawings and the only paper
proving that Harry existed before the law; his birth certificate.
Aunt Petunia had crumpled the old record a few years ago and tossed it into a pile of things
for disposal during a garage sale. Curious as he had always been as a child, the boy
rummaged through some boxes and ended up discovering his name on that tiny piece of
paper until then insignificant.
Keeping the record until it proved useful, now he had the means to do whatever he decided
from his escape.
"Do you think they'll report my disappearance?" Harry didn't seem concerned about the
possibility, but it was always good to assess from all angles. "It's not very Dursley-like, but I
don't want to risk it."
"I don't think they will, Hazzy" the snake reassured him. "Just two more dawns, and we'll be
free!" The ten-year-old boy chuckled quietly, holding his ribs with his hand. That snake was
way too lively for her own good.
The plan was simple but well thought out thanks to Arya and her nights watching Dudley
watch teenage fiction series: Harry would wait for Petunia to open the cupboard for his daily
bathroom visit and take advantage of it to escape her clutches. With some excuse about a
stomach ache, he would make the woman step away from the closed door of the lavatory.
When he was alone, all he had to do was step out into the hall again.
Getting past the front door wouldn't be difficult, as the boy was really fast, but he could only
pray that his uncle had already gone to work and the door didn't creak when opened.
Once outside, in possession of the bag and his familiar snake, he would run to the train
station in the city center and buy a ticket as far away as possible with the money he had.
What he would do from there would be a mystery, an adventure. It was a good idea, it
wouldn't fail — Harry just needed to not get into trouble until then.
Chapter End Notes
Hello there! Your feedback is always appreciated and helps me to improve. If you have
any thoughts or suggestions, please feel free to leave them in the comments below.
Thank you for reading!
The Letter to Harry
Chapter Summary
he was a wizard."
Chapter Notes

On the eve of Harry's eleventh birthday, the stack of letters in the hallway of the house was
enormous.
His cousin was due to be released home in the next few days, and the aunt and uncle hadn't
spent much time at Number 4 until then. The doctor in charge of the case seemed happy to
discharge the spoiled boy, who knocked over a drip stand every time a nurse wouldn't let him
have the bakery desserts his mother brought him. Dudley's discharge from the hospital
carried the weight of punishment for the facts relayed by his cousin to his parents;
punishment that would be worse than it already was.
It felt like days since the green-eyed boy had last drunk water, cautiously swallowing from
the bathroom tap to fill his belly. Arya still seemed healthy, shining in her dark scales. Harry
was absolutely sure that Petunia and Vernon would just forget about him in the cupboard until
they died of starvation and dehydration, and he was okay with that as long as death was
painless and they were together.
The trip to the bathroom that day was strange: the cupboard door was unlocked, but there was
no one in the hallway or anywhere in the living room. Puzzled, he hissed for Arya to coil
around his arm before stepping out of his cubbyhole. With absurd subtlety for such a young
boy, he dared to move slowly into the kitchen; finding it empty. It was almost laughable that
they had left him alone again.
Testing his theory that his aunt and uncle might have gone out and he was alone, he knocked
twice on the wooden banister; loud enough for anyone upstairs to hear. His only response was
a heavy silence, and the creaks of the old house. Not even the annoying hum of the television
was filling the air, even though the refrigerator still beeped every hour.
Relieved to find no one else in the house, he took his friend to the kitchen and set her loose in
the garden to hunt for rats while he filled himself with water from the tap as much as his
stomach would allow. Harry didn't want to risk grabbing anything from the fridge and getting
caught. After days without cooking for himself, there was no way of knowing what would be
safe to eat.
Curious about how depressingly the house had not been cleaned and the uncollected mail
during his stint in the cupboard, Harry went to look at the fallen correspondence in the
hallway. Among the pile were some envelopes addressed to Uncle Vernon, others to Aunt
Petunia, and one was Dudley's primary school report card. However, one in particular caught
his eye. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowed parchment and addressed in
blood-red ink; without any stamps.
To Mr. Harry J. Potter
The cupboard under the stairs
Privet Drive 4, Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry picked up the envelope from the stack and stared at it with almost tangible desperation.
No one, as far back as he could remember, had ever written to him. Who would, right? His
only relatives despised him, his first friend was a snake, and he wasn't even a regular at the
local library to receive a reminder to return books. But there it was, that letter, clearly
addressed to him.
As he turned the envelope over, trembling under the weight of whatever message lay within,
the boy saw a purple wax seal — reminiscent of those from old movies — with a crest
engraved: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
The sound of the car door slamming in the yard was enough to put the boy on high alert. He
hastily tossed the letter into his small room and called for the snake.
"Quickly, Ary! Back to the cupboard!" Desperate, the young boy dashed into the kitchen to
retrieve his friend from the middle of the room. "They've arrived" was the only explanation
he gave, lifting the hem of his shirt with his teeth and tying it around his waist, still bearing
bruises.
"Let's go, Hazzy, hurry up!" Arya urged, hiding beneath the shirt and around the thin body.
Reaching the cupboard where he was hiding was easy, but the old wooden door tended to
creak when closed too slowly. So he slammed the door shut just as the classic thud of the car
boot being closed echoed through the neighborhood.
Stuffing the letter hastily into the old backpack before stashing it in its hiding spot, he could
hear the click of the front door lock and then the soft footsteps of his aunt on the linoleum
floor. The snake whispered softly for him to calm down, still hidden under the oversized
shirt, sensing an imminent explosion of emotions from his human companion. Harry was
cautiously relaxing, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The noise in the
kitchen indicated that his aunt had gone to put away whatever she had bought.
"Boy," called the woman, banging on the locked door. "Get up!" Irritated, she inserted the key
into the lock and flung the door open.
The child stared at her in fear at the sudden opening, the green eyes of his sister
metaphorically stabbing the woman in the heart.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"
"Clean the damn house!" she spat, her face contorted as if she had sucked on a sour lemon.
"Finish everything today, boy," Petunia warned. "My Dudkins will be back tomorrow. It's the
least you can do to redeem yourself, Potter."
With a newfound purpose, counting down the hours until he could finally be free from it all,
Harry set out to fulfill the last orders his aunt would ever give him; cleaning the house with
the dedication usually reserved for primary school activities — and the letter remained there,
crumpled among old and worn-out things, waiting to be read.
[...]
Uncle Vernon returned from work at nine o'clock, just as Harry was finishing setting the
dinner table. Aunt Petunia, once again, was reading letters from distant friends as she awaited
her husband, sipping on a cup of camellia tea.
As the couple exchanged kisses and settled in, Harry placed the steaming dish of beef on the
table and retreated to the corner of the kitchen, leaving them to deal with the correspondence
already laid out.
"Guida is sick," he informed his wife. "Seems she ate some rotten seafood on the cruise, the
idiot... I've told her to stay away from seafood, but she never listens..." Shaking his head in
disbelief at his sister's actions, he picked up the next letter. "Some bills... Ah! We won that
tape player in the raffle, dear!"
When the last letter, made of the same paper as Harry's, was opened, a chill ran down the
child's spine. Whoever had written to him had also written to his uncle.
"P-Petunia!" Uncle Vernon nearly fell off his chair, passing the thick paper to his wife, who
gasped upon seeing something written on it. "I won't have one of them in this house! We
swore to put an end to this nonsense when we received it!"
Forgotten by the adults engrossed in their heated discussion, Harry stood glued to the kitchen
furniture. The argument between his aunt and uncle only grew louder.
"Vernon, look at the address," Aunt Petunia trembled. "They know..."
"No," her husband cut her off. "They don't know, and they won't know. The boy isn't going to
that insane place!"
Throwing the dishcloth, which had been tucked into his shirt collar, onto the table, Uncle
Vernon stormed off. Aunt Petunia quickly followed suit, forgetting about the freshly prepared
dinner and the open letter on the embroidered towel. Harry tried to hold himself back, but
curiosity got the better of him. Whatever had upset his aunt and uncle so much that they
argued and forgot to put him back in the cupboard, he wanted to see who had written it and
why.
Dear Vernon and Petunia.
Monthly payments will now be limited to vacation months only, as he will have
everything he needs at the castle. I have in mind that young Harry will get along very
well with some of the children in his year, and will make good friends in his house after
the selection.
I cannot say much, but I would appreciate a response sent by Arabella's owl. If there is
anything more urgent, your network will be open to the Floo tomorrow. Harry must
remain unaware of everything we have discussed over the years, but I am sure you have
ensured that.
He needs to enroll by September first and attend the alley to collect his supplies by
August fifteenth. I will send someone on the fourteenth and on the first to pick him up, so
there is nothing to worry about until then. He should receive his letter between today
and tomorrow, and I strongly hope he comes.
Best regards, Muggles,
Headmaster Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class
In shock, the young boy dropped the paper where it was and went to answer the doorbell
ringing. Still too young to use the magical peephole, Harry opened the door without even
asking who it was and came face to face with a well-dressed man in black.
"Hello, good evening," Harry asked, a little awkwardly in his worn-out clothes. "Who would
you like to speak with, sir?"
Before answering, the bat-like man observed the child standing in front of him. He didn't
seem to be more than eight years old, but the emerald-green eyes and the lightning bolt scar
on his forehead told the man very well that the boy was almost eleven years old.
"With Harry Potter," he concluded. "Private matters," the unknown man added, his voice
tinged with rooted irony.
"I am Harry Potter, sir, but..." He hesitated. His aunt and uncle were upstairs, still awake. "I
need to check something. Would you mind waiting here for five minutes? I'll be right back,"
he added quickly, ready to grab Arya and the old backpack from the cupboard. The
opportunity to escape literally knocked on his door. He didn't know if he would have this
opening the next day, so speaking with a stranger for a few minutes wouldn't hurt. Afterward,
he would just go to the train station and stick to the original plan.
The man thought for a second before silently agreeing. The door almost closed completely,
and through the crack, he could see Harry opening the broom cupboard door under the stairs
and entering. His gaze left the door and surveyed the surroundings. The Privet Drive
neighborhood was strangely uniform, almost too normal. Arabella's cats meowed while the
old lady seemed to be tending to her plants in the side garden. There was an owl perched on
the nearest lamppost, and occasionally a car passed by.
The door opened once again, and Potter emerged from the house with the old backpack on his
back, Arya coiled in her usual spot, and his less worn-out pair of sneakers. Clad in a sweater
too thin for the night wind and worn-out jeans, he walked across the lawn. Hoping the man
would follow him, Harry headed to the stone bench at the corner of the block where the bus
usually passed and sat down. The stranger stopped at a distance of two meters.
As Harry looked more closely at his features, illuminated by the lamppost light, he could see
that the man must have been in his early thirties, perhaps even younger. His jet-black hair fell
to the jawline, meeting the high collar of his black attire. Onyx eyes locked with green ones,
and for a moment, Harry felt like the man could read his mind.
Upon arriving at the corner of the block where the bus usually passed, Harry sat down on the
stone bench and waited. The stranger stopped a couple of meters away.
Taking a closer look at his features, illuminated by the lamplight, the boy could see that the
man was probably in his early thirties, perhaps even younger. His straight black hair reached
his jawline, meeting the high collar of his black attire. Onyx eyes met green ones, and for a
moment, Harry felt as if the man could read his mind.
"Tell me, Potter," the man called, sounding arrogant. "Why the need to flee your home in the
dead of night?"
The boy tightened his expression, placing his left hand where his snake friend rested against
his ribs. Could this guy really read minds?
"Look, sir, with all due respect, but—" Harry started, getting up, ready to walk away to
another bus stop. "It's none of your business what I do or don't do, is it?" The man raised an
eyebrow, intrigued.
"Typical of the Potters to be cheeky in precarious situations," the bat-like man crossed his
arms, his black cloak billowing in the night breeze.
Almost eleven years old, almost free, almost living. Arya felt her human tense up and
whispered for him to get out of there quickly, but the boy still needed to know why this man
had shown up looking for him—on the same night Harry received a letter and they wrote to
the Dursleys about him.
"Who the hell are you?" Harry asked, almost unable to believe he'd actually said the swear
word, shrinking reflexively when the stranger clicked his tongue.
"I am Severus Snape, Hogwarts professor. Of course," the man paused, looking at the child's
scar with a mocking air, "assuming you know anything about Hogwarts."
"I have no idea what that place is, sir professor," Harry replied, feeling stupidly clueless like
on the first day of primary school.
Professor Snape let out an incredulous growl, almost annoyed. His pale hand ran through his
black hair, gripping the strands tightly. All the confidence the child had built up about
escaping and finally living evaporated in the face of the new acquaintance's unpredictability.
"I'm sorry," the boy hurriedly said, shrinking again.
"Sorry?" Snape grumbled. "Where do you think your parents learned all about magic?"
"Sir, you must be crazy," the boy declared, scoffing. "Magic doesn't exist, that's what they tell
children to have fun and dream."
"Damn muggles," the man muttered.
"I don't know what you want, sir, but I'm leaving," the child got up from the bench, took three
steps, and turned to the professor. "Go find someone who believes in your craziness. I've
wasted enough time here."
The professor didn't take a step, but he pulled out a wand-sized twig from his cloak and made
a flicking motion with his hand. Suddenly, Harry felt himself being pulled by his own
backpack towards the bat-like man, and then they both disappeared from the quiet Privet
Drive.
[...]
Harry opened his eyes and found himself standing in an old office, filled with dark wooden
furniture and worn-out books. The footsteps of Professor Snape behind him put him on high
alert for the fourth time.
"Where am I?" the boy asked, keeping his head down and his eyes scanning the surroundings.
— In my house, Potter, at Prince Manor — explained the man, pouring something that
smelled like whisky for Harry. — Where we can talk without eavesdroppers and Muggles
listening in.
— Muggles? — the child murmured. — A minute ago, we were on my street, and now we're
here. How is that possible?
— Magic — Snape replied. — That's what drives us. We're wizards, magic is fundamentally
a vital part of us.
As if to emphasize his words, the man twirled the wand in his hand and lit all the candles in
the office. Another flick of the wrist pulled out a chair and made it collide with Harry's legs,
knocking him into a sitting position and dragging him until he was seated at the desk. The
bat-like man sat on the other side, in a majestic chair made of the darkest dew wood and what
seemed to be silver.
— You are a wizard, Potter. — Snape lowered one of his hands to his black robes, pulling out
an old, moldy letter, very similar to the one he himself had; crumpled among his few
belongings. — I'm sure one like this found you last week.
— I'm sorry, Professor Snape, but I only received something like this envelope today, a few
hours ago — Harry began to exasperate, gesturing wildly with his hands as he stuttered. —
And I haven't even opened it yet!
— Do you have it with you? — The boy nodded. — Excellent, then read it.
The child, still suspicious, opened the old bag just enough to pull out the thick envelope
without stamps. His trembling fingers broke the large wax seal in the middle and pulled out
the papers from inside. The first sheet read:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Under the guidance of Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry. Enclosed is the list of equipment and books required for your first year of
study; which begins on September 1st. We await your reply by owl no later than July
31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva Isobel McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress.
Harry's mind filled with questions, exploding before his eyes like fireworks, and he couldn't
decide what to ask first. After what seemed like a few minutes, he blurted out:
— How can I be a wizard if I've never done magic?
Snape raised an eyebrow, mocking. — Think of all the strange things you've done when you
were angry, boy, or when you felt very happy. Anything that deviates from your aunt's idea of
what's normal.
The boy shrank back, remembering every frying pan hit on his head over the years. Flashes
of memories, some of which he was too young to even define when they were from, filled his
senses before he blinked and fell into darkness. The older man recognized the reflex he
himself had in childhood: someone was threatening the boy.
Chapter End Notes
The Diagonal Alley
Chapter Summary
he was a wizard."
Chapter Notes
This was beta-ed by the lovely Jungnyn. Thanks, Love.

Harry woke up with a throbbing head.
The first thing he thought was that he had had a very strange dream. He was still in the
cupboard and had fantasized about a man dressed in black and something about magic. At
any moment, Harry had the feeling that Aunt Petunia would open the door and he would have
to make breakfast.
The sound of firm, quick footsteps caught the boy's attention, causing him to curl up in a fetal
position. The soft mattress sank as he moved, almost triggering a silent alarm in his mind.
"I know you're awake, Potter, sit up."

It wasn't a dream, then. The previous day had really happened. I escaped! I'm free from them!
But... If I'm not at the Dursleys', where am I?
Raising his body slowly, a warm coat was thrown into his lap with a growl from Snape to put
it on.
Ah. The bat-like man.
"How long have I been out, sir?" The child feared he was interrupting the professor from his
duties. "I still have to catch a bus, so..."
"Eight and a half hours. You're not going anywhere before I explain a few things" declared
the man, opening a wall cabinet and starting to search for something among strange jars.
Harry allowed himself to relax as little as possible on the bed and finally observed where he
was. The bed was large, with a black duvet, white sheets, and black pillows. It also had a
canopy of gray curtains, similar to the ones his kindergarten teacher used to tell princess
stories about. On the wall in front, there was a door, probably a bathroom, and a huge
wardrobe made of dark wood and the cabinet of jars. On the left side, the still-open door led
to a dimly lit hallway. The other side had a huge window overlooking a well-kept garden. It
seems to be the professor's room.
Snape returned a few seconds later with a pot of what looked like bruise ointment and a glass
that had everything but water. The man handed him the glass and sat on the edge of the bed,
sighing.
"Drink, Potter, it will make you feel better." The boy stared at the glass, suspicious and
wishing Arya were there with him; just to tell if something was wrong with the liquid. As if
reading his thoughts again, the professor replied: "This is a Pepper Up potion, to improve
your system" the man's lecturing tone surfaced. "And as for your remarkable snake, child,
she's hunting in my garden; although I should have turned her into potion ingredients for
almost biting me."
"I'm sorry about that, sir" replied the boy, after gulping down the potion to avoid tasting it.
Grimacing, he added: "Arya has never been in contact with any human other than me..."
With an arched eyebrow, the professor opened the ointment jar and offered it to the child,
who still eyed it suspiciously.
"I performed a diagnostic spell on you, boy" Snape didn't comment on Harry's shrinking.
"This is an anesthetic solution. Apply it to the bruises on your rib and thigh, it will relieve the
pain."
Conflicted about the adult's behavior, which deviated from everything Harry had learned to
expect from them, the boy took the jar and timidly asked the professor to turn his back while
he applied the ointment to himself. When the man stood up and turned, still in a rehearsed
swirl of robes, Harry's small fingers spread the solution gently on the injured skin. Half of the
jar's contents later, the child made sure the bruises were covered again before making a
throat-clearing sound to get the man's attention.
"I'm not going to that Hogwarts place, sir" he declared with a sigh, tired of raising
expectations. "My aunt and uncle would never allow it."
Looking at the boy again, arms crossed over his chest covered in black robes and eyes
shrewdly guarding every piece of information coming from the Chosen One's mouth, Snape
replied: "I'd like to see them try, Potter" growled the man. "Damn fool Muggles."
"By Muggles, you mean non-magical people, right?" Harry looked at the professor, his head
held high for the first time since he dared to stare at Petunia at six years old. "Are we so
different?"
"I want you to understand one thing, child" the professor lowered his voice to what reminded
Harry of the sound of distant thunder on a stormy night. "You are a wizard, not a Muggle.
Your mother and father's memory is dishonored every time you deny what you are."
Ashamed, the boy shrank even more into a malnourished ball. Snape took a deep breath
before choosing better words to explain.
"Muggles, ordinary humans, cannot do magic, Potter. We are born with the gift, Lady Magic's
blessing upon us with her magic." For a moment, the man paused before pulling out a thin
black wand. "This is a wand, it serves to channel magic. People with our power, wizards, are
a rare selection of nature. There are few of us, mostly in the European community compared
to the American community."
"So we're better than them, those Muggles?" Asked the boy, not meeting Snape's eyes. "If we
are, why do they see us as freaks?!"
Disturbed, the bat-like man crossed his arms over his chest and began to pace back and forth
on the worn floor — which, by his observations, had endured that habit for so long that they
had worn out.
"For the same reason pure-blood wizards abhor them. Before the creation of the Statute of
Secrecy by the Ministry of Magic in 1607, the two communities lived together" he began. "In
the mid-15th century, Muggles began to be afraid of our power, previously limited only by
magical exhaustion." Harry approached the edge of the large bed without even realizing it.
Snape sat down again, appreciating the child's interest. "The Muggles' terror was such that
they began a witch hunt, which lasted until the end of the 18th century. We, the wizards, were
hunted and killed for possessing magic."
"Was that when the Ministry came in?"
"Exactly, child." A slight smile settled on the professor's face. "The International Ministry of
Magic made an agreement with the European crowns and divided the
two worlds, creating barriers and laws that prevent to this day Muggles from knowing about
our existence."
Confused, Harry thought for a while about what he had just heard. His mind filled with
questions and, before he could hold his tongue, one escaped.
"So, all this hatred is because of a war centuries ago?"
With a look full of irony, and a scornful smile, Snape replied: "You could say that."
The professor then stood up, took the twig from a pocket, and conjured up a set of expensive-
looking clothes and Arya without a single word. A single command, said in a low voice, told
the boy to put on the clothes and be ready quickly.
Harry had the feeling he shouldn't have asked anything. Arya agreed.
[◇]
An hour, a cup of tea with milk, and a sour comment about his worn-out sneakers later, Harry
was spit out into a dimly lit place called the Leaky Cauldron. Dressed in slightly loose black
trousers, a dark green t-shirt, and a matching summer cloak, the boy lightly tapped his waist
to ensure his snake was still secure in her usual perch.
The pub was dirty, full of strange people doing strange business. There was a group of ladies
sitting drinking in a corner, one of them smoking a long, smelly pipe. An old man in an
apron, the owner of the place, if asked to guess, listened to a little man in a top hat speak
frantically and quietly; telling infamous secrets.
"Keep your head down, child" requested the professor. "They'll recognize you if you show
your forehead."
Not exactly understanding why he would be recognized by his scar, Harry did as he was told
and kept his eyes on the man's feet the whole time.
"Professor Snape!" Called the old man in the apron. "Came to do business? It's not every day
that the youngest Potions Master in Britain comes to visit my humble bar!"
"Hello, Tomas" sighed the man. A subtle hand waved for the child to stay behind him,
quickly and obediently obeyed. "I'm bringing a Muggle-born to buy his school supplies in
Diagon Alley. If you'll excuse us, I need to finish this quickly because I have an extremely
volatile potion on the fire."
"Oh, of course, professor! I won't interrupt the young man's first day, Mister...?" The bar
owner looked at the child, waiting for an answer.
"Evans." Replied the man. The child blinked in confusion, but didn't question the professor.
"Now, boy" Snape grabbed Harry by the collar lightly, feeling him flinch but encouraging
him to walk quickly towards a door on the side of the bar. "Let's get your school supplies."
They both went through the door and ended up in a small walled courtyard, where there was
only an old trash can and burnt grass.
Snape counted the bricks before knocking on the wall three times with the tip of his wand —
three bricks up and two to the side, Harry noticed. The brick that was touched shuddered, and
began to rotate on its own axis until it was sideways and a small gap was visible in the wall.
The hole widened, getting bigger and bigger until it stopped suddenly; becoming a huge
archway that led to a street of uneven cobblestones that stretched away into the distance.
"This place smells like you, Hazz..." Arya remarked, her forked tongue testing the taste of the
fabric of the human's new fancy clothes. "It smells like a lot of power, but it also smells like
old stuff at the same time. It's as if layers and layers of that smell have accumulated here over
a millennium!"
Harry didn't respond. He was busy gaping at the pointy-hatted people and the men in dresses,
and he could swear he had seen two owls flying to an old couple. Chuckling under his breath
at the astonished child, the bat-like man strode off in long strides; quickly followed by a
dazzled Potter.
The sun shone on the British morning, reflected in a stack of cauldrons placed in front of a
nearby shop. The aquamarine facade bore a blinking sign that read Cauldrons of all sizes -
Brass, Copper, Tin, Silver - Automatic - Foldable. Over his shoulder, Harry could hear the
wall closing again and, when he glanced back, there was nothing but an old brick wall
covered in torn posters.
As they walked at a brisk pace, the boy wished he had a camera to capture everything. He
turned his head from side to side every second, trying to memorize the path they were
following and everything he was seeing: the colorful shops, the items in the shop windows,
the people shopping, the animals on display. They passed by a plump man at the door of what
seemed to be a pharmacy, yelling out the offers (Dragon liver, seventeen sickles for 30g! Get
it while it lasts!) to passersby.
Loud squawks came from the dark shop, with a sign that said it was the Owl Emporium, and
the smell of the place was not pleasant. Arya let out a low sneeze, grumbling about predatory
owls as she put more pressure on her grip on the skinny boy's waist. A group of boys
apparently his age were clustered in front of a broomstick shop, whispering about a Nimbus
2000 and its apparently unmatched speed. Wizards really ride broomsticks? My God, I only
need unicorns to be real now!
Clothing stores, telescope shops, and strange silver objects, windows with stacks of barrels
with bat spleens and eel eyes, crooked piles of spellbooks and other strange titles like
Arithmancy, bird feathers for writing, rolls of all sizes of parchment, glassware for potion
storage, globes that reminded you if something was forgotten.
"This, Potter, is Diagon Alley." Snape explained. "It's where you'll buy your school supplies
and new clothes, both for school and for everyday life."
Almost instantly, Harry shrank at the mention of money. He barely had enough for two train
tickets, let alone to buy anything else.
"Um... Professor?" he called embarrassedly. "Thank you for bringing me here, but... I don't
have any money, and my aunt and uncle won't pay for me to study magic or whatever it is."
"Your parents left you a considerable amount of money, Potter." Snape said disdainfully.
"Wizards don't leave their heirs without provisions even if they're still alive, child."
Harry nodded, accepting the professor's words. So far the man hadn't lied to him, so a fragile
trust was given to him by the boy.
"But where did they leave this money?" He asked. "Aunt Petunia never said anything about
money left with me, and Uncle Vernon would have thrown it in my face every time he got
angry! They must not have left me anything, I think the only thing written on that paper my
aunt kept quoting was my name..."
"The money is in the bank, boy, in Gringotts" explained the bat-like man. "No one is foolish
enough to leave mountains of Galleons at home, with no security whatsoever!"
"Do wizards have banks?"
"Only Gringotts. It's a worldwide franchise, managed by goblins after the Treaty of Peace V
following the seventh war between wizards and goblins." The man went into lecture mode,
something Harry greatly appreciated as he paid attention to the willingly given information.
"It's the safest place in the world, only a madman without love for his own life would try to
rob the bank. For anything you want to keep safe, licit or illicit, it's the best place."
Unwilling to reply, the boy continued walking alongside the professor, childishly
synchronizing his steps with Snape's while avoiding stepping on red tiles on the bronze-
colored sidewalk. Efficiently fast, they arrived at a white building, resembling a sterile
Muggle hospital, which rose imposingly above the shops surrounding the bank block.
Standing before the golden doors, there was a goblin in dark red uniform, standing guard,
who greeted them with a half bow as they passed by him.
They climbed the stairs and went through the first pair of doors, only to come face to face
with a second one made of silver; where a verse about thieves was engraved in what looked
like crude handwriting. Two more goblins bowed to them before the doors opened to a large
marble hall.
Over a hundred goblins were seated on high benches behind a long counter, writing in ledger
books and weighing bags of coins. There were a few inspecting jewelry with jeweler's
eyeglasses while witchy-looking ladies seemed to wear a snobby look as if they doubted that
they would wear anything other than original stuff. Too many doors spread along the walls,
and the goblins accompanied each person who entered or left each one.
Snape approached the middle counter, and greeted the unoccupied goblin by the name of
Bloodclaw. In turn, the cantankerous creature requested a key that Harry didn't have.
Apprehensive about not having money or being able to withdraw it without the key, the child
began to hyperventilate at the mere possibility of leaving this new and unknown world.
Unfazed, the Potions Master requested a blood test to prove Potter's identity before lifting the
child's head enough just to show the scar. They were directed to a separate little room,
completely decorated in shades of brown and with a very old desk full of papers.
Harry was asked to show his right palm to a goblin named Clamp, who positioned the tiny
hand over a bronze basin before cutting it with a ruby-studded silver dagger; surprising the
child who let out only a low hiss of pain.
Arya climbed up the owner's back, whispering words of comfort as she asked quietly if Harry
wanted her to bite the ugly garden gnome for him. Snape told the boy to calm the snake
down, handing him what turned out to be a live mouse with a grumble to feed her. Arya
appreciated the gesture, and boasted that she would love the man if he continued to carry her
food. Potter didn't bother to translate or respond.
The burning sensation in his palm showed him that the cut had healed without leaving any
mark. The blood from the bowl was soon dripped onto two scrolls, and, to Harry's surprise,
his full name appeared at the top of both before the magic began writing things using the
child's blood as ink.
Clamp, the goblin, had a somewhat scared look on his face when the ritual finally ended.
Chapter End Notes
The Potter-Black Inheritance
Chapter Summary
he was a wizard."
Chapter Notes

Harry James Potter; 11 years old.
Born on July 31, 1980
Parentage: James Charlus Potter, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter,
and Lily Rose Potter nee Evans
Godfather: Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black by
right; temporary lordship under the Presumptive Black Heir.
Lordships and Inheritances:

1. Apparent Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter
2. Presumptive Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter
3. Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Reading of Will pending, March 26, 1981; by Lily Potter nee Evans.
Harry remained still as the goblin read aloud what his blood had written on the left
parchment. His body began to grow nervous, trembling in spasms, as the twenty-eight
properties (including houses, mansions, and even a Muggle apartment in France) were listed.
Just yesterday, he had resigned himself to continue living with Aunt and Uncle until he was
an adult, and today he meets the bat-man only to find out he has more houses than he can
count on his fingers? Jesus, the green-eyed boy thought he was going to faint.
"Besides the properties listed earlier, Mr. Potter also has rights to the Black properties," the
goblin pulled out a list of papers from a magical box. "The prominent ones include the
properties of Grimmauld Place, currently held under the Fidelius Charm, Étoiles Manor in
Magical France, currently disused, and a cabin rented in the outskirts of County Clare,
Ireland, called Vaughn Property."
Snape crossed his arms over his chest, impatiently waiting for the other paper to be read. The
sooner this was over, the sooner he could return to his beloved potions laboratory.
"One of the vaults to which you have immediate access is your trust vault, which your
parents filled with provisions for your schooling. There should be a key that should be in
your possession, but my records indicate it is not," with a hint of anger, the goblin continued,
"Besides you, Mr. Potter, the only other person with any legitimate claim to the key would be
Sirius Black, current Lord of the House of Black. As your godfather, he has the ability to
spend the amount of money you can draw from your vault each year, but he has no real right
to the money."
"The man is in Azkaban," the bat-man retorted. "He cannot take care of the boy, let alone the
money."
"Correct, Professor Snape. Currently, the key is in the illegal possession of Albus
Dumbledore," the goblin took out the other paper made from the boy's blood, containing a
flowery handwriting. "Lily Potter's will."
He then placed one of his many amulets hanging around his neck over the flowery
handwriting signature. Immediately, green sparks flew from the paper before something
happened.
"Here is Lily Rose Potter, nee Evans, for my magical will," the ethereal voice filled the almost
tangible silence. "It is the twenty-sixth of March, 1981, Harry James Potter, my only son and
heir, is close to turning one year old. James Charlus Potter is a witness."
Harry shut down. His body was still there, but he couldn't hear a word from the little goblin's
mouth. Arya whispered some comforting words, all based on attacking someone. The only
thing the little boy heard was the professor's name being said by the woman's voice, sounding
as cozy as autumn afternoons — that was the first time Harry heard his mother.
"For Severus Tobias Snape. Sev..." she called. "I know I haven't replied to your letters for
apologies, but I wasn't ready yet." The woman paused. "Maybe I never will be." With a
characteristic sigh of her sweet Lily, Snape heard the most painful thing in years: "If anything
happens to us, and Sirius Orion Black cannot take Harry in his godfather's right, I appoint
you as guardian of my son; because I will never let the old fool take him and Petunia Dursley
is out of the question." Her husband's laughter sounded at the mention of the sister-in-law.
"My little Harry..."
"At this moment you sleep peacefully in your crib, in the room next to ours. You are loved too
much by both of us and your uncles, Moony, Padfoot, and Wormtail. I hope that, even if we
are not there for our little boy, they raise you with all the love and charisma possible, my
son."
The professor buried his face in his hands, the only sign of movement being the small spasms
characteristic of a silent and painful cry. Harry didn't dare console him or say anything; he
himself was in shock with his mother's voice and her final wish. He could have lived a better
life, with his mother's friend professor or with uncles he didn't even know he had, maybe
even being loved! — but that was asking, and Harry would never make such a mistake; he
knew better than to question anything.
"Ah, Lily..." the bat-man whispered, muffled by his hands and tears. "I shouldn't have your
forgiveness, my old friend!"
It was so low that Harry would swear later that he had only imagined hearing the adult cry
like a child as he begged forgiveness from his dead mother. In seconds, the man composed
himself and straightened up in his chair.
"Are there more assets directed to other people? Any bureaucracy that will give us a
headache, Mr. Grip?"
"There is a Potter property protected by infirmaries in North London in the name of Remus
John Lupin, but nothing else is mentioned," seeing the Potions Master nod, the goblin
continued, "What we can do is bring the ancestral rings to the Potter Heir, and give him a
new master key to the vaults — for a minimal price, of course, sirs."
Snape looked at the still somewhat static boy, looking at the paper as if the mother were
going to come out of it at any moment, and silently agreed. The sooner this was done, the
sooner he could finish off the bottle of firewhisky waiting in his office.
[◇]
Almost half an hour later, Grip returned bringing another goblin — Ironclaw, according to his
shiny badge — and two old boxes; each the size of half a chocolate bar. The Potter manager
placed them on the table and Harry let himself be influenced by curiosity; stepping closer to
observe.
The larger box was red, with iron forged details. Its shape was rectangular, small but
imposing. The gemstones adorning the coat of arms were expensive — Harry could smell
expensive things since he was six, when Aunt Petunia started buying jewelry and rubbing
them under his nose to threaten what would happen if they disappeared. The coat of arms was
peculiar: a triangle, symmetrically cut in half by a vertical line, with a circle inside. Over this
design, a large, flourished P that Harry guessed was an acronym for his last name. This magic
was ancient; it smelled of combat, of escape.
The other jewelry box, on the other hand, was round and clumsy. Rough lines in what looked
like Gaelic runes to Snape filled almost all the silver space of marbled stone that constituted
the box. The silver details carved in small stars, maybe constellations. It must be the Black
ring. Harry thought this magic smelled of protection — fierce, but protection.
Grip opened the Potter box, and began what seemed like a new ritual. A golden signet ring
was revealed, with the same triangle symbol but with a red stone in place of the circle. Some
words in a goblin language were exchanged between Ironclaw and Grip, and then the Potter
manager addressed the boy.
"Lady Magic, ancient and wise, does not contradict your inheritance," he ran his scaly hand
over the child's forehead before continuing, "Place your ring on the middle finger, Potter
Heir, to claim what is yours by birthright."
Harry looked at the bat-man, who nodded in agreement, before picking up the ring from the
box and placing it on the finger of his right hand. For a mere second, the jewel seemed too
big on his skinny finger; but with a little magic it seemed to fit perfectly.
Arya slid off Harry's shoulders, feeling the new magic and testing the smell of war. The boy
shivered at the centuries-old magic settling in his chest — magic ready to fight, defend, and
plan. A comforting feeling of acceptance filled him.
Grip grunted, catching the child's attention. Arya remained coiled around his arm. The Black
ring was now on display: a silver signet, with a constellation at the top and magical vines
carved in pure silver.
"Lady Magic, ancient and wise, does not contradict your inheritance," he ran his scaly hand
over the child's forehead again before repeating, "Place your ring on the middle finger, Black
Heir, to claim what is yours by magic."
Harry felt the magic touch his body as he reached out to grab the ring. It was heavy, dense,
and seemed to wrap around his shoulders like Arya had done seconds before. When he finally
grabbed the jewel, it was heavy and cold; almost numbing — protective, silent, vengeful, and
subtle magic. The ring was fitted on the left hand, again adjusting itself with magic.
In his chest, Potter and Black inheritances adjusted to the boy's natural magic; making the
little snake sneeze from the strong smell of stored magic.
"Potter-Black Heir, a second of your attention, please," Ironclaw, the Black manager, slid a
tiny silver key to the boy across the table. "This is the key to the vault that Sirius Black filled
for you as his legal heir. There is enough for Hogwarts and any materials or endeavors you
may desire until you graduate."
"This," Grip called, handing a golden key. "is the key to the vault that your parents filled for
you as the only and legitimate heir. There is also enough for Hogwarts and any materials or
endeavors you may desire until you graduate."
"Will Dumbledore be notified of this new key? Or even of the heir ring claim?" The Potions
Master spoke up, almost paranoid. "Any risks?"
"There are no risks, my dear friend Snape," Grip closed both boxes and sent them back to
their original vaults. "The old man's power goes no further than pure speculation. He will
only know of the key exchange when and if he tries to move money from the Potter vaults."
Harry didn't think to mention the letter Aunt Petunia had received until later.
[◇]
After leaving the bank with the keys securely in his pocket, they returned to the sunlight that
Diagon Alley offered in early August. Harry didn't need to know how to transform pounds
into Galleons, but he knew he was now as rich as the Queen!
"You need to buy your school uniform, Potter," the bat-man stopped in front of a shop with a
sign written in delicate lettering. "This is Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where
you'll get them. Add to your order formal clothes and everyday wear, just ask Mrs. Malkin
for a new wardrobe."
The child nodded, understanding that he should handle this himself. The shop was old but
with the smell of something new. Madame Malkin was a short, chubby, smiling witch who
wore a purple dress.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked when Harry walked in. "Come, stand here. I have another little
boy adjusting his robes, I'll be right with you."
"Oh.. Madame Malkin?" Harry called her, hesitantly.
"Yes, dear?" She replied.
"I need, uh.. A complete wardrobe?" he repeated Snape's words. "If it's not too much trouble
for you.. I was told to make sure to get some formal attire and clothes for everyday wear."
The woman's smile stretched from ear to ear, her eyes gleaming over the amount of Galleons
she would earn from this.
Harry let himself be guided to the back of the shop, where a blond boy with a pale face was
standing on a stool while another witch shortened his long school robes. Madame Malkin put
Harry on a stool next to the blond boy, fitted him in similar robes, and began marking the
hem at the right height with pins.
"Hey," the other boy called. "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," confirmed Harry and, in a moment of courage, asked: "What's your name?"
"Draco," he extended his hand to greet the stranger, but the witch adjusting his robes made a
strange face and he brought his hand back. "I mean, I'm Draco Malfoy! What a cool snake,
my dad won't let me have pets.."
The blonde boy's excitement might have been contagious, but Harry never trusted people
who were too happy.
"I'm Harry, she's Arya," he replied. Trying to appear comfortable in the situation, he casually
asked: "What do you think of Hogwarts?"
"I've dreamed of going there my whole life! Isn't it amazing?! We're starting at the biggest
magic school in the world!" Draco jumped off the stool and kept rambling. "Do you already
know which house you'll be in?"
"I have no idea.." Truth be told, Harry didn't know practically anything about that school.
"And you?"
"No one really knows before they get there," Draco continued excitedly. "I'll probably be in
Slytherin. My family has been there for centuries, it's a Malfoy thing. And your parents?"
Before the dark-haired boy could come up with an answer and skirt around the
embarrassment of the question, Madame Malkin returned and handed him several full bags
— how did she fit an entire wardrobe in here? —, pushing Harry towards the cash register
and kindly informing the total amount.
"It's twenty-eight Galleons, dear! Just place your key on the rune here on the counter, please."
As the boy paid, she listed what she had selected. "There are clothes for ordinary days, winter
robes, summer silk cloaks, formal party outfits in shades of green and dark blue, to match
your snake, and shoes. Your school robes are also there: hat, dress shirts, trousers, black
socks, sleeveless and sleeved vests, three colorless ties that suit your future house, and a
matching scarf."
Almost ten minutes later, the witch was still talking about fabrics and robes when Harry saw
Snape pass by one of the shop windows. His time there was up.
"Thank you, Madame Malkin. I'll be back more often, goodbye for now!" The boy walked
out and headed for the shop's exit, burdened with bags.
"See you at Hogwarts, Harry?" the blond called, catching his
attention as he walked through the shelves. His response was a positive nod from the other
boy, and Draco could swear he saw a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead.
"Aren't you going to tell me your last name?"
This question went unanswered.
Outside, Harry found the bat-man who shrank his bags to the size of caramel candies and
stuffed them in his pocket, resuming their walk through the alley.
They stopped to buy quills, parchments, and ink. The boy got excited choosing two colors,
even though he didn't even know how to write with a quill yet.
They bought the required schoolbooks at an antiquated bookstore called Flourish and Blotts,
which had shelves so full of books they reached the ceiling — some of the volumes were so
thick and old, like ancient bricks, and others had shiny silk covers. Harry could swear some
volumes were blank, while others were filled with strange symbols. One in particular caught
the boy's attention, tucked deep in the last shelf at the back of the store where the sun didn't
reach, titled The Art of Speaking to Snakes.
The apothecary was a strange place, with creeping plants stuck to the walls, jars of various
sizes containing bizarre things, and even unicorn horns — I'm such an idiot, of course they
would be real! Inside, Snape carefully assessed the first-year kits and chose the one with the
freshest ingredients for the boy. Harry chose a silver scale and an iron telescope.
"A wand is still missing, Potter," the bat-man grumbled. "Let's quickly get that and get out of
here."
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. was a narrow, ugly shop. A single white
wand lay on a purple cushion in the window display. A bell tinkled somewhere in the shop as
they entered.
The shop was empty with only a chair, which Snape did not deign to sit in. The feeling the
emptiness conveyed was of being in an abandoned place, where they shouldn't be. Arya
sneezed a total of six times as the boy looked at the rectangular boxes strewn haphazardly on
the shelf in the back of the shop. Just as Harry was about to break his routine and ask a
question, a door opened in a side wall.
"Hello, Harry Potter. I've been expecting you!"
Chapter End Notes
The Sibling Wands
Chapter Summary
he was a wizard."
Chapter Notes

"Hello, Harry Potter. I've been expecting you."
Harry swallowed the startled scream stuck in his throat, holding Arya firmly with his other
hand. If the bat-man had been startled, he didn't show it for a moment. Standing behind the
dusty counter was now an old man, with large clear eyes that shone like the moon in the
dimness of the shop.
Embarrassed, the boy approached the artisan before responding: "Hello... You must be Mr.
Ollivander?"
The old man circled the old furniture, approaching the child as Professor Snape pulled the
boy a little back by the back of the borrowed summer cloak.
"I thought I would see you soon, Mr. Potter, the trees were already starting to whisper!"
Excited in proportion to his age, Ollivander shivered in place as his eyes became fixed on the
lightning scar for a few seconds. "Your eyes are green like your mother's, it seems like
yesterday that she was here buying your first wand."
"You knew my mother?" The question escaped before Harry could contain himself. Arya
tested the taste of the boy's skin and began to whisper about how nervous her human was.
"A snake, boy, peculiar..." It wasn't a question, the old man spoke ethereally. "Twenty-six
centimeters long, somewhat flexible, dragon heartstring. It was made of Salix nigra, known
as black willow, and had high healing properties. Every Ollivander wand has its core made
from a substance originating from a magical creature, Mr. Potter." The old man paused, and
his gaze became even more glassy, if that were possible. "There are no two wands alike in the
world, just as there are no two unicorns, dragons, or goblins alike."
Ollivander came even closer to the boy. Harry desperately wished he would blink—those
static silver eyes were terrifying him. The bat-man remained silent like a mere observer.
"Your father was chosen by a wand of mahogany and Demiguise. Twenty-eight centimeters,
flexible, and with a bit of power, great for transfigurations." Suddenly, the wandmaker
abruptly ran to one of the shelves further back in the decrepit place. "The wand chooses the
wizard, Mr. Potter. Each wizard can only correctly use the wand that is loyal to him, whether
by connection or by conquest."
Okay, this was getting really scary! Can we disappear from here? thought the boy, crossing
his fingers in the hope that the professor could see the words in his mind. Still searching for
something among the rectangular boxes on the shelf, the artisan continued:
"I regret to say that I myself sold the wand that gave you this scar." Finally, the old man
found an aged, almost yellowed box and came to blow the dust right into Harry's nose.
"Thirty-five centimeters, inflexible. A wand of powerful core, if I may say so. Oh yes! Its
core was rare and volatile, the Phoenix Feather. If only I knew what the wand had been up
to..."
Desperate, the boy felt Arya coil around his neck and assume a threatening position in the
face of his fear. Harry turned his face to the bat-man and silently pleaded with his eyes for
clarification.
The deteriorated box was opened, revealing an irregular wand, which to the boy looked like a
poorly carved twig. The inside of the box was full of cobwebs, with some unfortunate insects
trapped, but the old artisan securely retrieved the object and began to critically analyze it.
"Well, why not?" muttered Mr. Ollivander. "Twenty-eight centimeters, holly and Phoenix
Feather. Inflexible, but very powerful. Try it."
Harry picked up the wand offered to him. The boy then felt a friendly warmth spreading
through his chest, giving him the same sensation as hugging Arya on days when Dudley's
cupboard became too cold for the old blanket. He stretched out his left arm—the hand that
wasn't so damaged, but it didn't matter, he could write with either—and swung his wrist in a
semicircle, and a torrent of green and blue sparks burst from the tip like a cascade. The sparks
startled the child, who dropped the wand on the counter and quickly backed away from it.
Professor Snape placed a firm hand on his right shoulder and held him in place while Mr.
Ollivander opened a feigned smile, placing the wand back in the old box and wrapping it in
brown paper.
"Curious, very curious..." The artisan stared at Harry with those almost translucent eyes.
"This, boy, is a very old wand." If the old man noticed the flinch the child gave at the word
'boy', he didn't show it. "It was the first wand I made, and that was almost a hundred years
ago. But what makes it special is that the Phoenix that produced the feather for your wand
gave me another one, just one more, fifty years later. It's curious that you have been assigned
to it, because your twin sister produced your scar."
Harry swallowed hard, pinned in place by the bat-man.
"The wand chooses the wizard, remember. I think we can expect great deeds from you, after
all... You-Know-Who performed great deeds, terrible, yes, but great."
All of the boy's senses were on alert. He didn't like Mr. Ollivander one bit. With the help of
the professor, he paid seven Galleons for the wand, and the old man nodded towards the exit
for them.
Harry was guided by the bat-man to a side street, a few meters further into the alley, into a
dark and almost lifeless parallel one. All the colors, joy, and warmth of the main alley
disappeared as they ventured further into what, according to a broken sign on the ground, was
called Knockturn Alley.
Most of the establishments were full, but the doors were locked with padlocks or very
elaborate locks. Keeping his head down, Arya in an almost attacking position curled around
his neck, and the wand tightly held between his slender fingers, Harry had to take quick steps
to keep up with the professor.
Many of the adults passing by the pair looked like the delinquents from the corner of Privet
Drive, whom Aunt Petunia always warned Dudley to stay away from while Uncle called the
police every time they passed through the garden. They were people with dirty and shadowy
appearances, more intimidating than Professor Snape, and they hurriedly walked as if hiding
all the secrets of the world.
It was by observing the people that Harry didn't realize they had stopped in front of a strange
shop until he bumped his forehead against the bat-man's back.
"Pay attention to where you're going, Evans," grumbled the Potions Master.
Oh, they still couldn't know who he was. Ignoring the contempt with which the invented
surname was said, the boy followed the adult into a very odd and eccentric shop; Hellvity
Potions.
On the shelves, jars with strange things and animal parts — like those from Mrs. Figg's
house! — as well as cauldrons of all sizes and types. Behind the counter, a woman with a
tired expression was filing her nails as if she didn't care about potential customers, but
Professor Snape went straight to talk to her.
"Fetch a standard beginner's kit 2, Violet, and make sure the ingredients are fresh." Turning to
Harry, he mocked, "What are you waiting for, boy? Get a cauldron from the shelf, according
to your materials list."
Harry promptly walked quickly to the other side of the shop, whispering with Arya about
how it was all just a dream and he would soon wake up in Dudley's cupboard.
[◇]
The sunset stamped the horizon as they returned to the bustling activity of the Alley. Snape
did that magic of traveling to other places as soon as they reached the outside of the Leaky
Cauldron, and Harry still felt nauseous from jumping from one place to another like that.
The boy didn't say a single word as they returned to the professor's mansion, not even when
the bat-man led him to the corridor on the opposite side of where the man's bedroom and
office were. When they stopped in front of a black oak door, Harry had a puzzled look.
"This is your room, Potter." A wrist twist from the man opened the door and revealed a large
room. "Aziela will call you for dinner, and if you're late, you won't eat anything until
tomorrow."
Okay, that was something familiar, thought the boy. I can deal with that, but who is Aziela?
Particularly, Harry wished he didn't know.
He stoically observed the walls in a shade of aged cream, dark wooden floor polished. With a
slight push from the professor, the boy found himself standing in the middle of the room
before the man left without a single word.
In the right corner, a bed large enough for Harry to roll twice, and facing it a large empty
shelf—Arya comfortably slid over the soft bedspread and settled down to sleep. In the left
corner, a padded bench under the large window and a desk with a chair, which next to it had a
dark wooden door as well.
Exploring that part, attentive to any movement around him, the boy opened the door straight
into a bathroom and facing an arch on the opposite wall. After the bathroom, there was an
empty closet that, to Harry, was overly large.
Everything in the room was meticulously clean and tidy, so the child didn't want to make any
mess. He opted to leave his purchases — the trunk, the shrunken robes, and the school
supplies — all at the foot of the bed and then sat on the floor to think, for what seemed like a
few minutes, until a sudden pop made him raise his head quickly.
"Mr. Potter, sir, I'm Aziela." A grey creature introduced itself, with pointed ears and half the
size of Harry. "The guest is expected in the dining room, west of the main hall on the ground
floor." With a fearful glance at the snake, she added, "The familiar must remain in the
quarters."
With that said, Aziela popped again and disappeared, leaving behind a apprehensive boy who
went through the main corridor and down the stairs to the Hall; passing through an
antechamber. The main hall, coming right after, was huge and full of sofas and armchairs to
sit — a social visiting room, for balls and parties, Aunt would say.
The entrance to the dining room was on the left, and a gigantic rectangular table was
positioned in the center, all worked in dark wood and full of intricate details. In thoughts,
Harry counted sixteen places.
The bat-man was at the left end of the table, with an untouched plate in front of him. To his
left, there was what seemed to be a place for Harry — the same as the professor had on his
plate was served for the boy as well.
The boy approached slowly, waiting for the affirmative nod from the man to sit down. Harry,
remembering the etiquette lessons Aunt always gave Dudley, waited for the homeowner to
take the first forkful before he made a move to eat.
Harry felt too full after sleeping on the window seat in his room, as if he were about to burst.
That was definitely the weirdest dinner of his short life — even stranger than the one where
Aunt Marge gave him dog food, saying it was cookies.
Chapter End Notes
The Platform 9 ¾
Chapter Summary
he was a wizard."
Chapter Notes

The weeks that followed were intense and challenging for Harry. He spent most of his time
learning how to behave around other wizards, differentiating between social classes, and
taking intensive classes in wizarding etiquette. The boy felt quite lost amidst those strange
and unfamiliar situations. He still childishly believed that it was just a dream and that he was
still safely locked in his cupboard. However, the reality was undeniable, and he needed to
find the strength to deal with the new experiences and challenges that lay ahead.
Despite all the help the batman's trusted elf was giving him, Harry still felt out of place and
insecure. He couldn't help but think about his Muggle relatives and the life he had left behind.
However, even fearing that they might come looking for him and strip him of his magic, he
knew he had found a place where he could finally be himself without fear of being beaten,
and where he could eat whenever he wanted.
Arya also quickly adapted to the magical world and became even more inseparable from her
little human. She seemed to understand the magic and mysteries of that world in a way Harry
couldn't yet comprehend. Although it was illegal for the child to use his wand outside of
Hogwarts, the Prince Mansion's infirmaries allowed magic to be undetectable; giving Harry
the pleasure of learning as many spells as possible from his first-year book. Particularly, he
felt he had impressed Professor Snape with his self-taught talent, as he overcame his
difficulty in reading and the strength of his spells. Sitting in his borrowed room, he picked up
his wand, which was still by the bed, and pointed it at the empty desk.
"Wingardium Leviosa" he said softly. The furniture levitated a few inches off the ground and
then gently descended.
Harry smiled, satisfied with his little feat of magic. He knew he still had much to learn, but
he was determined to become a skilled wizard and face all the challenges that lay ahead. With
that determination in mind, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, ready to sleep and
face a new day in the magical world.
In the days that stretched into mid-August, Harry continued to adapt to life in wizarding
society. He strove to learn about the traditions and customs of that world, and did his best to
fit in, even though he still felt a little lost. Arya was always by his side, helping him adapt
and understand things better. He had a natural talent for magic, and he devoted himself to his
studies, always seeking to learn more.
He also realized that wizarding society had a rather rigid class system. First, there were four
types of blood: pure, mixed, Muggle-born, and impure. The first type were exclusively
wizarding families. The second, families with unions between pure-bloods and half-bloods,
or Muggle-borns. The third was self-explanatory, and the fourth referred to those who had
creature blood in their lineage.
The second thing he needed to learn about was the Sacred Twenty-Eight, an exclusive group
of pure-blood wizards, holders of voting power in the Wizengamot courts — the wizarding
judiciary — of which he alone possessed two seats that would be kept inactive until he
reached the age of seventeen.
Within this select group were classifications of political alignments - Gray, for the neutral,
Dark, for those with fewer scruples, and Light; for those inclined to total good. Although they
were all pure-bloods, there were some families at the top of this hierarchy: the extinct Gray
line Prince, the Dark line Black, the Dark line Malfoy, and the light lines of Potter and
Longbottom. Consequently, families like the Weasleys were of light, but considered blood
traitors for aligning with Muggles, and were at the bottom of the circle; unable to maintain
their seat in court. There were still, among them, families like the Parkinsons, the Notts, the
Bulstrodes, the Greengrasses, and the Delayons; all aligned with Gray or Dark.
Harry also began to realize that not all wizards were like Professor Snape — aligned with the
Dark, but not opposed to the Light — and that there were some who allied themselves with
darkness. This discovery made him worried and made him question what his role would be in
the fight against the forces of evil. Arya, always wise and attentive, helped him deal with
these issues and find his place in that complex and fascinating world.
However, not everything was rosy. Harry soon discovered that the wizarding world also had
its problems and conflicts. Studying about Hogwarts, the boy soon encountered the rivalry
between the houses; accentuated mainly by the relationship between Slytherin and
Gryffindor. Most of the quarrels were due to the same social classifications of the Sacred
Twenty-Eight, and the constant struggle between blood classifications and those based on a
cursed talking hat.
The most impressive fight, formally taken as a family feud before Lady Magic, in her
opinion, was that of the Malfoy clan with the Weasley line. There was so much hatred,
generated in the 4th century by the refusal of a second-born Malfoy daughter to marry a
Weasley first-born, and cultivated for centuries by family heads.
Arya, in turn, was becoming more and more interested in the history of the wizarding world
and the legends surrounding magic. She spent hours skulking around corners filled with
ancient artifacts and following the domestic elves of the Prince Mansion, in search of
information about magical creatures and the most mysterious places in the wizarding world;
even if they couldn't understand a single word she hissed.
The boy, thirsty for knowledge and hungry for opportunities, delved into the safe books of the
Prince Library and absorbed every word spilled by the batman in reference to absolutely
anything.
For the first time since he could remember, the child finally had schedules to be met: there
were meal times, accompanied by a nutritional potion, study and leisure times, times to get
up and even times to sleep!
The nutritional potion he took at meals helped him feel healthier and more energetic. Before,
on most of the early days, Harry couldn't eat more than a few spoonfuls of porridge and drank
tap water, but now he followed a healthy and balanced vegetarian diet, which contributed to
him feeling better physically and mentally.
For Harry, this became the assurance that, at the end of the day, he wouldn't end up locked in
a broom cupboard. At bedtime, he would be clean, fed, and warm. Although the shadow of
his terrifying uncles was permanently at the back of his thoughts, the boy relaxed under the
professor's care. Over time, Harry got used to the established schedules and realized that it
still left him plenty of time to read and draw; besides exploring the safe areas of the huge
ancestral mansion.
The Potions Master continued to struggle with his feelings towards the boy, trying to
maintain a facade of coldness and distance. But the boy seemed determined to get closer, and
over time, he became a constant presence in the former Death Eater's life. Severus didn't
admit it at all, but the skinny boy had infiltrated his routine as subtly as the quietest snake,
and that scared him. Lily's son couldn't become attached to the man, since he would die
easily once the war resumed — the batman hoped it would take a while, but he was still a
damned spy at the end of the day. Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort, though opposite
sides of the same coin, had no mercy or mercy for their minions.
It was strange for Severus to feel such a connection to someone again; even more so to the
tiny Harry; it made him remember when he himself was a student at Hogwarts, and how he
had never had someone to cling to in the same way the boy seemed to cling to him.
Severus knew that this relationship was dangerous, both for him and for the boy. He could
easily be used as a hostage by Voldemort's enemies, and the boy could become a target for
those who wished to harm Severus. But despite this, he couldn't stay away from the boy. Still,
he tried to maintain a certain emotional distance, fearing that any show of affection could put
them at risk. But there were moments when he couldn't help but show a little affection for the
boy, like when he saw him reading a book or when he had a sad look in his eyes.
Severus knew that this relationship couldn't last forever, but he couldn't help but become
more and more attached to the skinny boy who had infiltrated his life. He just hoped that
when the war finally resumed, he could protect the boy in some way.
[◇]
On the first of September, Harry woke up at four in the morning and was too scared to sleep.
In his poor head, infinite questions swirled: am I really going to enter?, how do you get to
Hogwarts?, will people be my friends without thinking about my fame first?
Trembling from head to toe, the boy got up and gently woke his familiar, wrapping her
around his neck. Feeling comforted in the loving embrace of the snake, he removed the satin
pajamas and exchanged them for black linen trousers and a silk shirt in such a dark green that
it was almost black too. A pair of brand new black all-stars covered his small feet, a small
silver bracelet — a belated gift from the professor for his birthday — adorned his left wrist,
and the Heir rings were in their rightful place.
Breakfast wouldn't be served until 5:30, at the usual time, so he walked out into the hallway
of his room straight to the library, to retrieve his spell and transfiguration books he had
forgotten there.
With them in hand, back in the room again, Harry gathered all his belongings in the school
trunk — which, thanks to Merlin, had an expansion spell inside — and, in the old sports bag
that still contained the most valuable things, he stuffed some wizarding money and his school
robes.
After the fifth check on the Hogwarts list to make sure he had everything required, the boy
realized that it was already past six when he looked at the pendulum clock on the hallway
wall. He ran down the stairs quietly, discarding almost all the decorum instilled in him by the
elf while no one was watching, and went straight to the dining room.
The batman was already there, calmly sipping bitter black coffee, and said nothing about the
sweat on the child's forehead. He knew how agonizing the anticipation for Hogwarts could
be.
"Is your things packed?" he questioned. "We'll leave at seven, I need to be at school before
ten and I won't be able to wait for the train to arrive."
"They are, sir" the boy replied. Taking a glass of pumpkin juice, he continued: "Do you have
my ticket, sir?"
"I do, Harry, I'll give it to you as soon as we get to London."
An hour later, Harry's trunk and sports bag were shrunken in his pocket, Arya was wrapped
around his waist, and he stood at the mansion gate to Apparate with the professor. Swaying
slightly on his feet, the boy waited for the batman to finish giving instructions to the mansion
elves before approaching him.
"Take my arm, boy, and let's get out." If the adult noticed that Harry flinched when he called
him boy, he didn't show it. Offering his left arm, a soft pop was heard as the two disappeared
from the Prince Mansion.
They appeared a second later in an alley near the London station, and quickly entered the
century-old building. Harry patted his waist where his snake was. Many people passed back
and forth, but no one really paid attention to the two newcomers.
Walking among the hurried Muggles, the batman kept a firm hand on the boy's shoulder as
they passed through platform 8. From there, Harry could see the last 6 portals of the station;
but none of them said "Platform 9 ¾".
"Sir, I think we're in the wrong place.." he grumbled softly, afraid to bother. "I can't see the
platform the ticket says."
Smiling sideways, in a rare public occurrence, Severus approached the brick wall right in the
middle between platforms 9 and 10 and stopped; remembering his own first experience in
that same place.
"Discreetly, lean against the wall and take a deep breath, Harry." Leaning first, the man
crossed the magical barrier and waited.
On the other side, the boy internally panicked when the professor disappeared. Glancing
sideways at the large station clock, Harry noticed that it was still 7:20 in the morning. The
train would depart at 11 a.m., but he would be alone until then.
Summoning the same courage he had used on the eve of his birthday, the child turned his
back and casually leaned against the red bricks of the building; only to stumble backwards
and be held by a calm and almost amused Snape.
"Welcome to Platform 9 ¾, Harry, here's your ticket. "The batman handed him a golden paper
as he let go of the boy."
Harry looked around. The wizarding side was exactly like the Muggle side of the station:
built with red bricks, concrete benches along the walls, and many leaflets; although it was
almost empty — except for the two, there was a blonde teenager sitting reading a book near
the end of the platform.
The most impressive and discordant from there was the large red locomotive, still parked and
asleep. Its open doors invited the students in. Magic radiated from there, and Arya whispered
how warm and welcoming it was. Snape coughed lightly to draw the child's attention.
"Now, however, I need to Apparate to Hogwarts to prepare for the start of the school year."
Harry looked into the man's eyes and nodded. "You have a few hours before the train departs,
so why don't you go look for a place to settle in?"
"All right, sir" he replied.
"Oh, Harry. If I were you, I'd sit in compartment 541, at the last carriage." Pop. Severus was
gone.
Heading towards the train, without allowing himself to look at the emptiness behind him, the
boy entered the indicated carriage and looked for the compartment. As he settled into it, he
pulled his wand from its holster and brought the trunk out of his pocket, restoring it to normal
size to retrieve his potion book before choosing it again.
Chapter End Notes
The Hogwarts Express
Chapter Summary
he was a wizard."
Chapter Notes

Anxiety was his middle name.
Seated in carriage 541, the last one of the giant train, in the second-to-last compartment,
Harry glanced at the enchanted clock of the locomotive. It wasn't even nine in the morning
yet, but the boy was already starting to grow impatient: he had read the two new books that
were still wrapped, slept for a while, and then started drawing on one of his many scrolls.
Arya slept peacefully inside her trunk, in a compartment full of warming spells.
From the window of his compartment, the only thing he could see was the old stone wall of
the train tunnel at the station. Even without seeing the platform itself, Harry knew that
children were starting to fill the train that would depart at eleven in the morning. Several
people passed by the doors that hid him from the rest of the train, but the boy didn't seem to
mind - it was as if people avoided this compartment, went to the neighboring ones but didn't
dare to even try to enter his.
Absorbed in his drawings, among them very well-crafted sketches of Professor Snape's face,
Harry only unearthed his head from his scrolls when he heard a firm knock on the door.
Looking at the enchanted clock, there was only half an hour left until the train finally
departed. The cabin door opened, revealing the same blond boy from the clothing store a few
weeks earlier.
"Ah, hello, Harry!" he greeted. Pointing to the empty seat in front of the boy, he continued,
"Can I sit here too? The rest of the carriage is full, and the only available compartments are
among the obvious Gryffindors."
Harry nodded, carefully stowing away his drawing materials and sitting properly. With
everything he had learned from his readings, an important fact was that he was now facing an
Heir of the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy. The basic etiquette lessons he had received
in the last month of summer came to his memory, and he knew he should introduce himself
appropriately.
"It's an honour to meet you again, Heir Malfoy," he greeted. The blond boy straightened his
posture, paying attention to pure-blood customs, and put on a neutral mask on his young face.
"I apologize for not introducing myself properly when we first met; it was a lapse of manners
on my part that will not be repeated." The brunette extended his hand, offering friendship. "I
am Harry Potter, heir of the Potter Family."
Draco's jaw dropped for a few seconds.
Harry stared at him for a moment until the boy regained his composure and smiled; accepting
the outstretched hand and the implicit offer.
"It's a pleasure to properly meet the heir of the Potter family," he responded elegantly. "How
was your summer? Excuse my intrusion, but it's common knowledge that you're not living in
the magical community of London."
"Very productive indeed," the brunette sighed internally, realizing he sounded exactly like
Batman. Changing the subject, he asked, "I learned many new spells. And how was yours?"
Draco chattered incessantly for the next twenty minutes about the trip he had taken to France,
where he visited some very distant relatives of his father, and how his French improved
greatly after that. Harry noticed that making friends was a strange concept for both of them
— perhaps due to their status as Heirs of Noble and Ancient Houses — but he decided to be
polite and tried to keep a pleasant tone in all the almost monosyllabic responses he gave.
The enchanted clock struck eleven in the morning, and the locomotive's whistle filled the
platform. The train began to move, and the two boys fell silent, looking out the window as
the landscape changed rapidly. For a few hours, only silence filled that compartment as the
boys rested. Harry rested his forehead against the glass, feeling increasingly anxious. About
an hour later, Draco decided to break the ice and start a new conversation.
"So..." he began. "Which house do you think you'll be in?"
"I really don't care which one I'll be in," Harry shrugged. "My parents were Gryffindors, a
Potter family tradition, but my guardian was a Slytherin." Thinking a bit more, he added, "I
don't have an aversion to any; I just want to study and do my best for whichever house I end
up in."
"I definitely can't be your friend if you become a Gryffindor, Harry," the blond blurted out,
his decency causing him to blush as he looked at the ground. "My father wouldn't like that."
Harry frowned. He didn't like Mr. Malfoy; he had the impression he was very much like
Uncle Vernon. The way Draco shrugged and became embarrassed at the slightest possibility
of disappointing his father made the brunette have a slight urge to run away. Feeling a shiver
run down his spine, he decided to change the subject.
"Have you ever played Quidditch?" he asked, remembering one of the magazines he had read
during his stay at Prince Manor. "No matter how many times I read the rules, I can't
understand a thing!"
Draco's eyes lit up at the mention of Quidditch, and the boy smiled, "Of course! My mother
says I'm one of the best Beaters she knows, and..."
Harry gave a small smile. The rest of the train journey was spent in idle conversation, with
Harry and Draco discussing Quidditch teams and their expectations for the school year. Harry
couldn't help but feel there was something wrong with Draco, like a shadow attached to his
back, but he couldn't identify what it was. As the conversation progressed, Harry began to
realize that Draco was a very intelligent and perceptive boy, with a very different worldview
from his own.
Although he didn't agree with many of Draco's opinions, Harry enjoyed listening to him
speak and seeing how passionately he defended his ideas, even when they seemed a bit
extremist. On the other hand, Draco also seemed interested in Harry, albeit in a somewhat
strange way. He asked few questions about Harry's life, but always in a somewhat superficial
manner, as if he were trying to find out something about him without making it clear. These
interactions left Harry confused and somewhat intrigued. He wasn't sure what to think of
Draco, but he knew he needed to keep a close eye on him if he wanted to find out more about
him.
With only two hours left until the end of the journey, a freckled, red-haired boy with juice
stains on his cheek burst open the door of compartment 541. From his appearance, and from
his studies on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Harry could tell that this boy belonged to the
Weasley Clan. His school robes, which should have been black, were such an ugly charcoal
gray that it reminded Harry of the time Aunt Petunia dyed Dudley's old robes that color to
send him to that correctional school.
"Did you see..." When he looked at Draco, the boy's face darkened. "The Malfoy weasel.
Aren't you ashamed to show up on this train, where Harry Potter himself is, while your father
pretended anything and escaped being arrested?" The redhead looked at Harry, not knowing
who he really was, and laughed. "Already recruiting new Death Eaters for your father,
Weasel? Who's this, another half-baked rich kid?"
Draco, who was turning red with anger as the boy mocked his family, burst out laughing
when the intruder accused Harry of being a half-baked rich kid. The brunette in question gave
Malfoy a forbidding look, telling him to keep his mouth shut, and turned to the confused
redhead.
"I am Harry Potter, heir of the Potter House," he introduced himself formally, seeing the boy's
jaw drop. "Despite your lack of manners, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Weasley."
The freckled redhead was dumbfounded by Harry's introduction. Stuttering ridiculously,

Weasley began to say things like 'The great Harry Potter... here, with a Malfoy?' and, unable
to hold his own tongue, made a snide comment.
"Don't associate with those snakes, Harry! They're evil, come sit with us Gryffindors, the
righteous people!" Stretching his hand out to Harry, he continued, "You don't want to be in
the wrong crowd, do you?"
The brunette looked offended by Filius Wesley's blatant lack of manners with every mere
word, worsening Harry's grimace at the unauthorized use of his first name, but the redhead
seemed not to notice. Draco, on the other hand, abruptly stopped laughing and practically
growled at the intruder in their compartment. Even with Harry's icy green gaze on him, the
blond made a sarcastic comment about blood traitors and red weasels. The atmosphere in the
compartment grew even tenser, but Harry decided to ignore the redhead's comments about
rising Death Eaters.
Discreetly triggering the holster button, as strongly instilled in him during his dueling prep
classes, the wand slid into his right palm in milliseconds with this comment — and neither of
the other two boys seemed to have any idea how he had done it. Not even Harry knew what
he was doing when he simply waved it wordlessly — as he normally saw Snape do —,
pushing all his desire to send Weasley away, and the red-haired boy was almost thrown out of
the compartment as the doors slammed shut in his face. Only then did Harry refocus on,
probably, the first friend-ally of his life.
"Heir Malfoy, don't fall for the bait" he said. The blond blinked twice before actually looking
at the brunette. "Don't give him the stage and attention he wants. Ignore him."
The blond turned with a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue but swallowed it when the
brunette merely opened a Transfiguration book and shrugged.
"What did you mean by that comment, Heir Potter?" he asked.
Pondering his response options, and the paths each would take, Harry chose the one that
wouldn't set things on fire.
"You can read between the lines, Heir Malfoy," he prodded. "Someone who carries the name
of a family as noble as yours shouldn't stoop to the childish level of provocation from that
boy." Harry rested his head against the compartment window and sighed. Looking at Draco,
he played his final card, "They don't even have an active seat on the Wizengamot, do they?"
Malfoy froze, as if something clicked in his mind. A smirk appeared on his lips, and he sat
even more on the edge of the bench, making a decision he knew would haunt him for the rest
of his years at Hogwarts.
"You can call me Draco, Heir Potter." Both took a deep breath, knowing that was the
definitive step towards a friendship regardless of future houses at Hogwarts. "You've earned
that privilege."
"Then, please, call me Harry, Draco." The two then returned to reading until the end of the
journey, and the compartment was completely silent.
Not long after that, both boys were already dressed in their full uniforms; their hats resting on
the bench until it was time to leave. When the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, Harry and
Draco gathered their belongings and descended, coming face to face with a giant man with a
very large beard.
This man had long, frizzy hair, probably tangled, that connected to his similar beard. His
robes were made of leather, as were his large boots. In his left hand, he carried a battered
purple umbrella, and in his right hand a large lantern.
"First years, over here!" He shouted with his hoarse, booming voice, directing the tiny
children to form a line. "First years, come on, the line is over here!"
Chapter End Notes
Glossary: Filius¹/Son - From Latin, it's the word for the title of a third or more child
within nobility.
The House I belong to
Chapter Summary
he was a wizard."
Chapter Notes

"First years, come on, the line is over here!"
The giant man waved widely, smiling at the medium-sized line of first years forming in front
of him. Harry and Draco joined it halfway, avoiding the rowdy kids at the front and the
scared ones at the back. The whispers about the man's height were overshadowed by a huge
commotion at the front of the line, where a blond and red-haired boy was yelling for some pet
named "Trevor," and a messy-haired girl was asking everyone within reach if they had seen a
toad.
Ronald Weasley seemed determined to annoy them. To the boys' credit, at no point did Harry
trip over his own feet, and Draco managed to control his easy expression very much. Weasley
pushed his way to the front of the line, shoving anyone in his path, nearly knocking Draco to
the ground if Harry hadn't held him back, and not bothering to apologize. Several of the other
kids started to complain loudly, but a deep, hoarse cough silenced the small boarding
courtyard immediately.
"I am Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts!" the man introduced
himself, as he counted heads in the line and it seemed like everyone was there. Harry could
count, as far as he could see, about thirty-six children including himself. "Come on, come
with me!"
Stumbling and slipping, the new students followed the giant man down a poorly lit, narrow,
steep path between the edge of a forest and a very tall stone wall. The walk took about ten
minutes, but the night was so cold at that point that Harry wrapped himself even more in his
brand-new robes. No one said anything until Hagrid stopped and turned the lantern to them.
"You'll get the first view of Hogwarts in a second, folks!" he shouted, turning back around.
"It's just around this bend."
There was a stir among the children as the narrow path suddenly opened up to the edge of a
large lake of dark waters. On the other side, Harry could see the opposite shore of the lake.
Built by magic on what Harry guessed to be acres and acres of magic-laden land, there was a
huge and majestic castle whose enormous windows sparkled in contrast to the starless sky
positioned there.
"Only four of you in each boat! We'll get there in about half an hour." On this side, tethered to
the shore, there was a fleet of little boats gently rocking on the water. Harry got into one of
them with Draco and a couple of twins. "Everyone settled?" Hagrid shouted, sitting alone in
the boat at the front of the fleet. "Then, let's go!"
The set of small boats magically began to move across the lake, slowly and steadily. Almost
an hour later, the new students finally got their first clear glimpses of the ancient castle.
Towering atop the highest hill, the majestic structure lay before the clear night sky.
Its many windows, grand and enchanted, gleamed in the candlelight magically suspended
along the sides of the castle and the path that was supposed to be the direction to the castle's
main doors — hilariously, it seemed like the building was watching them arrive in its
domains; but it wasn't as comforting as it should've been for Harry. The only thing keeping
him calm was knowing that he would soon see the bat-man again. From that point on, the
journey passed in the blink of an eye. In less than twenty minutes, all the children
disembarked on the shore near the castle and followed the giant to a large staircase of ancient
brown marble. In all the dreams he had during his time at the Manor, the majesty of the castle
was completely underestimated by his sleeping brain.
Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes as Draco secretly interlaced his tiny hand with his and let
him guide him for a few minutes — neither of them went to the front of the group, but they
stayed properly mixed in the middle. When Harry opened his eyes again, they were all
standing in front of large medieval wooden doors, while Hagrid was speaking quickly with a
woman of severe appearance, long-necked like Aunt Petunia's, and a dark red suede dress.
Her rigid posture and calm face told the boy everything he needed to know: that was the
Transfiguration Professor Snape talked about.
She opened the door, inviting all the new students to enter the hall with a wave of her hand.
The stone walls were lit with torches like those in Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to be
seen, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. They followed
her across the stone floor. Harry could hear the buzz of hundreds of voices coming from a
door to the right — the rest of the school must already be here — but the Professor led them
all to a small empty chamber next to the corridor. They huddled together, standing much
closer than they normally would, looking around, nervous.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," the woman said, in a tone as severe as her posture and not too loud.
Still, her piercing voice echoed in the space of that antechamber. "I am Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor, and Professor of Transfiguration." Walking to a
similar double door to the entrance, she continued: "The semester's start feast will begin
shortly, but before you sit down in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses."
She gave a few torturous seconds for everyone to understand what she had just said before
continuing: "The sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your
house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the
rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common
room." She paused to take a deep breath. "The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff,
Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced
notable wizards and witches. Hogwarts is..."
This was not news to anyone except the Muggle-borns, so most of the children started to
whisper quietly and ignored the next two sentences the witch said. A forced cough from the
Professor calmed the youngsters before she could continue speaking.
"While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn points for your house, while any rule
violations will lose points for the house. At the end of the year, the house with the most
points wins the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to the house you
become part of." The woman then crossed her hands in front of her dress, and sighed. "The
Sorting Ceremony will take place a few minutes ahead of the rest of the school." With a
judgmental look, she pursed her lips when she spotted Weasley, the blond boy with the toad,
and the messy-haired girl. Her eyes remained suspiciously close to where the blond's cape
was pinned under his left ear, and the redhead's disheveled robes. "I suggest you all prepare
as much as possible while you wait, and that you enter there, at least, looking somewhat
presentable. I'll be back when everything is ready for sorting," Professor McGonagall
concluded her speech. "In the meantime, please, wait quietly."
Harry swallowed as quietly as he could when she left the chamber, straightening his back as
he kept his chin firm and let go of
Draco's sweaty hand. The ghosts passing through the wall didn't catch his attention, although
there was some commotion from the other students.
"I say... what are you doing here?" asked the ghost dressed in ruffles and stockings, who
suddenly realized the first years.
No one answered.
"New students!" The friar smiled at them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?" Some of the
students nodded silently, horrified, looking at the ghosts with wide, terrified eyes. The ghost
continued: "I hope to see you in Hufflepuff! — My old house, very loyal!"
The doors opened again, and the ghosts passed straight through the wall. Professor
McGonagall was back.
"Go ahead now. The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."
Harry and Draco made their way to the front of the line; each step carrying with it
overwhelming expectation. The Great Hall was filled with a mixture of exciting nervousness
and curious glances. Starry ceiling woven by charms, four large crowded tables, the teachers'
table. The Prince Manor would fit ten times inside the school! He walked alongside his newly
found classmates, the air full of a blend of uncertainty and possibility. The vibrant tables,
adorned with blue, red, green, and yellow fabrics, called them forward.
Amidst the sea of students, Harry kept his gaze forward, his eyes fixed on the humble hat
resting on a modest stool. At first glance, it seemed quite ordinary, just like the barrier at
King's Cross Station. Harry couldn't help but wonder if that was really the famous Sorting
Hat or if the enigmatic figure behind the school possessed an unconventional sense of humor.
The Deputy Headmistress's welcome speech wasn't particularly affectionate, but the nerves
coursing through Harry seemed to have a peculiar effect. She seemed to say everything on
autopilot: "When I call your name, you'll sit on the stool and I'll place the hat on your head,
blah blah blah." Motivating, right?
At that moment, the Sorting Hat had started to sing. A singing hat. Its carved voice filled the
room with its melody, weaving its songs around the virtues of each of the four houses, trying
to appeal to the best feelings in their hearts. For the green-eyed boy, any house that Weasley
wasn't in would be fantastic.
The Professor began: "Abbot, Hanna!"
Draco was still firmly by his right side, head held high and pure-blood mask well placed. As
the Professor continued with the names, the boy's anxiety grew. He couldn't help but wonder
what the bat-man would think of him being in his house.
Half a minute later, the Hat shouted: "HUFFLE-PUFF"
Beside her, Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley also went to the House of Loyalty. Terry
Boot, Padma Patil, and Mandy Brocklehurst went to Ravenclaw, the House of Intelligence.
Lila Brown was the first lion, House of Courage, and was followed by Neville Longbottom
(the toad boy, a Sacred Twenty-Eight!) and Parvati Patil. Millicent Bulstrode went straight to
Slytherin, as did Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson. The hat barely touched Draco's
platinum blonde head before announcing, "SLYTHERIN!" Draco smiled and walked to the
farthest table. Harry noticed that some boys cleared the way for him to sit in front of an older
girl with beautiful wavy hair.
Time seemed to warp as more names were called, and Harry's heart beat louder with each
passing moment. And then, finally: "Potter, Harry!"
As he approached the Sorting Hat, he forced himself to ignore the muffled whispers
accompanying him. The weight of expectations hung in the air, as if the whole room held its
breath. Students craned their necks, eager to catch a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter. As
the hat descended over his eyes, Harry's world vanished into darkness. Silence enveloped
him, and he found himself face to face with the voice inside his head.
"Hmm... Hello, Potter," the voice began. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of cunning, I see. A
rather sharp mind too. There's talent, oh my, yes — and a good thirst to prove your worth and
show that others are wrong, that's ambition... So, where do you think I should put you?"
Harry kept his hands still in his lap and thought: "Wherever you think I should be, but where I
can finally thrive."
"Then it shall be..." — the Hat then shouted: "SLYTHERIN!"
Harry took off the hat and saw the hall fall silent as he placed it back on the stool and looked
at the table of his new house before starting to walk towards it. Slowly, but gracefully and
charmingly, broad smiles formed on their faces. Most notably, the wide grin on Draco's face.
The Slytherin table had been quite silent until now; none were really surprised or excited
about their new additions. But this, this surprised them. A loud roar erupted from the
Slytherin table, the group of students at the nearest end of the professors' table began to
applaud, and soon the whole House joined in.
He walked stiffly to the Slytherin table, where, with a nod from the girl from before, one of
the older students stepped down from the table to let Harry sit next to Draco, so that the
blond was on his right. The girl then leaned over and shook Harry's hand completely, with a
slightly apologetic smile on her face.
"Welcome, Heir Potter. I am Pollux Delayon, Heiress of the Ancient and Noble House
Delayon," she maintained a semblance of a smile on her face throughout the whole speech,
which Harry found somewhat comforting. "Make yourself at home."
"I'm glad to be here, Heiress Delayon. You can call me Harry," he graciously offered, though
being careful not to extend the sentiment to everyone else gathered around the table besides
the girl.
"Then call me Pollux, please," she added.
For the minutes that Harry and Draco were distracted, more students were sorted and now
only four remained. Lisa Turpin went to Ravenclaw, and the twins Alaire and Blaise Zabini
went straight to Slytherin; where they sat on Harry's left, without introducing themselves or
paying attention to anyone else. At Weasley's turn, the redhead sat on the stool clumsily. His
pale green face sickly, he refused to look towards the Slytherins before the hat bellowed
"GRYFFINDOR!" When there were no more students to be sorted, Professor McGonagall
rolled up her parchment and took the Sorting Hat out of the Hall.
The old man with the long white beard stood up from where he was seated in the huge ornate
chair at the center of the teachers' table. So this was the so-called Dumbledore. Harry didn't
like him ever since he read the letter on the night he fled from the Dursleys. Something about
the way the old man smiled and how his eyes twinkled sent a shiver straight down the boy's
spine, who shifted slightly in his seat and ended up bumping into Draco.
"Welcome, first years!" Dumbledore smiled more, spreading his arms in a dramatic gesture.
"Welcome back, to the rest of you."
The rehearsed speech continued for a few minutes, including a warning about a serious death
on the third floor — serious, because why put things that kill in a school? Was there still time
to run away and study alone at the Manor?
"Before we begin our feast, I would like to say a few words! And here they are: Nitwit!
Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" The Hall erupted into laughter, mostly from the younger ones.
With a wave of his hands from the old man, food appeared on the tables of the four houses.
"Enjoy your meal, everyone, good night, and thank you."
Dumbledore sat back down with a strange, relaxed smile as everyone clapped and cheered.
Harry didn't know if he should laugh or not.
"Is he nuts?" he asked the older students, as Draco seemed very engaged in a whispered
conversation with a much older student.
Some of the classmates solemnly nodded, and the consensus was vocalized by Pollux: "Every
year that passes, he goes crazier. I think it's old age."
Satisfied with this answer, Harry began to eat a bit of everything meatless on the table. At the
Dursleys, he had never tried many vegetables other than carrots and potatoes, so pumpkin
and bell pepper were sensational discoveries at the Prince Manor. But despite the seasoning
being very good, the boy still preferred the food made at his guardian's house.
At the end of the dinner, when the Slytherin Prefect dismissed the upper years and gathered
the new students at the doors of the Hall, Draco slipped his hand into Harry's again upon
seeing the boy shivering — cold or fear? — in a discreet manner, lagging behind in the line
as they walked towards the dungeons.
Chapter End Notes
End Notes
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Harry Potter and the Echoes of Alchemy

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/53627593.

Rating: Not Rated

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Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley were proud to be a normal family.

"Get up, you stupid child! Get up!"

"What's wrong, fancy child?"

"Don't be so afraid, little boy!"

"You still can't, child. You haven't told me your name!"

"Oh, I'm Harry," he said proudly.

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Coming off a nearby bench, the third boy chimed in.

"St-stop," he tried in vain. "Let go of me!"

Chapter End Notes

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To Mr. Harry J. Potter

The cupboard under the stairs

Privet Drive 4, Little Whinging

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

"Vernon, look at the address," Aunt Petunia trembled. "They know..."

Dear Vernon and Petunia.

Best regards, Muggles,

Headmaster Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class

"I'm sorry," the boy hurriedly said, shrinking again.

"Damn muggles," the man muttered.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Under the guidance of Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore

Dear Mr. Potter,

Minerva Isobel McGonagall,

— How can I be a wizard if I've never done magic?

Chapter End Notes

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This was beta-ed by the lovely Jungnyn. Thanks, Love.

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Harry woke up with a throbbing head.

"I know you're awake, Potter, sit up."

Ah. The bat-like man.

"Was that when the Ministry came in?"

"Do wizards have banks?"

Chapter End Notes

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This was beta-ed by the lovely Jungnyn. Thanks, Love.

Available in the original format (Brazilian Portuguese) on Wattpad!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry James Potter; 11 years old.

Born on July 31, 1980

Lordships and Inheritances:

"Oh.. Madame Malkin?" Harry called her, hesitantly.

"Yes, dear?" She replied.

"Hey," the other boy called. "Hogwarts too?"

"See you at Hogwarts, Harry?" the blond called, catching his

This question went unanswered.

"Hello, Harry Potter. I've been expecting you!"

Chapter End Notes

Available in Portuguese on Wattpad.

This was beta-ed by the lovely Jungnyn. Thanks, Love.