Search:

SIYE Time:2:35 on 29th March 2024
SIYE Login: no


Saving Harry
By The Seeker

- Text Size +

Category: Pre-OotP, Alternate Universe, Buried Gems
Characters:All
Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 1040
Summary: What if JKR had never intended the Harry Potter series to be for children? How would Harry’s time at the Dursleys been written? This story focuses on the years Harry lived in the cupboard under the stairs at number four Privet Drive, as well as his first appearance at Hogwarts. The treatment he receives during his decade there is not described in fairy tale terms. The boy who initially develops is not the Harry Potter we know. The story is liberally AU, with different personality traits, events, and relationships used to reflect the changes in this very different Harry and the environment in which he grew up. In the end, through the assistance of a certain redheaded young lady, Harry ultimately finds the life he should have had and rediscovers the qualities he always had inside of him. While I am not a psychologist or child development expert, the symptoms, actions, and behaviors portrayed reflect the realities of child abuse. Appropriate disclosures will be contained in the Author’s Notes above the chapter when warranted.
Hitcount: Story Total: 340148; Chapter Total: 16476
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Continued thanks and much appreciation to those readers who nominated and/or voted for the story for the DSTAs.

My brilliant beta, cwarbeck, added another facet to the many ways she makes this story better. This time she became an advocate for you, the esteemed readers of this fan fic. Cel insisted that I not leave you hanging at the end of the chapter and literally told me what to write. (So, if you don't like the ending, you'll know who to blame -- not mentioning any names, of course!)

Please Note: This chapter continues Harry's introduction into the wizarding world, and, on a more general level, his struggles to overcome the years he spent with the Dursleys.




ChapterPrinter
StoryPrinter


Lying in bed that night, Harry’s eyes darted around the bedroom — his bedroom. They finally focused on the streaks of moonlight that spilled through the window and created an illuminated path on the floor.

My cupboard was pitch black after the Dursleys turned off the lights and went to bed. It always felt like the walls moved in when it was dark. This room is so open.

His eyes stopped briefly on the desk, the bookcase, and finally the wardrobe.

Now, there’re places for everything. I don’t have to hide my books. I can hang my clothes up and not worry if spiders got in them.

Why are the Weasleys doing this for me? What do they want from me?

It doesn’t make any sense.


His eyes returned to the moonlit path.

I have to learn a lot of things, especially magic. They’ve lived with it all their lives. I don’t even know what to do, or what magical life is about.

I can’t be like I am and learn all this stuff.


Harry closed his eyes, trying to stifle a shudder. One experience after another scrolled through his mind.

His school work for Miss Rae, and his aunt and uncle’s reaction to it . . .

The materials in his Open House folder in first grade, which made his relatives angry because he had made Dudley look bad . . .

The outstanding results on the national tests in fifth grade, the meeting with Aunt, Uncle, and his teacher, and the punishment when they got home . . .

His love of reading that they never knew about . . .

Writing two papers for each assignment and turning in the lesser of the two, missing questions in class and on tests — all so he wouldn’t make his cousin look bad; all to keep his aunt and uncle from getting mad at him . . .

I held back because of the Dursleys.

I like learning new stuff. There’ll be lots of new things at Hogwarts.


He frowned.

Will someone get upset if I do well, if I don’t hold back? Dumbledore and McGonagall wouldn’t tell the Dursleys. My relatives called them freaks and weirdoes. Besides, Dudley won’t be going there, so I wouldn’t be doing better than him.

I’ll have to check with Ginny to see if her brothers or parents would be upset if I did well in school. I think she’d tell me the truth. She showed me the pond.


The image of another red haired, freckle-faced girl crossed his mind.

Sometimes I wish I’d never met Sammi or Miss Rae. Maybe I shouldn’t ask Ginny. Maybe she’s just like them. They were nice ‘til they left. Ginny could do the same thing when we go to school. Say she’d do something, then not do it. I don’t want to go through that again.

Harry’s thoughts were wrenched back to the early months of pre-school.

“Hi, I’m Samantha.” A wide smile and sparkling green eyes accompanied her greeting.

“Leave him alone. You’re being rude.” Her eyes were blazing and fearless as she yelled at Dudley and his mates.

“Where do you live? We can walk home together.”

“Isn’t this fun?” Sammi’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Harry felt himself smiling. “I love the special reading lessons Miss Rae gives us.”

“I happened to find an interesting book at the library this weekend, Mr Potter.” His teacher with the curly black hair smiled at him. “I thought you might like to read some more about King Arthur and Camelot.”

“You do not ask personal questions of your classmates!” Miss Rae’s dark eyes flashed with anger at Dudley and the two other boys.

“I won’t be returning after the Christmas Holidays . . .”

“We’re moving, Harry.”

“Thank you for being my best friend, Harry.”

“Mr Potter, you are special.”


An overwhelming feeling blazed though the boy. I want to feel that way again, Harry Potter thought, before sleep claimed him.

*****


When Harry woke up the next morning, his first thought was to write down all of the changes he wanted to make. He got up, made his bed, and looked through the desk for a pencil and paper.

That’s funny. I don’t see anything to write with. What’s this feather thing?

He pulled out a scrap of . . . What is this? It’s not paper.

He shook his head and started scratching the end of the feather on the thick, yellowy kind of paper . . . Nothing happened. He looked at the tip.

I can’t see any lead at the end, and there’s nothing to click like on a biro or a top to pull off. I’ll ask Ginny or Mr or Mrs Weasley if they have a pencil and regular paper.

The boy pulled his robe on and quietly left the room, making sure to skip the squeaky third step so as not to wake Ginny.

Voices floated up the stairwell, causing Harry to stop halfway down.

“I wish Ginny’s birthday didn’t come right before school started,” Mrs Weasley said. “With the tuition, books, robes, and supplies we need to pay for each year, I worry that we short-change her sometimes.”

Mr Weasley replied in a soft, warm voice. “We always find a way, Molly, and I don’t recall Ginny ever complaining.” He sighed. “A week from Saturday our little girl will turn ten. It hardly seems that long.”

The paper and pencil questions forgotten, Harry quietly returned to his room, embarrassed that he had heard Mr and Mrs Weasley discussing their finances and worried that he now had to buy a gift for Ginny. I was going to ask if Ginny could come with us, but that wouldn’t work if I have to buy her a present. It would’ve helped to have her there.

When he reached his room, a new thought blasted him like a bolt of electricity.

I have to go to Diagon Alley today with Professor McGonagall.

The boy felt frozen to the spot, yet he could feel sweat dripping down his forehead, neck, and back.

I don’t know her. I won’t know what to do. There’ll be lots of people I don’t know.

His stomach lurched, and he raced into the loo.

Oh, God. I don’t think I can do this. Everything’s changing. I won’t know what to buy.

It’s where the magical people shop, but I don’t know anything about magic.


The next thought caused Harry’s head to throb.

I don’t have any money. How can I buy anything?

I can’t do this.


Finally, he was finished. After scrubbing his hands, Harry descended the stairs for the second time, making sure he made some noise as he reached the last few steps.

I have to tell them I can’t do this. Professor McGonagall is going to be furious. I bet Mr and Mrs Weasley will be disappointed with me.

When he turned the corner into the kitchen, two warm smiles greeted the startled boy. The air he sucked in slammed against the back of his throat. Steeling himself, he walked to what looked like the pantry and searched for some cereal.

“Good morning, Harry,” greeted Mrs Weasley, then the import of Harry’s actions came to her. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I already have breakfast prepared. Just take a seat, and I’ll bring it over.”

Harry looked at her in confusion but complied with her request and sat at the far end of the table from Mr Weasley. They don’t want me to make my own meals?

Mr Weasley smiled. “Hi, Harry. Sleep well?”

He wanted to answer the question, but no matter how hard he forced the words, nothing would come out. He took a deep breath and nodded several times.

Mrs Weasley placed a plate of fried eggs, sausages, and fried potatoes, and a glass of juice in front of him. “Professor McGonagall is taking you to Diagon Alley today, isn’t she?”

The boy’s expression mixed anticipation with fear and reluctance. “N . . . never shopped before.”

Both adults turned sharply towards him.

Molly stopped just before she laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The boy didn’t notice her action, because his head had slumped towards his chest. His slender body appeared to shrink in front of their eyes.

“I ca . . . can’t do it.”

His eyes closed. Molly sat in the chair next to Harry but made sure she kept some space between them.

“Harry,” she asked softly. “Why can’t you go?” She could hear his ragged breathing.

A million answers swirled through Harry’s mind.

Money.

Magic.

McGonagall.

People.


He opened his eyes. He knew the answer. He glanced briefly at Mrs Weasley’s face.

“I’m afraid.”

Arthur had moved beside Molly when she began speaking to the boy. The instant Harry answered her question Arthur put his arm around her shoulders.

Molly inhaled sharply. Her hands fumbled in her lap, as if they didn’t know what to do. Arthur squeezed his wife’s shoulder. She looked up and nodded, giving him a closed mouth smile.

“Everything is different, isn’t it?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Harry nodded his head, not looking up.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Mr Weasley said in his calm, quiet voice. “Doing things you’ve never done before, going to places you’ve never seen, they can be scary. Is that what you’re feeling?”

He nodded his head, closed his eyes again, and took a deep shuddering breath. “No mo . . . money.”

Molly and Arthur exchanged a glance that Harry didn’t see.

“Lad, I don’t think you need to be concerned about money for your school purchases,” Mr Weasley said. “Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore should be able to tell you more. Professor McGonagall knows exactly what you need to purchase and where to buy them. She’ll be right there with you. You won’t be alone.”

What? I have money? Where? Why didn’t I know this before?

Molly asked gently, “Is anything else bothering you, Harry?”

She watched him for several long moments, waiting for a response. Finally, he nodded his head.

“Don’t know ma . . . ma . . . magic,” Harry whispered.

“And you feel uncomfortable, because you’ll be surrounded by people who know lots of magic.”

“Uh huh.”

“Harry, there are other children your age who will be going to Hogwarts for the first time this September,” Mrs Weasley explained. “Like you, they just learned they are magical, so they’ve never been around witches and wizards before. It will be different, because none of you have seen anything like the wizarding world. But at Hogwarts you’ll learn all about magic and our world. You’ll find that you will become comfortable very quickly.”

Harry closed his eyes again, knowing Mr and Mrs Weasley were watching him. He could feel the room closing in on him. I can’t tell them. They’ll think I’m a freak.

Mr Weasley’s soft voice stopped his thoughts. “There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there, lad?”

Harry’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, searching the wizard’s face. He nodded.

“You’re scared of going someplace new that has lots of people you don’t know. Is that right?” Mr Weasley asked.

The boy deflated. His answer was less than a whisper. “I’m s . . . s . . . sorry.”

Mr Weasley’s words felt like a calm breeze. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Harry. This is all new to you, so it makes sense you would be worried and uncomfortable. All of us are here to help you.”

Harry’s head jerked up. Ginny said the same thing. An intense ache rose from his stomach and lodged in his chest. I want to, but I just can’t believe them.

Mrs Weasley asked, “Will you think about going with Professor McGonagall?”

I’ve got to try. I need to get this school stuff. Maybe they won’t let me in school if I don’t. Plus, there’s Ginny’s birthday. I’ve got to get something for her.

He nodded his head.

“Good boy!” Mrs Weasley smiled.

“That’s the lad,” enthused Mr Weasley. “Now, what time is the professor arriving here?”

Harry looked up. “N . . . nine.”

Mrs Weasley smiled. “You have plenty of time, but once you’ve finished breakfast make sure you brush your teeth and shower. Okay?”

“’Kay.”

Mr Weasley pushed his chair back. A look of sadness quickly crossed his face when he saw Harry flinch.

“Time for me to go to work.” He paused for several moments. “Harry, I know you don’t like to be touched.”

The boy’s eyes immediately turned wary, and he shifted away from the wizard.

“I’m not going to touch you, but would you try something with me?”

Harry stared at the man, his eyes narrowed. All of his instincts were screaming at him to run from the room and whatever this man intended.

Arthur sighed quietly. “Harry, I’m going to put my hand on the table down here.”

He moved to the far end from Harry and placed his left hand on the table palm up. “Before you leave with Professor McGonagall, I’d like you to place your hand here but like this.” He flipped his hand over so the palm faced down. “And think of me squeezing your hand. I’ll be with you like that all day. If things get uncomfortable at any time today, ask Professor McGonagall to contact me. She’ll know how. And I’ll get there as quickly as I can. That’s my promise, son. Okay?” He glanced at Molly and she nodded.

Harry stared in disbelief, trying to ignore the feelings inside him that moved continuously from hard and cold to light and warm. Why would he do that? He doesn’t know me. I just don’t understand this.

Then a single word stopped all other thoughts.

Son?

No one’s ever called me that before.


He looked at the man and nodded his head.

Arthur smiled. “I will always be here to help you, Harry, never to hurt.”

Their eyes locked for a brief moment, then the wizard walked over to his wife and kissed her on the cheek. With a smile and a wave, Arthur Weasley walked into the sitting room and left for work.

*****


Harry got up a minute later, took his plate, glass, and utensils to the sink and began to wash them, since he hadn’t seen a dishwasher in the kitchen.

“Harry, dear, you don’t have to do that.” Molly’s heart constricted at the confused, almost suspicious, expression on Harry’s face. “You go get ready for your outing. I’ll take care of this.”

As Harry moved from the sink, he watched as Mrs Weasley began washing the dishes. He slowed down as he passed the end of the table where Mr Weasley had rested his hand. He hesitantly extended his hand, ready to pull it back at the first sign that something was amiss. When his hand reached the spot where Mr Weasley’s hand had been, he held it there — palm down — for a few moments, his eyes darting around the room. Finally, he allowed his eyes to close, trying to imagine what it felt like to have someone hold his hand and the warmth it would generate.

Breathing deeply, he moved his hand away from the table, acting like he hadn’t even stopped there. Walking up the stairs, the boy thought about Mr Weasley’s promise to him. I don’t understand why he would want to help. It doesn’t make any sense.

After brushing his teeth, showering quickly, and dressing, Harry sat at the desk in his bedroom, trying to stop his body from shaking. The confused feelings about Mr Weasley and his offer had been replaced by the reality of his trip with Professor McGonagall.

Why did I think I could do this?

Harry’s mind and body froze the instant he heard Mrs Weasley’s voice announcing the arrival of Professor McGonagall. His mind locked on one thought, I can’t do this, and his body seemed incapable of moving from the chair in front of the desk.

Suddenly, the image of Mr Weasley forced its way into his thoughts. His hand was extended towards Harry. A feeling of warmth flowed through the boy, and he moved forward to grasp the man’s hand. Their hands never met. Mr Weasley leaned forward when Harry got close and smacked the boy in the back of the head.

The boy’s eyes flew open, as he was wrenched back to reality. His body shuddered in surprise, and he heard himself yelp, “No!” Gasping for air, Harry laid his head on the desk.

Mr Weasley wouldn’t do that!

How do I know he wouldn’t?

He sighed. I don’t. I don’t know what he would do.

I can’t believe them. I’ve got to be careful.


“Harry?” Mrs Weasley’s asked from downstairs. “Did you hear me? Professor McGonagall is waiting for you.”

The boy could feel the numbing surge of adrenaline course through his body.

I have to go. But I’ll watch her and everyone else.

He abruptly sat up, eyes narrowed, body tensed, and left the room.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the two witches were quietly talking, their faces showing both sadness and concern. Mrs Weasley finally saw him, and their expressions quickly changed to neutral.

“There you are, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said, a half smile on her face. “I’ll leave you two now.” She hesitated, looking at Harry for several long moments. “Have a good trip,” she said before she walked back to the kitchen.

The professor looked up when he entered the room, her eyes quickly moving from his head to his feet, noting another set of oversized clothes, then she pursed her lips slightly.

“Good morning, Mr Potter.”

He nodded.

A million thoughts exploded in his head, each new assertion contradicting the previous one. Harry half closed his eyes as the filtered sunlight stabbed into his brain and created a pounding headache. His hand instinctively swept across his damp forehead, then massaged his right temple. Breathing deeply, he tried to fight down the nausea he felt rising in his stomach.

The professor reached out her hand to place it on his shoulder. Harry immediately shifted so he stood just beyond her reach. Minerva sighed and pulled her hand back, noting the wary but pained look on the boy’s face.

“I am looking forward to showing Diagon Alley to you.” She gave him a close-mouth smile. “I think you will find it a fascinating place.” Her voice softened as she kneeled down so she would be at eye level with the small boy. “The Alley has many shops, goods for sale, and people that you will find . . . ah . . . different. But I will be with you the entire time. You may find the experience educational and maybe even enjoyable. Shall we get started?”

Harry nodded his head again, fearing what could happen if he opened his mouth to speak.

“Good.” The professor stood up, and her demeanour changed from soft to stern in the blink of a cat’s eye. “We’re going by Floo. I will put some powder into the fireplace, then you walk into the flames . . .”

“What . . .?” The exclamation was out before he could stop it.

The professor’s exasperated expression quickly changed to understanding.

“Sorry, Mr Potter. This is one of the ways we travel, moving from one fireplace to another that is connected to the Floo network. I can assure you that the flames will not hurt you in the slightest. Let me demonstrate.”

After tossing some powder into the fireplace, the professor stepped into the green flames, then turned around and exited the fireplace.

“Convinced?” Her lips turned up for a moment.

Harry nodded. Green flames that don’t burn, but they take you somewhere? How do they do this stuff?

“When you enter the flames, they will feel comfortably warm. It is important you state your destination clearly — Leaky Cauldron — and keep your arms close to your body. When you reach the right fireplace, you will be automatically ejected.”

When Harry’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, she added, “You will not be hurt when you exit. I will go first. Follow me five seconds later. Here is the powder. Just throw it into the fire. Do you understand all of that?”

Looking at the boy’s wide eyes, the witch said in a much softer voice, “You’ll be fine, Mr Potter. I’ll be at the other end waiting for you. Leaky Cauldron, right?”

“Ri . . . right.”

The witch disappeared in a flame of green.

One.

Two.

Three.

F our.

Five.


Harry threw the powder into the fireplace. If it hurts, I’ll jump out. Ignoring the protests coming form his brain, he hesitantly stepped into the green flames.

Ahhhh! His body momentarily rebelled.

Oh, it’s okay.

“Lea . . . Leaky Cau . . . Cauldron.”

The next second Harry felt himself spinning wildly though a darkened tunnel. I need to put my arms close to my body. His speed began to decrease as blurs of colour and indistinct noise flashed by. Suddenly, he felt like someone had flung him out of a doorway.

“Ahhhh.”

He stopped abruptly, feeling his body collide with something unmoving.

Harry lay still for several moments, his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to move and find out he had damaged some part or many parts of himself.

Where am I?

He finally convinced himself to open his eyes and found he had landed against a pair of black boots. Slowly moving his head up, he saw a long black skirt, then black robes, and finally the thin lips and amused eyes of Professor McGonagall. She seemed to be shaking slightly and finally smiled at the boy.

“A rather inauspicious first Floo trip, Mr Potter. You’ll need to work on your exits, it appears.”

Harry cautiously stood up, took a deep breath, dusted off his clothes, and followed the professor out of the building, aware that the silence that had descended upon the room when he arrived continued well until he had exited the Leaky Cauldron.

*****


G inny Weasley flung herself onto her bed at the same time Harry Potter was launched from the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. She pounded her defenceless pillow, trying to ignore the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Most of all, she tried to ignore the ache of not being invited to accompany Professor McGonagall and Harry to Diagon Alley.

He didn’t even tell me he was going.

When Ginny woke up earlier that morning, she heard voices coming from the sitting room and quickly recognized them as belonging to the professor and Harry. She jumped out of bed, ran a brush through her hair, donned her robe, and skipped down the stairs. She stopped several steps from the bottom.

The professor was giving Harry a lesson in Floo travel. Only then did the realization crash over her. They didn’t invite me. They don’t want me to go with them. Did they even think of me?

A few seconds later, Harry Potter had disappeared into the green flames.

Ginny finally stopped pounding her pillow, and her tears diminished to a slow trickle. Why do I even care? It’s obvious he doesn’t.

She tried to fight off the marauding thoughts, but soon they were scrolling through her mind, reminding her of all the times her brothers had excluded her.

“You’re too small, GinGin.”

“You’re too young; you could get hurt.”

“You’re a girl. Mum would scalp us.”


Then they would go off and abandon her — just like Harry had done.

He’s just like my brothers.

He doesn’t want me around.

He didn’t even think about inviting me.


*****


Har ry followed Professor McGonagall through the bustling Leaky Cauldron and out into a brick-enclosed courtyard. As soon as Harry closed the door behind them, the professor turned to him and said quietly, “Mr Potter, I am going to create a hat for you to wear while we are here, so your scar will be hidden from view. The magic I am going to do is referred to as ‘conjuring an object.’” When Harry took a subtle step away from the witch, she added, “It will not hurt you in any way. Watch what I do, please.”

Why should I hide my scar?

Maybe a lightning bolt has some special meaning in the wizarding world.


Harry watched as the professor pulled her wand out of a hidden pocket in her robes. I’ll run back into the restaurant if she does anything funny. He slid a few more steps towards the door and watched as the professor mumbled a few words he couldn’t understand.

“Ahhh!” Harry bolted towards the door. His hand had grasped the doorknob when he heard Professor McGonagall’s sharp words.

“Mr Potter! Stop!”

Her commanding tone stopped the boy instantly, as if she had frozen him in place.

Her voice lowered and became much softer. “Please turn around and you will see that I am holding a simple hat in my hand. You are not in danger, Mr Potter, I assure you.”

The boy closed his eyes and gulped in several mouthfuls of air, trying to slow down his heart, which seemed to leap into his throat with each beat. Slowly he turned towards the professor.

It’s a hat, just like she said.

When the boy cautiously approached her, McGonagall sighed internally. “Nothing will happen when you touch the hat, and I will not do anything to you.” She slowly moved her arm towards the boy, holding the cap by its bill, so his hand would not need to come close to hers.

Harry’s eyes darted between the hat and the professor. I’ll drop it if it feels weird.

His hand shot out and grabbed the hat so quickly the professor didn’t even see the movement. Harry immediately tensed, ready to drop the hat at the first sign something would happen. Several seconds elapsed.

It’s just a regular hat.

He relaxed slightly and examined the blue and black colours — blue in front and on the bill, black on the back panels — and the white and red Glasgow Rangers logo on the front of the crown. He looked briefly at the professor, braced himself, and put the hat on his head.

And quickly took it off, when his eyes and ears disappeared under the hat.

The professor arched her eyebrows. “I can shrink the hat, so it fits better.”

Harry nodded and handed it back to her. A few seconds later, a smaller, correctly fitting hat was returned to him. Harry looked around the courtyard, a puzzled expression on his face. There’s nowhere to go.

But he looked in amazement as the witch walked up to the brick wall opposite the door they’d just come through. With several well-placed taps of her wand on the bricks, an arch opened, revealing the wonders of Diagon Alley to an open-mouthed Harry Potter.

McGonagall turned and smiled. “Welcome to the magical world, Mr Potter.”

Suddenly, her eyes widened, causing Harry to step back and look at her with alarm. “No cause to worry,” she said quietly. “I just realized it is probably best that I do not use your name while we are here. I will refer to you . . . hmm . . . as my nephew, if the situation requires that.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in response. Why doesn’t she want to use my name? Is this another thing they’re not telling me? I guess it’s okay.

Once he nodded, the professor said, “We should go to Gringrotts, the wizarding bank, first so you will have funds for your purchases. Stay close to me, please.”

Wizarding bank? Is this where my money is supposed to be? Why am I just finding out about this?

As they started walking, Harry’s stomach roiled as he first saw the crowded, cobble stone street. The noise, the activity, how different everything was from what he had seen before flooded the boy’s senses.

He desperately tried to bring back Mr Weasley’s words or the reassurance of him squeezing his hand. But the clamour and chatter in the alley obscured the wizard’s words and stopped the image from forming.

The professor took note of Harry’s overwhelmed reaction and whispered, “I’m right here with you. Just concentrate on what we are doing. You’ll be fine.”

He nodded mutely. I’ve got to do this. It’s just Professor McGonagall and me. Harry steeled himself for what he had to do, and they started walking down the alley.

Harry’s head was almost owl-like, turning often and almost all the way around, so he could take in everything the street had to offer. Each building had a different design and colour to it; some had their products sitting outside to entice customers to stop. Myriad smells and aromas — some pleasant; others shocking — were evident as they passed the Apothecary Store and cafes. Strange musical sounds caught his attention, and Harry looked to the left side of the street, seeing the sign advertising Magical Instruments.

But quickly, the press of people streaming through the alley claimed his attention. All of the people he saw had on robes similar to those the professors wore, but in a rainbow of colours and styles, and they were bustling from one shop to another. The new sights, sounds, and smells combined and assaulted the boy’s senses. His breathing became shallow.

This is way more crowded than walking through the hallways at school, and everyone is bigger than me. It’s way too crowded. I can’t stand this.

“Ow!”

“Oh, sorry, young man. I didn’t see you there.”

Harry stared at the middle-aged witch as she continued on her way. Didn’t see me? She was looking at the poster of that blond guy in the book store window.

Harry wiped the heel of his hand across his forehead. His stomach felt like a series of explosions was going off in it, and his breathing came in short, shallow gasps.

God, my head hurts; everything’s getting blurry. I can hardly walk . . .

“Profess . . . “

Harry lurched to a stop, his hands on knees, gasping for air, his head spinning so fast it felt like it was going to fly off his shoulders. Minerva McGonagall quickly walked back to the red-faced boy. “What’s wrong? Can you talk?”

Harry opened his eyes, but quickly shut them as the light exploded into his head. “Feel sick.”

McGonagall moved her arm to place it around the boy’s shoulders, so she could help him to the side of the alley. Catching herself just before she touched him, she asked, “Can you move about ten feet to your right?”

Harry nodded weakly and stumbled to the side of the alley, finally leaning against the building. His eyes closed again, and his breath continued to come in ragged gasps. If my head doesn’t stop spinning, I’m going to be sick. A close by voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I’m going to cast Calming and Cooling Spells. You should feel better immediately.”

He heard a few muttered words . . .

“Th . . . thanks, Professor,” he whispered. Everything’s better. This magic is amazing. I thought I was going to explode.

The calm voice returned. “Just let me know when you feel well enough to walk again. Okay?”

He nodded his head. Once his breathing returned to normal, he slowly opened his eyes. The light doesn’t hurt anymore.

He took several deep breaths. “B . . . b . . . better now.”

The professor closely examined Harry’s face and breathing pattern, a worried look on her face. Finally she asked quietly, “Do you want to continue? We can return to the Weasleys’ if you prefer.”

The boy considered her offer for only a few seconds, before a look of determination shone in his eyes. “H . . . here.” He gulped in a breath of air.

The witch’s brief smile was barely noticeable. “Good for you. Please inform me immediately if you begin to feel that way again. We can walk slowly,” she said, and they started moving down the street again.

After passing one more shop, Harry stopped and stared at the largest building he had ever seen, the all-white marble Gringotts Wizarding Bank. More than a dozen wide stairs led up to the columned entry and enormous doors. What are those things by the doors?

McGonagall watched Harry’s reaction to the impressive building, and his questioning expression when he saw the guards at the front doors. “Those are goblins, Mr . . . They are a different specie than wizards. Don’t let their short stature cause you to underestimate them. Goblins are very intelligent and have run the wizarding banks for many centuries. Try not to let their different appearance, voices, or personalities bother you.”

The professor paused, as Harry continued to stare at the two goblins outside the bank. When she spoke again, her voice was just above a whisper. “Wizards have mistreated goblins for a long time now. If you treat them with respect, you will gain their respect. If you do, you will have acquired a powerful ally.”

Two very different thoughts came to the boy. Why wouldn’t I treat them with respect? The second thought was much more startling. Why do I need them to be an ally?

The professor asked in her normal tone of voice. “Would you like me to communicate your needs to the goblins inside the bank?”

Harry looked relieved and nodded his head. “Thank you.”

“Stay with me. You’ll be fine. But if anything bothers you, let me know immediately.”

“I w . . . w . . . will.”

The mismatched pair walked into the bank. The professor paused inside the lobby to search for an available teller. Finding one, she started walking briskly in that direction but stopped almost immediately, when she noticed her charge was still looking around the huge, high-ceilinged room, his eyes bright and his mouth open.

Minerva smiled to herself, thinking there was most likely an avid student hidden somewhere inside that boy. Merlin, I hope we can bring out the real Harry Potter.

Finally, Harry became aware that the professor was waiting for him. He looked at her apologetically. “S . . . sorry.”

She smiled. “That is quite alright. It is an impressive room, isn’t it?”

Her heart lurched when he almost smiled back. “Yeah.”

She gestured in the direction of the still available teller, and they walked to his counter.

“We would like to make a withdrawal from the young gentleman’s school funds.” The professor leaned forward and continued her request in words Harry could not hear.

The goblin nodded. “Key, please.”

The professor reached into her purse and pulled out an old-fashion iron key and showed it to the goblin.

He smiled, revealing small, sharp teeth. “Thank you. Proceed through those doors. A cart will take you to the vault.” He pointed to where the doors were located.

The professor started walking in that direction and the goblin resumed reading the papers stacked in front of him.

“Th . . . thank you, sir.”

The goblin’s head jerked up and he peered over his half-moon glasses. His piercing gaze quickly turned to surprise, then appreciation. “You are quite welcome. Griphook manages your account. He will be waiting for you through the doors. Good day, young man.”

Harry joined Professor McGonagall, who had witnessed the exchange. “That was very good of you. I’ve never heard a goblin say that much to a customer. Well done!”

Pushing through the heavy double doors, the professor and her student walked over to the portly goblin, who half-bowed when they reached him.

“If I may have the key to the young gentleman’s vault, the cart will take us directly there.”

The professor smiled internally at the goblin’s use of the general designation in place of her charge’s proper name, knowing the goblin at the counter had somehow communicated her request while they were walking across the lobby.

She handed the key to the goblin, who read the number on it, and gestured to the cart waiting on the adjacent track.

Despite the stone passageways being rather dark — flaming wall torches were the only source of light — Harry’s eyes roved around the area, trying to take in every detail. Once Professor McGonagall had entered the rear bench seat, he followed her.

The goblin turned and said, “Hold on.” A second later the cart shot forward with head snapping acceleration.

Once he got used to the motion, a smile spread over Harry’s face, as the cart hurtled down the darkened track, racing around blind curves, past barely visible vaults, and finally stopping abruptly in front of what he assumed was his vault.

The goblin was already standing beside the cart. “Please follow me.”

Harry got out of the cart and turned to look at the professor.

“I shall remain here. Take however much time you need to explore your vault. Oh, I would suggest you collect twenty-five to thirty of the gold coins, and a hand full each of the silver and bronze coins. The goblin will have a bag for them.”

Harry walked over to the vault door. The goblin inserted the key, turned it, and Harry could hear the locks tumbling. Moments later, the goblin opened the door, leaving Harry dumbstruck at the sight.

“Th . . . this is all m . . . mine?”

The goblin shot a curious look at the young boy and replied in a voice Harry could barely hear. “This vault contains your school funds. It is but a small part of the Potter Family wealth.”

Air exploded from Harry’s chest. “Th . . . there’s more?”

The goblin nodded his head, while carefully scrutinizing the boy. His reply again was at a discrete level. “The Potter Family vault is on the seventh level. In addition to a substantially larger amount of money, your family’s heirlooms are contained there, including jewellery, loose gem stones, paintings, furniture, books, and other artefacts.”

“Tha . . . thank you, M . . . mis . . .ter Griphook.” The boy’s breathing became laboured again.

“It’s just Griphook. And you’re welcome, young man.” He handed a money bag to the boy and watched as he filled it, finally coming to a decision. “It may prove helpful for you to return here when you have time to meet with us individually. You could visit the Family vault and learn more about your family’s holdings. Just contact me when it would be convenient for you to do so.”

Harry closed his eyes to stop the questions spinning through his mind. Can I trust Griphook? Is he trying to get my money? Maybe he just wants to help.

Why didn’t anyone tell me this money was here? I wouldn’t have had to wear Dudley’s cast offs.


The boy’s breathing stopped with the next thought. Is that why the Weasleys are letting me stay with them? Do they want my money? He shuddered involuntarily. Stop it! They may not even know about this money.

Wait! Professor McGonagall knew I had this account.

Dumbledore! He’s always behind . . .


“Young man!”

Harry’s eyes flew open. Griphook had backed away several feet, an alarmed expression on his face. Several drops of moisture had formed on Harry’s forehead.

The boy glanced briefly at the goblin. “S . . . sorry,” he whispered.

When Harry and Griphook returned to the cart, Professor McGonagall asked, “Did you get everything you needed?”

“Y . . . yes.”

In a matter of minutes, the cart returned them to the lobby level. Harry walked over to the goblin. “Thank y . . . you, Grip . . . hook.”

“My pleasure, young man.”

*****


After walking across the lobby, Professor McGonagall and Harry paused by the exit. “Do you want to visit the shops now so we can purchase your school supplies?”

Thoughts of going out into the crowded street, being bumped and pushed along, having to find what he needed flashed through his mind. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. The bank was okay. I’ve got money. The professor knows what to get and where the stuff is.

The image of Mr Weasley, with his outstretched hand and upturned palm, flickered through his mind. I can do this. It’ll be alright.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“We will begin at the Magical Menagerie.” When Harry looked confused, the professor added, “Students are allowed to bring a familiar — that is, a pet — to school. Toads, cats, rats, and owls are the most popular choices.”

As they left the bank and walked down the street, the professor continued her description. “This store has a wide variety of animals, with the exception of owls, which we will find at a shop by the entrance to the alley.”

Harry kept his focus on the sign for the Menagerie, which was located in the second building from the bank. They entered the store to a cacophony of sounds, smells, and activity.

Two steps into the premises, Harry abruptly stopped, his eyes wide and his cheeks colouring. The professor had been keeping an eye on him, so she, too, stopped.

“We will walk through the store, so you can see if any of these animals appeal to you,” she advised gently. “If you find one you want as a pet, please let me know, and I will help you purchase it. But it is perfectly acceptable if you do not find anything. I will be by your side the entire time.”

The boy looked at the professor with uncomfortable eyes and nodded. Moving through the various aisles in the store, they saw toads, snails, tortoises, cats, rats, ravens, and a wide assortment of animals Harry had never seen before and couldn’t imagine having as a pet.

When they passed the cages holding the white rabbits, several popped from visible to invisible and back in a blink of an eye.

“Ah!” Harry jumped back in surprise and looked at Professor McGonagall.

She looked down her nose at the rabbits and said disdainfully, “They are show-offs.”

Harry held back a snort, knowing that the professor would not approve if he chose a rabbit to take to school.

Finally, they had seen all of the pets in the store, and Professor McGonagall looked at the boy expectantly.

Nothing appealed to him, so Harry shook his head, thinking he may have seen an approving nod from the professor. She led him out of the shop and hurried past the next building without a second glance. While speeding by, Harry noticed the sign “Gambol & Japes” over the door and adverts in the window for joke items.

They continued down the street and stopped before a narrow shop, “Ollivander’s, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.”

“One of a wizard’s most important possessions is his wand,” Professor McGonagall said in a voice Harry assumed was her ‘teaching’ voice. “Most magic requires the use of a wand in order to direct it properly. Each one is different, varying by the type of wood used, the length, its flexibility, and the type of magical ingredient held inside the wand.” She pointed to the sign. “Mr Ollivander is considered the premier wand maker in Britain.”

Entering the shop, the misty-eyed, decidedly weird Mr Ollivander immediately made Harry feel very uncomfortable, especially when he greeted the boy in a strangely ethereal voice. “I’ve been expecting you, Mr Potter.”

Harry frantically looked around the shop but saw no other customers, wondering why the man was saying his name when the professor wouldn’t.

How does he know who I am?

He became even more uncomfortable when Ollivander remembered the exact wand Professor McGonagall had purchased when she was eleven years old.

After having him test virtually every wand in his shop, Ollivander got a gleam in his eyes that caused Harry to take a step back and stare suspiciously at the old man.

“I know just the wand for you, Mr Potter,” the old man said almost excitedly, and he walked back into the furthest reaches of his dusty shop. Finally returning, he handed the wand to Harry, though he appeared to already know it was the right one. “Holly, eleven inches, supple, with a single phoenix tail feather.”

Harry waved it as the old wizard had instructed, and a shower of red and gold sparks exploded from the tip. Harry jumped back in shock, almost dropping the wand.

“My, my, very powerful, Mr Potter, but I imagine that is to be expected.”

The professor looked sharply at the wand maker, and he stopped quickly. “We’ll just ring you up, then.”

Harry’s stomach dropped, and he quickly looked at Professor McGonagall for help. She calmly reached into her purse and withdrew the money bag Harry had given her for safekeeping.

Mr Ollivander gave them the price of the wand, and the professor counted out the coins, so Harry could see what she was doing. After the professor had a brief conversation with Mr Ollivander that Harry couldn’t hear, they soon exited the strange shop, the wand safely in the witch’s purse.

“All of the remaining stores we need to visit are located past Gringotts. Let’s get your robes next.” When Harry glanced at the sign of the store they were passing, “Second Hand Robes”, the professor added, “Madam Malkin’s is the best place for robes.

“You will be wearing robes every day, as they are part of your school uniform. I think three black school robes should be sufficient, plus a set of dress robes for any formal occasions that may occur.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he found no one else in the shop. Madam Malkin, a short, plump witch, whom Harry thought was even older than his professor, bustled over.

She soon had Harry standing on a low wooden box. He looked desperately at Professor McGonagall when Madam Malkin took out a measuring tape and announced she needed to record his various lengths, widths, and circumferences. The professor whispered something to the witch, who nodded and quickly obtained the information she needed, while not actually touching her customer. Harry’s eyes were closed the entire time and his body tense to the point of shaking from the witch’s proximity.

The school robes were quickly selected and tailored. The dress robes took a bit longer. Harry kept shaking his head whenever Madame Malkin or the professor brought him anything other than in black.

Finally, the professor found a set in bottle green. “These will perfectly complement your eyes. They’re quite handsome.”

Harry quickly agreed. Madam Malkin measured them on him and promised the robes would be ready in half an hour.

Harry virtually raced out of the shop, trying to ignore the moisture he felt drizzling down his back. When Professor McGonagall reached him, she looked across the street. Harry followed her eyes to a sign advertising, “Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.” He looked at the professor expectantly.

“Since we have about thirty minutes until your robes will be ready, why don’t we get some ice cream?” The professor’s eyes smiled, even though her mouth remained in its usual straight line.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. I can probably count the number of times on one hand the Dursleys let me have ice cream.

They walked across the alley to the ice cream parlour, which only had a few customers. Harry felt his body stiffen but kept repeating, I can do this, I can do this . . .

The professor’s gentle voice asked, “What would you like me to order for you?”

Harry had been examining the sign behind the counter that listed the various offerings. He kept returning to treacle tart ice cream, though he had no idea what treacle tart was.

Fighting the feeling he was doing something he shouldn’t, Harry whispered, “Tr . . . treacle tart? Please.”

The professor smiled at him. “Good choice.”

After their selections had been prepared and paid for, they went outside to a patio that contained about ten tables, each shaded by a colourful umbrella. Harry savoured each bite of the treacle tart ice cream, while sitting silently but comfortably, with the professor, who, by the looks of the ice cream in her bowl, had ordered plain vanilla.

Licking the spoon in an almost cat-like manner after the last bite, the professor smiled and said, “After we get your robes, we still need to purchase your school books, writing materials, travel trunk, potion supplies, cauldron, and visit the owl emporium.” Her voice dropped in volume. “Will that pose a problem?”

Sitting in the otherwise unoccupied patio, with a waist-high brick wall separately it from the alley, Harry felt relatively safe. I know it will be hard to go out with all those people again. But it would be a hundred times worse to have to come back again. The next thought startled him. Ginny’s present. I can’t forget that.

He looked at the professor. “N . . . no pro . . . problem. But,” the professor’s eyes sharpened; Harry ducked his head, “Gi . . . Gin . . . Ginny’s present.”

The professor looked nonplussed. “A present for Miss Weasley?”

“B . . . birth . . . day.” The boy took a big breath.

The professor couldn’t hide the surprised look on her face. Quickly replacing it with a neutral expression, she asked, “Have you thought about what you want to get her?”

He pointed toward a sign down the street. “Sta . . . sta . . . stationery.”

“Very good. We will stop there after the book store.” This time, the witch hid her reaction, turning away from the boy so a smile could spread across her face.

Madam Malkin had the purchases waiting for them. The professor shrunk the packages and placed them in her purse. “Flourish and Blott’s is next door. They have all the books set aside for each year, but if you want, we can browse for a short time. Would you like to do that?”

Despite himself, Harry smiled. The thought of going into a store that was filled with books seemed amazing to him.

The professor smiled to herself, when she saw her student’s reaction seconds after they had entered the bookstore. Harry’s eyes darted from one side of the large building to the other, up one aisle and down another, filling with a light the witch wished would become more permanent.

“If I may make a suggestion?”

Harry looked up, an open, inquisitive expression on his face.

“A book on magical life that provides an overview of our society might be beneficial, since you are new to the wizarding world. Also, a history book on magical events,” she paused, “more widely focused than the text we use at Hogwarts would be instructive, I think.”

“S . . . sure.”

Professor McGonagall guided her student to the appropriate sections and helped the boy find the types of books she had recommended. Looking around the store, she thought that it was a good decision to come this early, since the alley was relatively quiet, and she had seen very few students.

“We can pay for these books and pick up the required texts at the counter in the rear of the building.” On their way to the back counter, she asked, “Would you like to pay the clerk?”

The boy stopped, virtually in mid-step. I won’t know what to do. The clerk will think I’m an idiot. Then he thought of the purchases from the other stores. The other places added them up and gave the professor a total amount. It’s just simple math.

He nodded. “Yes.”

The transaction went smoothly, despite Harry’s nervousness. As they walked to the Stationary Store next door, Professor McGonagall said, “Hogwarts has a very large and extensive library. You may find it fun to read beyond the required books for the classes you are taking.”

Harry’s first thought was, I bet the Hogwarts’ library is much bigger than my school’s. His brow furrowed. How did she know I like to read?

“You’ll find everything for your writing needs in this store.” She looked around and found two chairs and a small table off to one side of the shop. “Let’s sit over here for a minute.”

Once seated, the professor explained, “In the wizarding world, we do not use the same writing instruments or materials you used before.” When the boy deflated, she continued gently, “The differences are small. I doubt you’ll have any trouble at all. Let me show you.”

She pulled several items from her bag. Harry examined them, a questioning look on his face.

There are so many changes. Nothing is what I’m used to. I wish something was the same.

“This is parchment.” Professor McGonagall picked up the paper-like material. “As you can see, it has a creamy or yellowish colour, and it is thicker than the paper you are used to.” Next she gestured to a long feather. “We use a quill, rather than a biro or pencil. Unlike either of those instruments, the quill cannot write on its own. It is dipped in an ink well,” she gestured at a glass container filled with a dark liquid, “though some people are now using self-inking quills.” Her disdain was obvious. “You should purchase three to five quills, one of which should be of high quality, and at least five ink wells. One-hundred feet of parchment should be more than sufficient for the first half of the term.

“Do you need me to help you select these items or Miss Weasley’s gift?”

Harry ducked his head, embarrassed that he could feel a blush on his cheeks.

“Then while you get your supplies, I will look for her gift. I know exactly what I want to give her.” The boy looked up. “A diary. Witches her age love to pour their soul into something safe like a diary.” She smiled. “And a diary never talks back.”

Harry selected five quills, including an expensive one with a pure white feather and another that was self-inking. I can’t let Professor McGonagall see that one. He added seven ink wells and parchment. Then he picked out Ginny’s gift. Professor McGonagall was waiting for him when he arrived at the counter to pay for his purchases.

“Did you find everything?”

He nodded, hoping she wouldn’t notice the self-inking quill. As the clerk rang up the purchases, Harry began to feel warmer. When the clerk picked up the self-inking quill, Harry thought he was going to melt into a pool of goo. By sheer luck, the professor had turned and was inspecting ornamental ink wells on a nearby shelf, returning only when all of his supplies had been totalled, put into a bag, and shrunk.

When the clerk told Harry the amount he owed, he put the money bag on the counter and pulled out what he thought was the right amount. He could feel the professor watching him, so he counted the coins a second time, just too make sure, and then handed them to the clerk.

With a practiced eye, the clerk verified he had been given the correct amount and put the coins into the register. “Thank you, young man.” He nodded at the witch. “Good day, Professor.”

Professor McGonagall nodded. “Good day, Mr Scrivener.”

With Harry’s purchases safely in her purse, they crossed the street to Eeylops Owl Emporium. The professor said, “While cats are by far my favourite animal, many students prefer an owl. They are loyal and can be used to carry mail. Here we are. Let’s see what catches your attention.”

When they walked into the shop, Harry noticed that most of the owls were asleep, with their head tucked under a wing. He wandered up and down the aisles in the shop, looking at a number of possibilities. While he had been searching, one animal kept catching his attention. The snowy white owl had a regal, yet friendly appearance and very expressive amber eyes. As soon as Harry walked over, he was sure. Standing in front of the cage, he almost felt like the owl had told him to pick her.

Harry turned to his professor. “Th . . .this owl.”

She lifted the cage off its hook, and the three of them went to the counter. Harry paid for the owl, her cage, and several boxes of owl treats. Instead of shrinking the owl and her cage, the professor explained to Harry that she would send them to The Burrow by using a spell.

He shook his head, his cheeks instantly turning crimson. “You’ll hurt her!”

The professor’s surprised expression quickly changed to neutral. “You will learn to do many things that you formerly thought were impossible. For now, please trust that I would never do anything that would harm an innocent animal.”

The boy gazed at the professor for a few seconds, then turned his head, his eyes staring dully at nothing. I’ve seen her do other magical things, like the hat. None of them hurt me or anything else. The store clerks shrunk our stuff. It doesn’t make sense that she would hurt my owl. She doesn’t seem like a mean person. I don’t like this, but I have to believe her.

While Harry considered her answer, McGonagall thought about his reaction. There is definitely more to this boy than is usually apparent. Both times he has spoken strongly and without his usual stammering he has been angry. I wonder if his anger pushes out the real boy hiding inside.

The boy finally answered, “O . . . kay.”

“Thank you.” A second later, the owl and her cage had disappeared. “Your owl and her cage will be at The Burrow when we return there,” the professor explained as they walked to the next store.

The Apothecary was Harry’s least favourite of all the shops they had visited. While the professor purchased the pre-assembled first year potions package, Harry wandered through the aisles of the store. I wish I knew a spell to stop these horrible smells. How can anyone work in a place like this? And these barrels have some of the most disgusting things I’ve ever seen. Who would want to work with this stuff? I have a feeling Potions will not be a good class.

Their stop at the Cauldron Shop was the quickest of all. In a matter of a few minute the appropriately sized pewter cauldron was purchased, shrunk, and placed in the professor’s purse.

Harry and Professor McGonagall completed his shopping excursion with a stop at The Trunk store, where the witch thoughtfully suggested he add wheels and an extendable handle to make moving it easier until he could use magic outside of Hogwarts.

Returning to the Leaky Cauldron, the professor said to Harry, “You look tired. Has this taken a lot out of you?”

He looked up at the professor with droopy eyes. “Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. “N . . . ne . . . never done this be . . . fore. Thank y . . . you.” He slowed down, as they approached the brick entrance to the Leaky Cauldron courtyard, the last sentence seemingly expending the last of his energy.

“You’re welcome.” Minerva McGonagall knelt down and caught the boy’s eyes with her own. Quietly but with strong emotion, she said, “I’m very proud of you, Harry. I know doing all these new things has been tough for you, but you stuck with it. I am very impressed.”

The boy ducked his head down and his cheeks heated up.

“There will be many new challenges for you — new people, new school, learning about magic . . . learning who you really are.”

The boy’s head snapped up.

He looked at the professor, an indefinable expression on his face. He looked far too worn out to be just eleven years old. Minerva McGonagall’s heart nearly broke, as she saw too many emotions fighting for dominance on the young boy’s face — doubt, determination, distrust, hope, weariness. His eyes had lost the lustre they had held earlier; no enthusiasm, joy, or energy could be found any longer.

Harry’s thoughts were a jumble. I’m so tired. Nothing makes any sense, and I’m tired of trying to figure it out. I wish everyone would just leave me alone.

“Shall we return to The Burrow?” Minerva was not sure the boy had heard her.

Finally, he nodded and looked at the brick wall. She tapped it, and they stepped through, walking silently through the building to the fireplace. Harry entered first. This trip went more smoothly, since he remembered to keep his arms close to his body. Still, he felt uncomfortable the entire trip and flew out of the fireplace when he reached The Burrow.

After regaining his balance and dusting off his clothes, Harry looked up and saw Ginny standing in front of him. A shy smile began to spread across his face. However, the smile faded when he realised that Ginny was glaring stonily at him.

“You . . .” Ginny began, but she was interrupted when Professor McGonagall appeared in the fireplace.

“Oh, hello, Miss Weasley,” she said pleasantly. “We missed you this morning.”

To the Professor's and Harry's shock, Ginny promptly burst into tears and fled from the room, nearly crashing into her mother, who had come to greet the newcomers.

“Oh my goodness! Ginny!” Mrs Weasley cried after her sobbing daughter. She then turned and addressed Harry. “What happened, dear?”

Harry immediately hung his head, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame. Ignoring Mrs Weasley's and Professor McGonagall's worried calls, he whirled around and escaped up the stairs into his room. Locking the door behind him, he sank onto the floor, his blood pounding in his ears.

I knew it, he thought dully. She was just pretending to like me.
Reviews 1040
ChapterPrinter
StoryPrinter




../back
‘! Go To Top ‘!

Sink Into Your Eyes is hosted by Grey Media Internet Services. HARRY POTTER, characters, names and related characters are trademarks of Warner Bros. TM & © 2001-2006. Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions on this site are those made by the owners. All stories(fanfiction) are owned by the author and are subject to copyright law under transformative use. Authors on this site take no compensation for their works. This site © 2003-2006 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Special thanks to: Aredhel, Kaz, Michelle, and Jeco for all the hard work on SIYE 1.0 and to Marta for the wonderful artwork.
Featured Artwork © 2003-2006 by Yethro.
Design and code © 2006 by SteveD3(AdminQ)
Additional coding © 2008 by melkior and Bear