Summary: Harry's childhood circumstances change dramatically when his Aunt becomes critically ill and his Uncle dies of a heart attack. Harry, age nine, is sold to the Wizarding world. Bought by a well renowned Artisan House in Wizarding London, Harry must learn, not only about magic, but how to become a successful Artisan in a competitive and sometimes cruel environment. Complications arise; the new modern Wizarding Britain is at the centre of a change that threatens the Artisan way of life. To make matters worse, the Minister for Magic has declared a new bill to be passed that will require all Artisan students to take a number of wizarding subjects at Hogwarts. Chaos ensues and poor fourteen year-old Harry is only three weeks away from his Debut! Will he be able to hold it altogether? Or will a certain, off-putting, grumpy, annoying, Potions Master, distract him by intently watching his every move? AU, HPSS, Non-cannon, Novel-Length.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the Harry Potter world. JK Rowling owns the Harry Potterverse anyone who doesn't know that should be exiled to Mars, I make exceptions only for poor penniless people in remote corners of third world countries, who cannot read and don't have the money to buy the overly priced one – thousand paged books. Also I feel I must credit Arthur Golding who wrote the book 'Memoirs of a Geisha', which also strongly influenced this fanfic. I take no credit for my work, it is all the work of the amazing author, this is just a fun re-write. I make no money from my poor attempt at fan fiction and will remove it should I be asked to do so.

For Every Star In The Sky

by AkashaWinters

Prologue

A great Seerer once told me that my life had not turned out the way destiny had intended it. Perhaps it was the the moment Voldermort had murdered my parents that it had all gone wrong. Maybe it was when I was handed over to my muggle relatives as a baby, or maybe even the moment they chose to sell me into a life of magical slavery. My life, the Seerer had told me, could have been very different. With my natural magical prowess, I could easily have attended Hogwarts and become a Wizard. I might even have been one of the best. But I was not a Wizard, I was an Artisan.

Chapter 1

Wish Upon A Coffin

Petunia had fallen very ill when I was five. I had only vague memories of when she first became sick, but later I remember the many arguments between her and my uncle Vernon over her medical fees and huge debts as she became more and more frail. I remember the day the bailiffs had come and reclaimed the house at Privet Drive and then the council flat in London that smelt like sour milk. Things had only gotten worse after that, and then when my uncle had died of a heart attack, that was when things changed.

I remember the day of the funeral very well, it was like a lifetime pressed into a handful of hours. It was a day I would never forget.

My Aunt, who was already very gaunt-looking and sickly pale from her illness, had gained an added waxy look, her eyes sunken from all the tears. She had screamed when the paramedics had covered the body, a blonde lady in a green jumpsuit at her side, fruitlessly trying to console her. After they had left she had gone silent, collapsing into the coffee stained couch and remained there staring sightlessly for three days. The only sign of life were the droplets of water falling down her checks. Not even Dudley's frantic questions, then hysterical whimpering, could awaken her.

Early on the fourth day, I had ventured into the kitchen to eat, only to discover Dudley had already finished what little food we had left. Even the old tin cans that Petunia left stashed under the sink for when we had no money, lay empty on the counter. Glancing into the lounge, I could see Petunia asleep on the couch and I could hear Dudley's snores from the room next door. The whole situation seemed so desperate that I couldn't bare it any more. Quietly as I could, I grabbed our only kitchen chair and dragged in over to the back door. Climbing on top and standing on my tiptoes, I managed to undo the bolt at the top of the door.

The door made a faint creaking sound as I opened it, and I glanced around nervously to see if i'd woken anyone. No noise came from the flat, so I quickly slipped outside and shut the door behind me. We were on the fifth floor of a very large block of flats. I was standing on the balcony corridor that ran along the front on the flats. It was still dark outside. Leaning over the balcony, I watched the autumn leaves falling from the trees in the park next door, illuminated by street lights. A strong breeze shook the branches and I shivered, I didn't own a jacket and my only jumper, which was meant for school, was thin, with holes in the elbows from overuse.

A flickering light caught my eye, it was coming from a bench in the park, where a single dark figure sat huddled from the cold. Swiftly, I ran down the corridor and the many flights of stairs, across the parking lot and into the park. The figure was several meters away from me, his back to me. The strange light looked like a purple flame and to my astonishment, it appeared to be flickering from the person's hand. Curiously, I crept forward.

Suddenly, the figure straightened and my eyes grew wide as a woman's voice spoke.

"Come here child, I won't hurt you."

Panic immediately overtook my body. I had lived on this estate for nearly four years, I knew perfectly well never to say hello to strangers, especially not in the dark. Images of Teddy Jones came to my mind. His mangled corpse had been found in one of the burnt out cars that we used as a play-house. I remembered a little girl screaming and a boy shouting, and then Dudley pulling me over to the car because he was too afraid to look by himself. I remembered the sight as if it was burned into the back of my eyes and the retching feeling that came every time I thought of it or dreamed of it. The incident hadn't stopped us playing in the streets, most of the adults didn't care, or prehaps they reasoned that it wasn't any safer in their homes. Only a few weeks later a teenage girl had been taken right out of her own flat, a few doors down from the our flat. Gun and knife crime too, were common. Aged nine, I was used to violence and had the good sense to know when to run like hell. On that day, however, my good sense seemed to fail me.

As if I were a puppet on strings, I slowly walked forward and around the bench to stand in front of the woman. To my relief I realised she was a very old lady, probably the oldest person I had ever seen. She had so many wrinkles and so much sagging skin, I thought her face looked almost inhuman. She had only a few wispy streaks of hair and horribly ragged clothes. She peered at me as I gazed astonished at the purple flames covering her hand.

"You're very brave and a bit reckless." She wheezed. "What are you doing here?"

I took a moment to realise she'd asked me a question. "I couldn't sleep, I'm hungry and we have no food."

She looked at me as if I was very slow, then gestured to the flats. "No, I meant, what are you doing here?"

I must have been looking at her as if she was very slow, or maybe a bit mad. "I live here." I replied.

She scowled at me. "Ah," she said.

"What is that?" I pointed at her hand and the flames.

She wasn't looking at me know, she was rummaging through her bag with her non-firey hand now. "Magic, to keep me warm."

"There's no such thing as magic." My response was automatic, because, looking at her hand I really could believe that there was.

"Oh really?" She seemed amused now. "And why is that?"

I grappled for a moment with the question. Everyone knew there was no such thing, but I couldn't really explain why. Then I said, "If magic existed, the world would be perfect, everyone would be rich and my Aunt wouldn't be sick and my Uncle wouldn't have died, my parents would even be alive and I wouldn't be here."

Now she looked up at me, her eyes looked a little watery. "You're not meant to be here," She said gently, "life has not really turned out how destiny intended it for you." At that moment I didn't understand, but later I would. "You are meant for something much bigger." She continued. "Magic, does exist, child, but it can't do everything, sometimes we have to help ourselves. Destiny, too, exists. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, would I? It just doesn't always work the way we expect it to, you remember that. Sometimes we choose are destiny and sometimes destiny chooses us and it is the hardest thing to know which way around it is, even the wisest wizards cannot know for sure."

I understood only a small part of what she was telling me, but the conversation struck me as very meaningful, as if this was somehow the most important advice I would ever be given. Suddenly, she withdrew a small leather bound book from her bag. "Here she said," Handing it to me. "You keep that with you, always. When you can read well enough, you read it and it will help you. That is what I dreamed, that is why I am here. Take it."

I examined the book. The leather cover was heavily stained and had a scaly texture, a metal clasp held the pages together. There was no title.

"What is it?" I asked. "How can it help?" I couldn't imagine a book helping me. I couldn't imagine anything, or anyone helping me and yet this strange old woman was trying to, somehow.

The old woman smiled at me sadly, ignoring my question, she looked up into the night. "Look up at the sky," she told me.

I did as she asked, although I didn't know what I was looking for. I glanced back down at her, but she was still looking up. "What are we looking at?" I asked.

She was silent for a moment and then replied. "The Stars."

Looking up, I could only see a few stars, for it was growing lighter and unlike Little Whinging where we used to live, London was a very bright city and the lights often blocked out of the starry sky.

"In the dead of night, when you feel most alone,most lost and afraid, look up at the stars, for they are sacred and they will guide you." I listened to her voice as I watched the twinkling lights so very far away. "Some people believe they are the lights of those who have left us, their souls watching over us for eternity. Some people believe they are our greatest wishes, held there to remind us when our faith deserts us and our hope grows thin. There are very many stars out there, child, more stars than there are people. Even stars die eventually, but for every star that dies many more are born. Some of those stars up there are yours. You should make a wish, so that you will have hope, maybe your family will hear you and help you. Who knows how magic really works, hmmm? Not even the greatest wizards could ever unlock all the secrets of our world."

Gently, she laid her hand on my shoulder and smiled at me. "I am a very old lady, I have lived long past my time." She wheezed. "I have seen so much, but only today do I fulfil my own destiny."

Her deep grey eyes looked long and hard into my face. Then gently she let go of my shoulder, glancing around. It was getting light and the grass was thick with morning dew. "You go back now, your Aunt is waiting for you."

I never knew that old woman's name, why she had dreamed of me, how she found me, or what became of her. Yet, she left a mark on me that day, and I would remember that conversation for the rest of my life.

When I arrived back at the flat my head was in such turmoil that I was taken by surprise to find my Aunt bustling about.

"Where have you been?!" She scolded me. I noticed Dudley was dressed in reasonably smart black clothes and was eating toast gingerly so that he would not get crumbs on them.

Petunia then grabbed me and made me bathe. She scrubbed me until my skin was raw, then she dressed me in the nicest, not too over-sized black clothes she could find from the local charity shop. Her own black dress was a little too big had a bell shaped bottom, which I thought looked horrifically ugly.

After breakfast was over Petunia took me aside and shoved a carrier bag at me. "Pack your things, you won't be coming back here."

I was a little stunned. The way she said 'you' instead of 'we' made me very nervous and I couldn't help feeling something very bad was going to happen. I pulled open the door of the cupboard where I slept and starred at my things. Packing was easy. I had only a handful of clothes and the book the old lady had given me. I didn't bother packing Dudley's old broken toys, or the childish paintings i'd taken home from school. Minutes later I was ready and Petunia dragged us to the nearby bus station. We hadn't had a car in years. Vernon always said it was too expensive.

I barely paid attention as we went first to the hospital, then a funeral shop and then eventually to a nearby church where a priest spoke in hushed voices with Petunia. It wasn't until a Black car arrived and a coffin was taken out that I realised that this was Vernon's funeral. I'd sometimes seen funerals when we watched soaps on next door's TV. It was nothing like I expected. There were only a few flowers, the coffin was a simple wooden box with handles, and we were the only ones there except for the funeral men and the priest. We didn't even sing any songs. All we did was listen to the priest speak, then Petunia said a few tearful words and then we had to go up and touch the coffin. Petunia went first, bending down to lay a kiss on the wood and murmuring something, her face wet from tears. Then Dudley went up, strangely silent for the first time. He put his hand awkwardly on the wood, closed his eyes for a minute and said something I couldn't hear. Then it was my turn.

I didn't know what to say or how to feel. I was sorry, for my Aunt and Cousin, and I was sad and a little scarred of what would become of me. Yet, my family, especially Vernon, had never been kind to me, in fact they'd been almost cruel at times. I thought about the old lady I had met, the book she had given me and the words she had spoken. The words seem to swim around in my head, in a confusing jumble; '...when you feel most alone, most lost and afraid, look up at the stars...Some people believe they are the lights of those who have left us, their souls watching over us for eternity...For ever star that dies, many more are born...Who knows how magic really works...you should make a wish.'

Taking a deep breath I placed my hand on the polished wood and closed my eyes. I chose that moment to make a wish. I wished for everything to make sense, for meaning, for hope, for faith, for destiny, for kindness, for love and for one of those stars to be for me.

AN/: I had many influences for this fic. Firstly, obviously J.K. Rowling who is amazing at transporting you to a different world. Secondly, the many HP fanfic writers, particularly the HPSS shippers who have enriched these two characters greatly and have given me the courage to try my own hand at this. Memoirs of a Geisha (both the movie and book) has played a big part in the 'Artisan' Theme that will be explained better later, although I have tried to put my own twist on this. Slumdog Millionaire has inspired me with great culture, imagery and music and helped to bring emotion to my fic, which I find very hard to write. Twilight, which has taught me that any love story is possible. My own love of mythology, magic and mystery has also helped greatly. Constructive criticism most welcome! Next chapter...Harry meets magic and starts a new life...