A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. Exams and homework and general 'blegh' as I not-so-affectionately call it. Anyway, this chapter is obviously much longer than the others, because I've shad two or three reviews saying my chapters should be longer so I can get more into fewer ones. So here's my 9k-long chapter. Go big or go home.

Disclaimer: Everything - sadly - belongs to J.K. Rowling

BOOM.

I jumped out of the "bed" and ran over to Dudley. I don't quite know what I was thinking. Maybe that he would suddenly man-up and help me? I don't know.

I shook him roughly. "Dudley," I said, "Dudley, wake up."

BOOM. The door shook again.

He woke up with a start. "Where's the cannon?" he asked stupidly. Imbecile, but what was I really expecting from someone who was scared to death of worms?

I smacked my palm against my head as Uncle Vernon came hobbling down the stairs with a gun, Aunt Petunia in tow. Where did he get that from? It must have been upstairs.

"Who's there?" he shouted, "I'm armed!"

There was a pause.

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force it was knocked clean off its hinges and fell to the floor with a thud. There was a massive shadowy figure in the door. Lightning flashed and I saw most of his face was hidden by a great, shaggy beard. He squeezed his way into the hut, bending forward so his head just brushed the top of the door frame. He picked up the door and slotted it back into place, so the deafening crash of the thunder dropped a little. He turned to look at us, his dark eyes glinting in the low light. He drew himself up to his full height. Bloody hell this man was tall. And wide. And familiar.

I racked my brains, trying to think of where on earth I'd seen him before. I mean, for God's sake it's kind of hard to forget someone like him. He was massive.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh?" he said in a thick West Country accent. I'd definitely heard him somewhere before. "It's not been an easy journey."

He strode over to the sofa. Dudley squeaked and hid behind his mum. I just stared at the man, trying to remember him and a little taken aback by his forwardness with the Dursleys.

"An' here's Harriet!" he said cheerfully, as I

"It's Harri," I corrected him quickly. I mean, I liked my name, but it was a little long and sounded too fancy. Aunt and Uncle Vernon still insisted on calling me it, though. Dudley always insisted he didn't care what I preferred, but normally referred to me as 'she' or 'her', or, if he was really angry, 'it'. Yes, I know – very mature.

"Well, Harri then," said the giant, and beneath his shaggy beard and wild hair I could see his eyes glinting, the edges of which crinkled into a smile, "Las' time I saw yeh, yeh was only a little baby. Yer the spittin' image of yer dad – 'cept for yer eyes, they're yer mum's they are."

I looked like my parents. I looked like my parents.

Uncle Vernon made a spluttering noise which brought me out of my mini-daydream.

"I demand you leave at once, sir!" he said, "You are breaking and entering!"

"Oh, shut up Dursley, yeh bloody great prune!" replied the giant. I snorted. Bloody great prune, I thought. That's a good one. The giant reached over the back of the sofa and plucked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands. Uncle Vernon squeaked, not unlike a mouse, but stood his ground infront of his wife and child. The giant bent the gun into a knot, as easily as I might have tied a knot on a rope, and threw it to the other side of the room, where it fell with a crash. Uncle Vernon made another funny noise.

"Anyway – Harri," said the giant turning back to me, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got yer sommat. Its 'ere," he put his hand in his coat and rummaged around, "I – er – mighta sat on it a' some point, but it'll taste all righ'. Ah, 'ere we go."

He pulled out a slightly squashed black box and handed it to me. I took it gingerly, my hands shaking slightly. My first birthday present – from a total stranger (that I was sure I'd seen once upon a time). I opened the box. Inside was a rather large chocolate cake – I loved chocolate – with Happy Birthday Harriet written on it in green, swirling handwriting. My favourite colour was green, like my eyes.

I looked up at the giant, meaning to thank him, but the words left me and what I said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, haven't introduced meself, 'ave I now? Name's Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of the Keys and Grounds a' Hogwarts. 'Course, you'll know all about Hogwarts, won't ya?"

I shook my head. Hogwarts, what on earth was that?

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," I said quickly, trying to placate him. I didn't need him angry; I saw how he had bent that gun.

"Sorry? Harri, you're not the one who needs to be sorry – they are," he said, jerking his thumb at the Dursleys. I glanced at them quickly. They looked petrified, shrunk back against the wall. I breathed a sigh of relief. "I knew yeh weren't getting' yer letters but I'd never 'ave thought yer didn't know abou' Hogwarts! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learnt it all?"

"Learned all what?" I asked.

"Now wait jus' one second!" he shouted, turning around to face them. They paled considerably.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled, "that this – this girl – knows nothin' abou' – about anything?"

"I do know some things. Like Maths and English and Science and stuff," I piped up.

He looked back at me, "Yes, yes, but not abou' our world, my world, yer world – yer parentsworld."

"What world?" Was he an alien? Was I an alien? The more reasonable part of my brain told me to shut up.

Hagrid looked like he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he bellowed, a mad look in his eyes.

Uncle Vernon had gone very pale by this time, if that was possible. He muttered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble". Hagrid stared at me.

"But yer must know abou' yer mum and dad," he said exasperated, "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

Wait. "What? My – my mum and dad weren't famous," I said.

"Yeh don' know… Yeh don' know…" he looked at me before asking, in bewilderment, "Yeh don't know what yeh are?"

The alien theory seemed highly probable.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice, "Stop! I command you, stop right there!"

Hagrid glared at him with such anger it would have made a soldier afraid. When he spoke again, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter – probably never told her that there was a letter? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave her. I was the one who brough' 'er to you meself! An' you've kept it from her, all these years!"

"Kept me from what?"

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" Uncle Vernon shouted, as if he was going to stop me from finding out just by yelling.

Yep. Definitely an alien. Joy.

"Harri, yer a witch," said Hagrid.


"I'm a what?"

"A witch," said Hagrid cheerfully, "an' a thumpin' good'un a' that. With some trainin' an' all, you'll be brilliant; jus' like yer mum an' dad. I s'pose I'd better give yeh yer letter now."

He handed me a thick envelope, just like the first one I'd gotten in the post that day. It was addressed, in emerald green, to Miss H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea, in the same handwriting as the letters I'd not been given, and the birthday cake. I pulled out the letter and read:

(N/N: Bold, italics are stuff written by Minerva in Harri's Hogwarts letter. Plain bold are always A/Ns)

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that we have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

A thousand questions exploded in my head, but the one that seemed most worthy of an answer (which is also the one that I said) was, "My owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, tha' reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead and heaving himself off the sofa. He rummaged around in his pockets, and, much to my confusion as well as excitement, pulled out an owl – a real, live owl, ruffled feathers and all – a quill and a piece of paper. He strode over to the rickety table and scribbled a note, which I could read upside down as:

(A/N: and Italic, underlined are Hagrid's writing)

Dear Mr Dumbledore,

Given Harriet – though she prefers to be called 'Harri', according to herself – her letter. Taking her to buy her things (and a few other bits) tomorrow. Weather's awful. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

P.S.: Please tell Professor McGonagall that she's safe and sound.

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl (which clamped the note in its beak), walked over to the door and threw the owl out into the storm. He returned to the sofa as normally as if a person were to just get off the phone.

"She's not going, you know," Uncle Vernon said, his voice trembling.

"Oh, yeah? I'd like to see a Muggle like yesself try an' stop me – or her, for tha' matter."

"A Muggle?" I asked.

"It's what we call non-magic folk. People who aren't like us," he nudged me, "Shame you grew up with the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

Uncle Vernon wasn't done yet.

"We swore, when we took her in we'd stamp all that nonsense out of her," he said indignantly. I turned on them.

"You knew?" I said, suddenly angry, "You knew I was a witch?!"

I heard Hagrid mutter, "Here we go."

"OF COURSE WE KNEW!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly, "How could you not be? My dratted sister being what she was – what you are now. She used to be normal, but then she got a letter just like that one, yes that stupid one in your hand, and she went off to 'Wizard School' and met a bunch of FREAKS!" Her chest heaved suddenly, from that outburst. I could feel myself going white. They'd known. They'd known all along. And they hadn't told me. "And then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and then got themselves blown up and then we got landed with you!"

"Blown up?" I shouted, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"Car crash?" Hagrid roared suddenly, "Lily an' James Potter die in a car crash? That's ridiculous! Preposterous!"

"Oh, shut up!" said Uncle Vernon. He turned to me, attempting to ignore Hagrid on the sofa. "Now listen here, girl. We admit, there's something very strange about you, probably nothing a good beating would have cured –"

At this, Hagrid put out a hand infront of me, as if blocking Uncle Vernon from me.

Uncle Vernon glared, and continued, "As for your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion. Always knew they'd come to a sticky end."

"Well, no one asked your opinion, did they?" I sneered.

"Shut it, Dursley. I'm warning you," and he got up off the sofa, towering above them. Uncle Vernon gulped and moved back against the wall.

"That's better," said Hagrid, sitting down again.

And all of a sudden a horrible thought came to mind. If I really was a witch, how could I have not known it before? I mean, wouldn't it be obvious I was strange, or, as Hagrid seemed to put it, special? How come every time Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia had told me off, I hadn't turned them into slugs or something? Or how Dudley hadn't turned into a toad or a pig or something whenever he pushed me around?

"Hagrid," I said quietly, "I think you've made a mistake. I can't be a – a witch. I'm Harriet, just Harriet."

To my surprise, Hagrid chuckled. "I though' yeh said yeh name was Harri?" he asked, his eyes glinting, "Well, just Harri," he went on, "you ever make something unusual happen, when you was angry or upset, or scared?" he looked at me for a moment as it sunk in. Yes, come to think of it, everything Aunt and Uncle Vernon had ever been angry at me about had happened when I was angry or scared… Like when Dudley's gang was chasing me, I was scared they'd catch me and I'd ended up on the roof… And when Aunt had tried to force me into that awful old jumper, I was angry she wouldn't listen to me, and suddenly it shrunk… and even very recently, when I was angry at Dudley for pushing me over at the zoo, hadn't I set a boa constrictor on him?

I looked back up at Hagrid, who was positively beaming at me.

"See? Harriet Potter, not a wizard," he snorted. "You'll see, you'll be proper famous at Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon clearly didn't get the hint that his opinion was not wanted.

"Haven't I already told you she's not going?" he hissed, "I've read all those bloody letters – she needs all sorts of rubbish – rubbish that I'm not paying for. She's going to Stonewall High and that's final."

"If she wants to go, a Muggle like you ain't gonna try and stop her. Lily an' James' daughter, not going to Hogwarts? Her name's been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world, amongst youngsters of her own sort, for a change, she'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen; Albus Dumbled–"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

Big mistake.

Hagrid jumped his feet, pulling out and brandishing a pink umbrella.

"NEVER – INSULT – ALBUS – DUMBLEDORE – INFRONT – OF – ME!" he thundered, raising his umbrella. He brought it swishing down, pointing it at Dudley, who I suddenly noticed was leaning over my cake. Pig.

There was a flash of pink light, a sound like a firework, and suddenly Dudley was squealing and dancing on the spot, one hand clutching his fat bottom and the other on his head. Aunt Petunia screamed and grabbed him, pushing him up the stairs. Just as he disappeared I saw what he had been clutching his bottom and head for, and I doubled over in laughter. Because, in the middle of his trousers, was a hole, and poking through the hole was a curly pink pig's tail, and on his head were two pink ears.

I looked up just as Uncle Vernon scrambled up the stairs, casting one terrified look at Hagrid and I heard the door to the upstairs bedroom slam close a second later.

Hagrid sat down on the sofa and said ruefully, "Shouldn't 'ave lost me temper like that. Meant ter turn him into a pig – guess he was too much o' one anyway."

"That – was – brilliant," I said between breaths. I hadn't laughed so much in ages.

"It was, wasn't it?" he said, chuckling, "Though, I'd – er – be grateful if yer didn't mention that ter anyone a' Hogwarts. I'm… not s'posed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do some ter follow you, an' get yer letters to yeh…"

"Why aren't you allowed to do magic?" I asked.

"I – um – got expelled," he said slowly.

"Really? Why?"

"It's getting late," he said loudly, brushing off my question, "Lots ter do tomorrow. Here. You can kip under this," he said, shrugging off his massive coat and handing the heavy leather to me. He got off the sofa and lay down on the floor.

"Don' mind if it wriggles a bit – I think it's got some dormice in one o' the pockets."


I was suddenly too tired to be concerned as to why Hagrid had dormice in his coat at all.


I woke relatively early the next morning. I could tell the sunlight was streaming through the windows, but I kept my eyes firmly closed.

It was all a dream, I told myself firmly. A giant called Hagrid turned up last night telling me I was a witch and I would be going to a school for wizards. It was all a dream. I'll open my eyes and I'll be at home in the cupboard.

I sat up, and suddenly I felt the loss of warmth. I opened my eyes to find Hagrid's coat blanketing my legs, and Hagrid himself on the floor, snoring.

I swung my legs off the sofa, and I could feel myself getting lighter. It was real. It was all real.

A sudden tapping noise brought me back to my senses and I scrambled over to the source, to find a tawny owl knocking its beak against the glass. I swung open the window and it swooped inside, dropping a roll of parchment next to Hagrid and landing on his coat. It started pecking at it ferociously.

"Oi!" I said loudly, "Get away from it!" The bird looked at me and regarded me with what could only have been described as contempt, and resumed pecking. Attitude – from a bird. Who would've known?

I walked over to Hagrid, and shook him lightly, "Hagrid, wake up. There's an own pecking at your coat."

"Pay it," he grunted.

"What?"

"Pay it. Look in the pockets," he said, and turned over.

"Alright, alright, wait a second," I told the owl as I jumped over Hagrid and warded off the bird. It fluttered down to the floor before looking at me. Go on then, it seemed to say.

I rummaged around in the pockets, until I finally found what must have been coins and held them out.

"Um… how much…?" I asked. The owl flew over, picked up five little bronze ones, and swooped out the window. I stared after it.

Hagrid yawned and sat up.

"How much did it want?"

"I don't know," I replied.

"Ah, o' course," he said, "Well, what did it take?"

"Five of the little bronze ones."

"That's about right. Awfully greedy, those mail owls are. Must'a been a good one," he got up, "Best be off, Harri. Lots ter do today. Go on, get dressed. I'll be outside."

He walked out and I hurriedly pulled some decent day-clothes on. I joined him outside as he clambered into the boat.

"Where are we going?" I asked as I climbed in.

"Ter London. You'll be needin' some school stuff, an' some new muggle clothes, no doubt."

"Why muggle clothes?"

"Because yer can' very well walk around all the time in yer school robes, can yeh?"

"I guess not."

"Come on then."

He tapped the stern of the boat with his pink umbrella and we sped off. Within a few moments the hut was far behind us, and the land was edging closer every second. The view was beautiful. The sun was shining off the sea, just like it did off the coins earlier, which reminded me of something rather important.

"Um, Hagrid?"

"Hmm?" he said. He had pulled out the paper and was reading it. I didn't particularly want to interrupt him reading – years of experience from Uncle Vernon had taught me that – but there was no other way around it.

"I haven't got any money. You heard what Uncle Vernon said. He's not paying for my school stuff."

He rolled up the paper.

"Tha' won' be a problem. Did yer really think yer parents left yer with nothin'?"

"But where is it then?"

"Gringotts. Tha' the wizards' bank. Run by goblins."

My jaw hit the bottom of the boat.

"Goblins?!"

"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything — 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business. He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."


When we got to the harbour, passers-by stared a lot at Hagrid as we walked through the small town to the station.

I couldn't blame them, though. Hagrid was twice the height of a regular human and about four times as wide.

We soon reached the station. There was a London-bound train in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand 'muggle money', gave it to me to pay for the tickets.

People started more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up three seats and his hair brushed the ceiling. It was slightly awkward sitting next to him – me being so small and him being so – er – large.

"Still got yer letter, 'ave you, 'arri?" he asked about ten minutes after we left the third stop.

I took the parchment envelope out of my pocket.

"Good. Don' wan' ter be losin' tha', yer don'," he said. "Look inside. There's a list of everything yeh need."

I opened the envelope, and I realised that there was a second piece of parchment that I hadn't noticed the night before. It read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black with silver fastenings)

N.B.: All students' clothes should carry name tags

.

Set Books:

All first years will be required to own a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshott

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phydilla Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Tremble

.

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of phials (glass or crystal)

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Hagrid?" I asked.

"Hmm?"

"Can we really buy all this in London?"

"If yeh know where to go."


We arrived in London half an hour later.

We got off at Paddington, then changed trains to the Circle line and got off at High Street Kensington. We walked up what must have been the High Street, passers-by stopping and staring at Hagrid, who parted the crowd easily due to his colossal size. After a while, Hagrid stopped me suddenly and said, "This is it. The Leaky Cauldron." It didn't look like much. It was an old, run-down pub which looked tiny and out-of-place next to the enormous, HMV and Waterstones (A/N: I don't think there's a HMV [this record store] and Waterstones [this chain of bookstores] next to each other on High Street Ken., but for the sake of the story imagine there is) either side of it. The wood was worn and one of the chains holding up one end of the sign was broken.

Inside, the place was dark and shabby. A few old women were having a mothers-meeting in a corner and a couple of men were drinking pints and laughing their heads off. A man in a long, purple top hat and purple robes was talking to the barman. When the barman saw us, he stopped the conversation and asked Hagrid, "The usual then, Hagrid?" I assumed Hagrid was a regular at the pub.

"Not today, Tom. I'm on Hogwarts business." He clapped me on the shoulder with such force I started forward. The barman only noticed me then.

"Good God, is it really?" I asked no one in particular, peering at me.

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone awkwardly silent. Everyone was looking at us.

Suddenly, all we could hear was the scrape of chairs as everyone hurried out of their seats and rushed over to us. Soon I was shaking peoples' hands left, right and centre.

"Welcome back, Miss Potter, welcome back."

"Bless my soul. Miss Potter what an honour."

"Always wanted to meet you, I have."

The man dressed in purple approached me and shook my hand. He looked familiar. "Delighted, Miss Potter. Diggle's the name - Daedalus Diggle."

And suddenly I remembered where I'd seen him. "I know you!" I exclaimed. "I saw you in Smiths two weeks ago!"

"She remembers me!" he shouted gleefully, a grin plastered across his face as if he'd just won the lottery. "She remembers me!"

After shaking peoples' hands again and again, everyone seemed to get the message that I was a bit overwhelmed and drifted away. A tall, thin man wearing a purple turban walked into the pub and sat himself down at the bar. He muttered a few words to the barman, Tom, who shortly hurried into the store cupboard.

"Come on, Harri," Hagrid said on seeing the man. Walked over, and Hagrid cleared his throat and said, "Professor Quirrel!"

The man turned around to face us, trembling. "Oh, h-h-hello there, H-h-hagrid." He seemed nervous and a little shifty.

"Professor Quirrel here will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"Ah, H-harriet P-potter, so glad to finally be making you're a-acquaintance."

"Uh… Thank you. What sort of magic do you teach, Professor?"

"D-d-defence Against the D-dark Arts," he muttered as if he preferred not to think about it. "B-but I'd bet you don't need it, do you P-potter, eh?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting your e-e-equipment now, w-wont you? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-b-book on v-vampires, myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

"That sounds… interesting," I said slowly, unsure as to what I should say. Thankfully, Hagrid saved me.

"Well, must get on – lots ter buy," he said quickly, rubbing his hands together excitedly, "Goodbye, Professor Quirrel, I'll be seein' yeh soon."

We said our awkwardly quiet goodbyes and left the pub through a different door. We came out of what must have been the back of the pub and found ourselves into a tiny courtyard. Hagrid was peering intently at the wall, muttering to himself.

"Righ', three up, two across," he said, "stand back, Harri."

He tapped the wall three times with his umbrella and then the one diagonally down from it on the right twice. Nothing happened, until suddenly the first brick wiggled. Then the one next to it. And the one next to that one. And suddenly all the bricks in the wall were quivering and retreating to create an archway. I registered Hagrid looking at me out of the corner of my eye.

"Welcome," he said, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at my expression as I dazedly walked through the archway. The cobbled street was full of people – old and young, the former generally dressed in robes and the latter more-often-than-not in muggle (or in my mind, regular) clothes. The only shop I noticed amongst the crowd of people (due to my tiny height) was probably for cauldrons – judging by the number of them in the windows and the décor.

"Yeh'll be needin' one o' those, but fer now we'll be needin' ter visit the bank, ter get yeh money," Hagrid said, following my gaze. We walked through the crowd. People seemed used to Hagrid on this high street – hardly anyone stared at him so we had to shove our way through the crowd, muttering "excuse me"s, "pardon me"s and "sorry"s.

(A/N: You should all know what Diagon Alley looks like, either from the films or from the actual books, so I won't describe it. Plus, I just can't be bothered to type it all out)

Finally, we came to a massive creamy-white building that towered above the other shops and stalls. Above the golden double doors, a plaque read 'Gringotts'. The front doors opened to reveal a long entryway. We walked inside, away from the glare of the sun. Standing just inside the front doors, dressed in a black suit with a little black bow tie was –

"That's a goblin," Hagrid said quietly, eyeing the creature. It was a good head shorter than me, wearing glasses perched upon a long, pointy nose. He nodded at us as we passed and soon we can to another set of doors. As we neared them, I noticed a plaque on the floor that read

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits: the sin of greed.

For those who take, but do not earn

Must pay most dearly in return

So if you seek beneath our floors

Treasures that were never yours

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Not creepy at all, then. Joy.


A pair of goblins, similarly dressed to the first one we met, bowed us through the second set of doors and Hagrid and I found ourselves in a massive marble hall. Two desks ran the length of the room, with a number of goblins sat at regular intervals; weighing gems or counting coins or scribbling something down on a bit of parchment with a quill.

Hagrid and I made straight for the counter at the far end of the room, where yet another goblin sat, writing something down.

"Mornin'," Hagrid said to the goblin, who looked up irritably. Grumpy gills. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss Harriet Potter's safe."

"And does Miss Potter have her key?" the goblin asked slowly.

"Gimme a second," replied Hagrid as he began to rummage around in his jacket. After a couple of moments, he pulled out a rather small, but shiny golden key.

"Ah, here we go," he said, putting it down on the counter.

The goblin picked it up and eyed it, examining it as he turned the golden key around in his hand.

"Also, I've got a letter her from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid, "It's about the you-know-what in vault seven hundred and thirteen." Hagrid pulled the letter out of his pocked and handed it to the goblin, who opened the letter and scanned the page quickly. He put down the letter and said, "Very well. I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook turned out to be yet another goblin who led us out of the main hall and down another corridor. We came to a door at the end of the corridor, which he held open for us, and we found ourselves in a narrow grey-stone passageway. It sloped steeply downwards and there were railway tracks on the floor. Griphook gave a loud whistle and a little miners' cart came hurtling along down the track, and stopped abruptly infront of us. We climbed in – Hagrid with fair difficulty – and we were off down the passage.

We sped through a number of similar passageways at break-neck speed, the wind whistling and my eyes watering. I attempted to remember the directions but after about three tries I gave up; it was impossible, and I guess the cart must have been steering itself because there was no wheel.

The passage ended suddenly and we were on the thin track running on supported beams over a great chasm. I leant over the side to see how far down it went, but Hagrid yanked me back.

"Don' want ter be doin' that. Not a' this speed."

We were soon hurtling down another passageway. And another one. And another one. And (shocker) another one. The cart stopped at last outside a small door in a passage wall. Griphook took they key and placed it in the tiny hole in the wall.

"Stand back," he said as the door creaked open. Dense white mist spilled out, and when it cleared I was able to see the contents.

Oh my god.

Inside the safe were piles and piles of gold coins, silver and little bronze nuts.

"All yours," said Hagrid. I turned to him.

"Are you serious?!"

He nodded.

It was mine – all mine. The Dursleys couldn't have known about it or it would be gone. The number of times Uncle Vernon had complained about how much it cost them to keep me, and all this time there'd been a small fortune of mine hidden under London.

Hagrid helped me pile some of the coins into a bag.

"The gold ones are called galleons, the silver ones are sickles, and you know about knuts. Seventeen silver sickles to a galleon and twenty nine knuts to a sickle. Right, this should keep you going for a couple of terms," he turned to Griphook, "vault seven hundred and thirteen, please."

Vault seven hundred and thirteen was honestly a disappointment. When Griphook placed his hand on the door ("These high-security vaults don't have keys," Hagrid had told me) I had expected to see mountains of jewels and gold and silver, but inside there was a small brown package about the size of my hand tied with regular string – quite the anti-climax. Hagrid leant forward and snatched up the parcel, tucking it away in one of his many breast pockets. I didn't question it.


One wild cart-ride later, Hagrid and I stood outside on the polished white steps of Gringotts, blinking at the bright sunlight. I didn't know where to run now that I had a pocket (or several) full of money, and I didn't need to know how many galleons to a pound or vice versa to know this was more money than I'd ever had in my whole life.

"Might as well get yer uniform," Hagrid said, motioning towards 'Madam Malkins' Robes for All Occasions'. "Listen, Harri, I was wonderin' if it'd okay ter leave yer fer a bit and grab a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron – those Gringotts carts don't sit well with me."

"Oh, yeah, sure." I hadn't noticed before, but Hagrid's face was green and he was holding his stomach as if it was aching. "See you in a bit," he said and he walked down the cobbled street. I walked into Madam Malkins' alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkins was a squat smiling witch dressed all in peach. Not the most appealing colour, but I liked her instantly.

"Hello, dear," she smiled, "how can I help you?"

"I'm – er – going to Hogwarts."

"Ah, yes. First year?"

"I think so."

"Alright then, if you'll follow me please," she said, and I followed her down to the back of the shop. I stepped up on a stool and she pulled a black robe over my head and started pinning it to my size. After about ten minutes of this (in which I went through every U2 song I could think of in my head), she tugged it off of me and asked me to wait as she added the stitching. Hagrid appeared a few minutes later outside the shop, holding two ice creams, though through the glass of the window I couldn't make out what he'd gotten.

"All done, dear," Madam Malkins said, handing me a bag. I paid her, and as I brushed my hair back she gasped and dropped the coins. They clattered all over the floor as she stared at me, eyes wide.

"Y-y-you're Harriet P-potter!" she said.

"Umm… yes…?" I replied, unsure of what to do. In the Leaky Cauldron Hagrid had been with me but I didn't know how to handle this shocked woman. Thankfully, she snapped out of her stupor a couple of seconds later and I helped her pick up the dropped coins.

She escorted me to the front of the shop and held the door open as I walked out. Hagrid was waiting for me.

"Thank you!" I told Madame Malkins as I took my ice cream – chocolate (my favourite). She smiled and waved and disappeared back into the shop. We walked down the street, me just taking in the view. I couldn't see it earlier – the street had been too packed – but now I could see it properly it was lovely – a old-fashioned cobbled street, with little stalls every now and then. I couldn't decide where to look, all the shops looked so interesting, and as I turned my head to see if there really were owls inside 'Eyelops Owl Emporium' I walked straight into someone.

I turned my head forwards to apologise to the person but the words disappeared on the way to my mouth.

Phwoar.

The boy was ginger, several inches taller than me and totally gorgeous. He had lovely brown eyes, and his hair was on the longer side – he'd tucked one side behind his ear – and a handful of freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. He was quite lean, and I could see the muscles on his arms as he caught me from falling over.

I know, right?!

"Sorry!" he said, releasing me and stepping away.

"It's okay," I said, completely at a loss for words. Bleeding heck this boy was gorgeous.

We stared at each other for a couple of seconds, eyes wide, and suddenly I heard a woman's voice call, "Come on, Fred!"

"Coming, mum," he called, "Umm… got to go. Bye."

"Bye, Fred," I said, as he grinned and took off into a crowd of people. I turned my head to follow him, but the crowd had swallowed him up.

I stood there in the middle of the street, completely dazed, as people pushed past me. I didn't realise Hagrid had been calling me until he was right infront of me.

"Harri," he said, "you alrigh'? Thought I'd lost yer."

"No, no, I'm fine. I just… bumped into someone." A completely freaking gorgeous someone.

"Alrigh' then, better get started," he rubbed his hands together, "Lots ter buy."


Two and a half hours later, we had visited almost every shop in Diagon Alley, though we had only actually bought anything in a few of them – we ended up just window-shopping, commenting on anything that looked cool. We had bought my school books from a shop called Flourish and Blotts, where every inch of the place was stacked with books. You could smell the paper the second you walked in.

Then there was the cauldron shop – in which Hagrid wouldn't let me buy a solid gold one ("It says pewter on the list," he had said as I had given him my best puppy dog-eyes, but to no avail).

The apothecary was pretty cool, and it was interesting enough to make up for its awful stench – and when I say awful, I mean rotten-eggs-and-sweat awful; which is pretty nasty. There were tons of barrels filled with green slimy stuff, jars of herbs and powder lines dozens of shelves, and strings of fangs, bundles of feathers and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. Not to mention the beetle eyes and unicorn horns next to the counter.

We went into a bit of an odds-and-ends shop where we found a decent set of glass phials, a telescope, and some brass scales. Now all that was left was –

"A wand," Hagrid said as we left a broomstick shop. We hadn't bought one – first years weren't allowed them – but I had been curious as to what all the kids had been staring at in the shop window. "better be visitin' Ollivanders fer that, they're the best, they are, and yeh have to have the best wand."

A wand… that'd been what I'd been looking forward to all day.

The supposedly world-renowned (according to Hagrid, anyway) wand shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door spelled out the words 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 b.c.' A single wooden wand lay on a lone purple cushion in the dusty window.

Good first impressions, then.

"Harri," Hagrid said as I went to open the door, "I've jus' spotted an old friend o' mine. Min' if I go an' say hello?"

"Not at all," I replied, though I wished Hagrid would come into Ollivanders with me. It was slightly on the creepy side.

"See you in a bit," he grinned and walked off down the road.

Here we go, I thought as I pushed open the front door.

A tinkling bell rang inside somewhere as I stepped inside. A cloud of dust blew up and I started coughing. The door slammed shut and suddenly everything was silent. Until –

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. I jumped and suddenly I noticed the old man standing next to one of the shelves that had small boxed backed to the rafters. He was dressed in old-fashioned silver robes and had silvery eyes to match that hid behind round spectacles. Pale blond hair hung around his shoulders.

"Hello," I said awkwardly. I was about to say something, probably something stupid, so I'm pretty glad he cut me off before I started.

"I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Miss Potter. You look like your mother. It seems as if only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charms work."

I smiled and nodded. O-kay then.

"But at the same time you seem so much like your father. He favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, pliable. A little more power – perfect for transfiguration. Well I say he favoured it – the wand chooses the wizard, of course – or in this case, the wand chooses the witch." He smiled at me kindly, but he was creeping me out a little. I wished he'd blink at least once. Those eyes were unnerving.

"Hmmm," he said, "We'd better measure you up shouldn't we?" He snapped his fingers and I jumped as a measuring tape flew out of a draw and into his hand.

"Which is your wand arm?"

"My what?"

"Oh, of course. Well then, which hand do you use to write?" he asked me.

"I'm right-handed," I said.

"Well, hold it out then."

He measured me from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and even around my head. As he measured he talked: "Every wand has a core of a powerful substance, Miss Potter. Here at Ollivanders we use a unicorn hair, a phoenix tail feather, or sometimes even a dragon heartstring. No two Ollivander wands are the same, in the same way no two dragons, phoenixes or unicorns are the same. And because the wand chooses the witch or wizard, you will never quite get the same results with the wand of another."

I suddenly realised that the measuring tape (which was by now measuring between my nostrils – very pleasant) was working on its own as Mr Ollivander flitted around the shelves. He was pulling small boxes out of the shelves, seemingly at random, and closing them just as soon as he'd opened them. Suddenly he said, "That's enough" and the measuring tape flew back to its drawer, which promptly slammed shut.

Mr Ollivander appeared infront of me a second later, holding a long thin box.

"Well, go on then," he said excitedly, "give it a try."

I opened the box and found a beautiful wand in amongst the tissue paper. I picked it up and he took the box from me.

"Dragon heartstring in beechwood. Nine inches, nice and flexible. Go on, give it a wave."

Feeling really stupid, I waved the wand for a second before Mr Ollivander snatched it out of my hand.

"No, no, not this one." He placed the box on the counter and scanned the shelves for a second. He pulled out another box.

"Here, try this one. Ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy."

I waved the wand, feeling slightly less of an idiot, but this too he snatched out of my hand and brought me another. This went on three or four more times until he paused at a shelf. He pulled out another box and looked at me for a moment.

"I wonder," he muttered as he scuttled to the front of the shop and handed me the box. "Hazel and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." I opened the box and found a beautiful carved wand in the green tissue paper. I took it out gingerly – I could feel warmth in my fingers, and there was something special about this wand, though I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It felt… different to the others.

Mr Ollivander took the box from me and I raised the wand above my head, and brought it swishing down through the dusty air. A stream of blue and green sparks (my favourite colours, might I add) shot out of the end, throwing dancing spots of light onto the walls.

"Yes! Brava! Well done!" Mr Ollivander beamed as he scooped the wand out of my hand and placed it back into its box. He started wrapping it in brown parcel paper, muttering, "Curious, very curious, how very interesting…"

"Mr Ollivander?" I asked.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Sorry, but… what's so curious?"

He looked at me suddenly.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Potter. Every one. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand gave one other feather, just one. It is very curious indeed why you are destined for this wand, when its brother – why its brother gave you that scar."

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"Thirteen and a half inches, yew. Curious indeed how these things play out, isn't it? Especially due to the tie between yourself and You-Know-Who –"

"I'm sorry, who?"

"You-Know-Who."

I shook my head, puzzled.

"You do not know of You-Know-Who?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"No." Okay, this was slightly scary.

"Well, you'll have to talk to Hagrid about that. Not my place to tell you."

"How did you know –"

"That you were with Hagrid? He's outside."


I paid seven gold galleons and three silver sickles for my wand. As Mr Ollivander bowed me from the shop, he whispered in my ear, "You'd better ask Hagrid about You-Know-Who." Before I could ask what he meant, he disappeared back into the shop, the door slamming closed. I turned back to Hagrid and noticed he was carrying a cage in his left hand. A bird cage. And in that cage sat a sleeping snowy owl.

"Hagrid?" I asked hesitantly, "What's that for?"

"This?" he asked, holding up the bird, "It's your birthday present."

"My – my birthday present?"

"Yeah. It said on yer letter that yeh could bring an animal, so I figured: you'd get laughed at if yeh had a toad; and I wasn't too sure how you felt about cats; and owls are dead useful – they carry yeh post an' ev'rything – so I'd get yeh one o' those."

"It's beautiful," I said, as he handed me the cage.

"It's a girl."

"But what should I call her?" I asked, "I can't call her Snowy, can I?"

"I s'pose not," he laughed, "You'll think of something."


About an hour later, Hagrid asked me, "What time is it?"

"I don't know, around two-ish, I think."

"Come on then, we'd better get you some lunch, and some muggle clothes."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. But, how do we pay in muggle stores?"

"We need to pop back to Gringotts, and ask them to exchange it for the muggle currency. I think we need about a hundred pounds."

"A hundred pounds?! Do I even own that much?"

"O' course you do. In fact, I'd bet yeh have more than that."

"Seriously? Where'd all that come from?"

"Yeh parents had very well-payin' jobs. Plus yeh dad came from a very rich family."

"But what do I need all that money for?"

"Well, we don't know what muggle prices are like – or I don't, anyway – and then I imagine you'll want lunch, and then you'll have some left over, just as extra."

"Some left over? More like a ton and a half left over," I snorted.

"It won't do you harm to have a little – okay, a lot – of spending money. If you're anything like your mum, you'll probably have spent all of it by this evening."


Contrary to the prediction, I had spent only most, not all, of the money.

We walked around High Street Kensington for ages, going into loads of shops, and there were some really nice clothes. I bought a fair few pairs of jeans (that actually fit me, and were for girls) because they were ridiculously comfortable; two tracksuit bottoms (because why not?) and a couple of t-shirts. Then I went a bit girly and bought a couple of skirts and a dress. I bought a jacket, because it was just really cool, and a jumper or two.

We went to McDonald's for lunch. People stared a bit at Hagrid, but not much. I got a Big Mac – and it lived up to the size. It was massive.

"You sure you'll be able to eat all that?" Hagrid asked, "Yer only a little thing."

"Sizes can be deceiving. Give me five minutes," I said, as I grabbed the burger and scoffed it down.

"Harri, yeh could eat for England."


"Hagrid?" I asked a while later.

"Yeh?"

"Earlier, at Ollivanders, Mr Ollivander said something about a wand giving me my scar, and something about a 'You-Know-Who'. He said I should ask you about it."

Hagrid paled considerably.

"I don' very well think it's my place to tell you about that."

"Why?" I whined, "No one else is going to tell me, anyway."

"Harri, no."

"Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaasssseeee?"

He sighed, "Fine. Well, about twenty-thirty years ago, there was this wizard who went bad, like, as bad as you can go. His name… his name it was… uhh…" He trailed off.

"Maybe you could write it down?"

"Nah, can't spell it. Okay, his name was… Voldemort," he shuddered, "Anyway, this fella, You-Know-Who, abou' twenty years ago he started looking for followers; an' he got 'em too. Some were afraid of him; some were just looking for power – and he got it too. Dark days. Didn't know who to trust, didn't go making friends with any random witch or wizard. O' course people stood up to him, loads did, and they died. Loads of them. Reckon the only safe place was Hogwarts – Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of."

At this point Hagrid pulled a polka dotted handkerchief out of his coat and clutched it tightly.

"Now, yer mum and and dad were two o' the best witch and wizard I ever knew. Head boy and girl in their day. Very good friends with Dumbledore – probably why he didn't dare approach them before. Anyway, about ten years ago, Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow – the village the three of you lived in. You was just a year old. Tiny little baby – I could fit you in one hand."

He blew his nose loudly, which sounded more like a foghorn than anything else.

"Sorry. Its just that You-Know-Who; he - he killed them. He killed your parents."

"He what?"

"He killed your mum an' dad – and he tried to kill you too. But he couldn't. You was only a baby, and You-Know-Who killed some o' the best wizards and witches of the time – the Prewetts; the Bones; the McKinnons, apart from Marlene, poor lass. But that scar on your head, Harri, that ain't no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh. It took care of yeh mum, yer dad, an' even yer house. The whole place blew up. But no you, Harri. An' that's why yer famous. Yer The Girl Who Lived."

I was quiet for a while, and then a thought occurred to me.

"But, Hagrid. What happened to Vold- I mean, You-Know-Who? If he was so hell-bent on killing me, then why did he stop?"

"That's the thing Harri – when he tried to kill you, he vanished into thin air. There's been no sign of him for ten years now. Somethin' abou' you stumped him – and made him disappear."

"Did he die?"

"Nah. I don' think so. There weren't enough human left in him to die. I bet he's out there somewhere, but too weak to carry on. You beat him, Harri."


I was quiet walking back to the station – more so than usual, and Hagrid had evidently noticed.

"Harri, you all right?" he asked me as we made our way back to the station.

I didn't respond.

"Harri?"

No response.

"Harri," he said, tapping at my shoulder.

"Huh? What?"

"You all right? I've been calling you and you haven't been answering."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."

He didn't look convinced.

"It's just that – that," I started, and said, "Everyone thinks I'm this golden child; Mr Ollivander, all those people at the leaky Cauldron, Madame Malkin, you – and I'm not. I don't know the first thing about magic. How can they expect great things, if I haven't a clue how to use the 'wand that I was destined for'? I mean – I'm 'famous' and I can't even remember what I'm famous for?"

"Don' you worry abou' tha'. Everyone starts at the beginning – half our magic-raised kids don't know how to use their wand either. You'll learn fast enough. An' I know fer a fact you'll have a great time a' Hogwarts."

Hagrid helped me get my assortment of bags and parcels onto the train by – ingeniously – doing an extension charm on my trunk and tossing everything in there; and at the end, it wasn't even all that heavy, which was perfect of someone of my size and stature.

Just before I sat down, Hagrid passed me an envelope. Before I could ask about what was in it, he said, "Yer ticket fer Hogwarts."

"My ticket?" I looked down at the envelope.

"Fer the train. Hogwarts Express, September the first, from platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross Station. It's all on yer ticket."

I looked up suddenly, "Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" but he was already gone, and the train had started to move. I scrambled over to the window and could've sworn I saw him smiling and waving, but a pillar got in the way. When I looked back again, the platform was empty.


When I got back to Surrey, thankfully some banker guy with a briefcase was also getting off at the same stop and he got my trunk down from the overhead, and helped me onto the platform.

"Are you sure you're alright? Would you like me to call a cab?" he asked me for (what seemed like the millionth time) as we descended the stairs from the platform.

"No, no. I'm fine. My aunt and uncle live around the corner from here."

"Okay, then. If you're sure."

"I am, and thanks for the help."

He smiled, said goodbye and turned on his heel to walk the other way. I started to walk the other way down the long road. As I rounded a corner, I turned behind me to check if anyone was behind me. I had expected to see the banker in the distance, seeing as the road was long and straight, and hardly any trees or bushes blocked the view, but he wasn't there. He had disappeared like Hagrid.


I managed my way back to Privet Drive quite easily, thankfully, passing the playground by the roundabout, where some of the kids waved to me. Strange. Anyway, when I passed Mrs Figgs, she was in the window. I waved to her, but she had already disappeared behind her lacy net curtains.

The tabby (remember, the one I told you about earlier?) was waiting outside the boarded up house. I said hello to it, as you do to a friend (yes, I considered myself friends with a cat – sue me). It streaked off. "Nice seeing you too," I called after it. Bloody cat.

Reminder that the 'bloody cat' is Minerva, because I think she's completely awesome. Next chapter will be up as soon as I remember to write it. I have no guarantee when that'll be - sorry. If you review, it might come earlier... ;)