Its 2022 People. For The Love Of God USE THE READ MORE OPTION.

It’s 2022 people. For the love of God USE THE READ MORE OPTION.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲

Y/n woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight. The rays of sunshine flickered in the hut, shining down upon Y/n, making the boy groan. Y/n was never a morning person, he preferred to spend his days lying about in his lumpy bed, with the blankets tightly wrapped around his body as he snoozed on. (Harry often told him that he was like a cat.)

There was a sudden loud tapping noise. Y/n groaned once again, cracking his eyes open, greeting the morning. He rubbed his eyes before sitting up, the coat Hagrid lent him and his brother fell from his body as he looked around. The giant was sleeping on the lumpy couch, snoring loudly.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up." Y/n looked over at his brother and smiled. Harry looked over at him and saw that Y/n was pointing at the window, where an owl was rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harry gasped and scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that." said Harry as Y/n got up and went over to his twin. They tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl —"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa. "What?" asked Y/n, confused.

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets — bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, tea bags... finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?" questioned Y/n, taking (more like yanking in Harry's opinion) Harry's hand and inspecting it for himself.

"The little bronze ones."

Y/n―still holding Harry's hand―counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so Y/n could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched. "Best be off, Harry, Y/n, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Harry―who yanked his hand away from his twin's strong grip―was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him had got a puncture.

"Um — Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"We haven't got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night... he won't pay for Y/n and I to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed —"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold — an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?" asked Y/n, looking at the giant curiously while holding his sausage.

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding.

"Goblins?" he asked as Y/n bit into his sausage, savouring the taste.

"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry, Y/n. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe —'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly while Y/n got up and had a slice of his and Harry's birthday cake. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

Harry and Y/n followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now, and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat. "Flew," said Hagrid. "Flew?" asked Y/n, awe visible in his voice.

"Yeah — but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying, with Y/n bouncing in excitement.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry and Y/n another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harry and Y/n, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked, clearly interested.

"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high-security vaults―"

"―DRAGONS?!" squealed Y/n, making Hagrid jump back a bit, in shock at Y/n's outburst, while Harry just looked amused and shook his head at his twin. It was not a secret that Y/n loved dragons. Whenever they went to the library, Y/n would be taking out book after book about dragons and he practically memorized everything there was about them.

"Er, yeah," said Hagrid, clearing his voice before continuing. "And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry sat, watching Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet, and turned his head towards his twin (who was still in awe at the mention of dragons). He learned early on from his Uncle that people liked to be left alone while they read their paper, so he tried to start a conversation with his brother when Hagrid muttered: "Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," and turned the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, curiosity laced in his voice.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?" piped up Y/n, his brows furrowing on his forehead.

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country." Explained the giant.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment, the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Y/n couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry, Y/n? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Y/n, panting a bit as he ran to keep up, with Harry trailing behind him. "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?" he asked, wanting to make sure that Hagrid wasn't lying about the subject. Ever since Y/n saw a book about Dragons at the library, they frequented, he always wanted one.

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one? Me too!" Hagrid turned his bushy head and smiled down at Y/n before answering. "Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes.' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to Harry and Y/n so they could buy their tickets. People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letters, Harry, Y/n?" he asked as he counted stitches.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket and handed Y/n his - who waved the parchment happily.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

"I know, I read it last night," said Y/n as his brother unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

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

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore Magical Draughts 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 Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials 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!!

"Can we buy all this in London?" Harry wondered aloud. "If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid. Y/n shared a look with Harry, who shrugged his shoulders.

Y/n and Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry and Y/n had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Y/n and Harry hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, they might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told them so far was unbelievable, and they couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry or Y/n wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, both Harry and Y/n had the most peculiar feeling that only they and Hagrid could see it. Before either of them could mention this, Hagrid had steered them inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. Y/n's eyes took it all in. His feet were itching to run around the pub, a small smile spread across his lips - this place was amazing. His eyes landed on a few old women who were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in.

Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle, while Y/n was still taking it all in.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry and Y/n, "is this — can this be —?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent, (finally) drawing Y/n's attention back to the present. His brows were furrowed in confusion and he turned his head to look at his brother, trying to figure out why all these people were staring at him and his twin.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry and Y/n Potter. .. what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes, making Y/n recoil back.

"Welcome back, Mister. Potter's welcome back."

Harry and Y/n didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at them, making Y/n a tad bit uncomfortable. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out, while Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry and Y/n found themselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter's. Can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter's. I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter's, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. Y/n looked over at the man and squinted his eyes in concentration, trying to figure out where he and Harry had seen him before.

"You bowed to me and Y/n once in a shop." The realization slapped Y/n in the face and he nodded his head. "That's right! I knew I remembered that top hat - very nice," he complimented, making Dedalus Diggle blush a bright red. "They remember!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? Harry and Y/n Potter remember me! And dear Y/n Potter complimented my top hat - take that Doris!"

Harry and Y/n shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Y/n, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter's," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c- can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you." he said before grasping Y/n's hand, making Y/n look at the man with curiosity.

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" he asked, smiling at the man.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P- Potter's?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry and Y/n to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry, Y/n."

Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, making Y/n's eyes dance with mirth, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harry and Y/n.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh both you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'." That made Y/n sad for the poor professor. When he was younger, Y/n also had a terrible stutter that made him a target for bullies - mostly his cousin Dudley and their gang - and no one except Harry would stick up for him.

"Is he always that nervous?" he asked, a frown on his face.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience. . . . They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?"

"Vampires? Hags? Cool." thought Y/n.

Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up . . . two across . . ." he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry." Y/n grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him back as Hagrid tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared—it grew wider and wider—a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

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

“influencer” is such a sinister title. it’s got all the menace of “royal adviser” but none of the raw sex appeal.

Metanoia’s Draco Abraxas Malfoy “The Sliver Prince”.

“what are you reading?”

“its a…online book.”

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙞𝙫𝙚: 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 & 𝙐𝙣𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡

More and more Harry realised that even though his mother and aunt were twins, they were not the same. No matter how similar they were—though they had totally different aesthetics and viewpoints—his aunt was not his mother.

Case in point, the home his aunt and cousin live in was bright. It hurt his eyes to look at it—it was different from what he was used to. It looked as if it was plucked from an impressionist painting and plopped onto a piece of land outside Ottery St Catchpole in Devon. Harry narrowed his eyes at the sight of roses with their heads still attached and tulips growing in the front of the house.

His aunt really was strange, allowing those pesky red flowers to keep their heads and not behead them. Thorns really were the much-preferred choice, in Harry’s personal opinion.

As Harry studied the large house, his aunt was rambling on about how they—he assumed she and her husband—built the house after they graduated from Hogwarts and how it was their pride and joy. Beatrice just stood there, silently, as she, too, stared at her home. Harry wondered if she felt the same as he did. The house was just too happy. It reminded him of the houses back home, all of them happy and white, with bright flowers blooming brightly. Harry preferred the dead trees and the tall sentient willow tree that lived on the grounds of the Addams Manor, Ichabod.

“Shall we go in?” Aunt Ophelia didn’t leave room to object, and Harry followed his aunt and cousin inside. If the outside was ghastly, the inside was worse. The walls were painted pastel colours and had splashes of yellow and orange splayed here and there. There was no grey nor black in the house. Flowers practically grew everywhere. And somewhere in the house was the sound of laughter. Not the terrified and sadistic laughter he and his siblings were used to, but joyous and reaching-inducing cheerful laughter. It turned his stomach.

“Richard? Cordelia? Olivia? We’re home!!” The cheeriness of his aunt’s voice made him sneer. His mother would’ve never held such a tone. It would’ve been cold and vindictive.

Harry watched as two little girls, one sporting the same blonde–yellow like hair as his aunt, and the other black hair, dark as night, like Beatrice. Like his mother and Wednesday.

“Mummy!” the black-haired girl jumped into his aunt’s arms, and… Harry didn’t understand what she did, but she looked as if she was squeezing his aunt Ophelia. It reminded him of a snake coiling around its victim.

The yellow-haired girl simply stared at Harry. Her blue eyes were studying him, taking in his appearance. He did the same and was repulsed to find her dressed in a horrid pink dress with frills and bows. Wednesday would’ve gotten shears snipped them off, claiming she wanted to hang herself with the fabric.

“Harry, dear,” Harry looked away from the ugly, pink-dressed girl. “I would like you to meet your other cousins, Olivia,” she gestures to the black-haired little girl. Olivia waved and smiled brightly at Harry. While Harry simply nodded in greeting. “And that’s Cordelia.” What a fitting name for her. Cordelia, what a horrid name for a horrid girl. Harry had many questions for her. First, why did she choose to wear that hideous colour? And second, did she hear of hair dye? Her hair was literally the colour of the sun.

“Girls, this is your eldest cousin, Harry. Say hello.”

“Hello Harry.” They spoke in unison. “Hello, cousins,” He responded.

“Darling? You’re back already? I’d expected you to be gone all day,” A man bounded down the stairs. He wore a three-piece suit and square glasses on the tip of his nose. He had dark brown—almost black hair—that was cropped close to his head.

“Richard, darling, meet my nephew,” Harry watched as his aunt walked towards whom he assumed was her husband, meeting him at the last step of the stairs, holding her hand out towards him. Richard clasped his hand in hers and Ophelia pulled him towards Harry.

“Harry, this is my husband, Richard. Richard, this is Harry. Morticia’s eldest boy.” Richard offered Harry his hand.

Harry stared at the hand, his cold green orbs eyed the piece of flesh in front of him. Realising that Harry wasn’t going to shake his hand, Richard coughed awkwardly and turned to his wife. “Um, h-h-has Ophelia showed you to your room, H-Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Not yet. Are you some sort of doctor?” Richard gulped and nodded. His hazel eyes flickered back and forth to his aunt. “Why y-yes! I’m an h-healer at St. Mungos. H-how’d you know?”

The green-eyed boy smirked. “I can smell it on you. The darkness. The curses. The death. The antiseptic. You smell like death. I like it. Reminds me of the cemetery.”

Richard’s smile fell from his face, and he cleared his throat. “Oh. H-h-how nice.” A pregnant pause filled the air. Harry could hear the wind whistling outside.

“Uh, Harry, let’s go get you settled in, shall we?” Harry nodded his head and noticed how Ophelia shot her husband a glare. Strange.

Together, aunt and nephew climbed up the stairs, as Ophelia led Harry to the room he’d be staying in until September 1st. Together, they passed paintings–both muggle and magical as they walked down a long corridor.

“This floor is where the girls’ rooms are, and where your room is as well.” Harry watched as Ophelia pointed to a few of the closed doors in the corridor. They stopped at the last closed door of the corridor and Ophelia smiled at him.

“Harry,” her voice dropped an octave. It was no longer the high and bubbly tone she carried. “I know that you aren’t exactly used to…” she waved her hands around. “--all this. I know that being raised in my sister’s home, you’ll have a different taste of comfort.” Harry watched her, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he looked at his aunt through his lashes.

“So, dear, I’ve done something.” She smiled and opened the door.

Unlike everything in this house, this room—his room—was black. There was no colour, nor flower tainted the dark oak furniture. It was plain, but reminded him of home. If only he could close his eyes and try to think of the smell of dust coating the home.

He walked in, taking in everything. The walls were bare, but there was room for decoration. The window was covered with heavy curtains, blocking out the light. Perfect for protecting his pale skin. The bed was simple and had striped black and white sheets and a black comforter. It reminded him of his own bedspread back at home. Pushed in the far corner of the room was a bookshelf with a desk next to it. Across from his bed sat a dresser, and behind a door was a small closet.

“I know it’s not much, but…”

“No. It’s … not horrid.” Ophelia cracked a smile.

“I’m glad. I’ll have our house-elf place your belongings in here.” Harry watched as she left the room, calling a name, before he was left alone to his own devices.

~~~

After dinner—which was strange and unusual (Harry asked where the brain was from the cow–they had roast beef–and his uncle and cousins stared at him as if he was an alien and Harry sighed and explained that his grandmama always saved the brain for him when they ate animals, which caused little Olivia to turn green.)--Harry saw that his empty room was no longer empty. His books were on the bookshelf, his clothes were hanging and in the dresser, and his desk now had quills in a pot, ink-wells and parchment sat neatly, and the picture of his family sat on the wood next to a simple lamp.

Harry thought this was what his aunt called a house-elf doing and he couldn’t really complain. He was exhausted. The day was eventful, and Harry just wanted to sleep and dream of the night. However, as he got settled in bed, he couldn’t force his brain to turn off.

All he could think about was the wizarding public. How they all reacted to him. He didn’t like it–to be worshipped as if he was a god. All he wanted was to hone his skills and learn how to control his magic and see his parents' roots. Maybe learn something else about them besides their demise.

As Harry slowly started to close his eyes and slip under the effects of sleep, a pair of orbs stared at him. Silver orbs.

A/n:

Short chapter, but I hope you enjoyed.