A Darker Form of Magic

Harry kept his head down as they moved through Diagon Alley not wanting to have to face a repeat of what had occurred in the Leaky Cauldron when Hagrid had all but boasted his name to the other patrons, drawing all of the gazes in the room to the boy instantly. People - witches and wizards - had swarmed Harry in only a matter of moments, closing in on the boy with no possible way of him being able to get away until Hagrid had pushed through the crowd. 

Harry would have screamed at the oaf if it wasn't for the man's sheer size. He doubted that the faint would need much more than one good hit to kill Harry where he stood. But even with his head ducked as it was, Harry could tell that Diagon Alley was beautiful.

Every shop was filled with magic, making Harry feel as if he'd walked in another world altogether. In a way he supposed that he had. Everyone dressed in robes, the signs were old in the way one would see in more historical towns, and there wasn't a hint of technology to be seen at all. Children were laughing and googling an actual broom of all things, and everybody was filled with more color than Harry thought that he'd ever seen in his life.

Above all of it, Harry could feel the magic in the air, almost intoxicatingly so. Everything around him seemed as if it was drenched with it, almost as if Harry could taste it if he truly wanted to. It was wild in a controlled way, like a firework that hadn't been light just yet. You know exactly what it would do once given life, all you had to do was light the spark to see it.

And Harry desperately wanted a match.

And yet, as much as he wanted to see the place come to life more than it had already, it all felt off in a way that Harry couldn't hope to properly describe even if he had wanted to. Foreign, almost. But Harry didn't want to think about why that could be, not when his pockets jingled happily with more money in them than he'd ever had before in his life.

The trip to Gringotts had been nothing like what Harry had thought that it would be like when he had heard that they were going to the bank. When the giant had told the boy of their first stop, Harry had immediately imagined a depressing brick building with nothing but dull colors to it that seemed to drain all of the life out of its patrons to sustain its own. Harry hadn't thought that the bank would look something like a muggle museum that had been carved from white stone and was tilting at odd angles. He hadn't expected the creatures inside of it either, the goblins that had looked upon him with intelligent eyes that spoke of knowing something that Harry himself didn't just yet.

The ride to his vault has been the most alive that Harry had ever felt, the wind flowing through his hair as adrenaline had coursed like fire through the boy's veins. That didn't stop Harry from noticing the package that Hagrid had retrieved from the previous vault for the illusive headmaster, and it didn't dull his senses enough to allow Harry to think that it was allowed for him to ask either. Not that he would've if he had thought that it was allowed. Anything having to deal with Dumbledore, Harry was planning on staying absolutely clear of this year and all of the ones following. The man had already been allowed to meddle enough, Harry wasn't stupid enough to all but hand the headmaster more opportunities to do so on a silver platter.

Harry hadn't been able to stop the feeling of resentment that had bubbled up inside of him once he had seen what had laid inside of his vault, buried beneath his feet this entire time. 

Growing up, Harry always had nothing. He got Dudley's second hand clothes - no matter the fact that they were always at the least, three times to bung for him - and slept in the cupboard under the stairs - hidden away so that no one outside of the house would ever know that he had existed at all. Food was always few and far between, and the only toys that Harry had ever had were the little toy soldiers that Dudley had thrown such a fit about upon receiving them that he hadn't even wanted them in his second bedroom.

The excuse to those that had asked once that saw the state of the two boys had always been that they didn't have enough money to afford Harry too, but Harry had stopped believing that when he was six and had been given that answer for the first time. Harry knew that if his relatives had known about the small fortune left behind to him, they could have found a way to steal it away faster than he could have hoped to breathe, and he still wouldn't have been treated any differently. That didn't stop the frustration that had built up inside of Harry at the thought that he could have been taken care of this whole time if he had just taken a trip underground.

It didn't stop it at all.

Harry walked into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions alone as Hagrid had slipped away for 'a pick - me - up' as he had called it. He didn't really know if the older man was that much of a dunkard that this was something that the giant really needed, or if he was really just sneaking off on some more business for the headmaster, but Harry didn't care either way. He was just glad to be rid of the other for a short while.

Distracted as he was, Harry almost didn't notice when his skin felt like it had been set ablaze.

—-

Draco was teething with a familiar boredom as he stood on a stool in the back of the robe shop, waiting for the witch that was pinning his robes to finish. The robe shop that he and his family usually went to every year for his normal clothes didn't sell Hogwarts robes, but Draco didn't hold that against them… not much anyways. There were very few shops that were permitted to sell the school robes and Madam Malkin's was the only one in Diagon Alley that did.

Draco let the boredom run freely within his mind, not thinking of anything better than to do with it. That was until someone else walked in.

The boy had messy black hair that Draco doubted could be controlled even if his mother were to cast a spell or three on it to do so. Even from the back of the shop Draco could tell that the other boy was much too skinny for it to be healthy, though the ragged clothing that appeared to be, at the least, three times too bing almost his that fact. The boy's glasses were crooked and broken when the other boy stepped up onto the stool next to them and Draco had a thought that he was probably used to them being that way.

Draco normally would have sneered something snide at the smaller boy by now, but something stopped him this time. 

Draco's skin was prickling in the way that it didn't just before he did accidental magic, only it wasn't Draco who was drawing it out this time. 

It was him.

He stared at the almost sickly boy for a long moment, not understanding why his magic would react at all to the other, but his train of thought was cut off by a small, but firm, voice.

"You know, if you're going to stare like that, you could at least buy me dinner first."

Draco startled as he could see both Madam Malkin and the witch that was tending to him stop moving at the smaller boy's words, the crudeness coming as a shock to all three of them. Gray eyes immediately snapped to meet the other boy's and he was almost surprised once more by the vivid green there. The blond almost averted his eyes before reminding himself that he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn't do such things.

Draco felt his gaze harden as he looked at the smaller boy. "And why in Merlin's name would I do that?"

The watches started moving slowly once more, seeming to have regained their composure as the boys spoke, but Draco could tell that they were ready to interfere if things were to go south. He could also tell that the other boy knew this as well and didn't seem to care.

The other boy smirked, Draco thought that he saw a bit of the devil in the twist of the other's lips and wondered for a moment if maybe the muggle religions were onto something. "It's only polite to do so," the smaller boy all but snarled."

Years of schooling in proper etiquette was the only thing that kept Draco from reeling back, away from the other boy. That was until a cruise of his own formed. "Well, if we're being polite," Draco started, "then I suppose it would be appropriate to inform you that rags went out of season two years ago."

Draco had expected the other boy to be offended by his words, but instead an almost interesting light came to the other boy's green eyes. Draco thought that the strange boy looked much better with it than without.

"Well if that's the case," the other boy started, that wicked gleam returning to his eyes as he spoke, "then you should know that the slick back hair routine went out of style in the fifties."

The blond resisted the urge to laugh at the smaller boy's spine, because he knew that he shouldn't be having this much fun talking to a strange boy like this. Let alone trading insults with one. If his father were to find out, they would both be cursed Severn ways to Sunday. Yet, this was probably the most fun that Draco's hand in years. No one else in the blond boy's life was bold enough to speak with him in such a normal way, like he was human. Not even the children that he's grown up alongside do so anymore when their partners are around, all of them having the role of a perfect heir to uphold.

Draco was about to respond when someone else did first.

"That's it, darling," Madam Malkin said to the other boy. "You're done, my dear."

Draco watched as the smaller boy stepped down from the stool without so much as making a sound when he moved. To the blond's surprise, it seemed almost as if the other boy wasn't even aware that he was doing it.

The small boy looked over his shoulder just once at Draco before he left, that small smirk still dancing dangerously on his lips as he did so. Draco had a feeling that he would be seeing it again more times than he could reasonably hope to count. He wanted to see the danger that laid just behind it, the kind of magic that makes the air fill with it.

"See you at Hogwarts," Draco whispered, speaking the words like some sort of promise. Maybe they were.

—-

Harry had liked Flourish and Blotts, the way that the books were stacked from the floor to the clerking in a kind of orderly disorder that he'd never seen before. Some of the tomes had been as large as paring stones, while others had been small enough to fit in the boy's pocket. Harry found that some of the books had symbols on them, runes and Roman symbols for the platens that he'd seen when reading in the school library on mythology and on astronomy.

 Hagrid had to all but drag the slight boy away from a book on curses that Harry had found. He didn't tell the giant that he'd been looking for something to use on his cousin the next time that the older boy decided to knock his lights out now that the Dursleys know that he was aware of his magic, but he didn't really have to in the end.

"You really shouldn't be using magic outside of school," the man said as the pair walked to the Apothecary. "Yeh could get in big trouble for doing so once yeh get yer wand."

Harry forced down his scowl at the older man's words. He had already figured out on his own that there had to be some kind of Statute of Secrecy the witches and wizards in the muggle world would have to uphold  to be allowed to live in it, or else everyone would know about the magical world, but Harry wasn't too thrilled about the whole wand thing either. He didn't understand why he needed one at all, not when he could do magic just fine without it. But if his abilities were considered freakish by even magical standards then Harry was going to be keeping them to himself. He didn't want to know what the headmaster would do with such information and Harry had no faith in Hagrid not to tell the mom sent that he saw the man.

The Apothecary had been interesting enough. Though the whole shop had smelled like sulfur, a smell that Harry did not understand how the shop keeper could stand to live with, the variety of ingredients was something that had caught the boy's attention. There were jars of herbs, various fangs and claws and dried flowers everywhere in the room that there could be. The silver unicorn horns were what had told Harry that the creatures were real and what had convinced Harry to read Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them first on the train ride back to Surrey.

Looking over the list once more, Harry pointed himself at Olivamder's - the wand shop in Diagon Alley if the sign was anything to go by - but was stopped by a large hand on his shoulder. Harry had to force his body not to tense as he twisted to look at Hagrid, the giant's kind eyes not matching the unease that coiled in Harry's gut each time that the man touched him or looked at Harry for too long. It wasn't Hagrid's fault that the giant's size reminded the boy of his uncle, but that didn't mean the reaction wasn't there.

"We should get yer an animal," the gaunt said happily, speaking the idea as if he had just been waiting for the best time to do so. Harry only shook his head no, watching as the older man's face fell. "Why not?"

Harry didn't want to have to tell the giant that he barely got enough food as is at the Dursleys, and that any animal that the boy brought home was sure to starve within the month. Toads were a no, too loud, and the Dursleys were not too fond of cats either. That only left owls, but Harry knew from experience that a summer spent in a cage wasn't much of one at all.

Not getting one at all is just the best option all around.

"I don't really like animals all that much," Harry lied, shrugging off Hagrid's touch as he moved towards the wand shop once more, leaving the giant to follow.

Olivander's was a small shop, completely filled to the brim with thousands of narrow boxes just as Flourish and Blotts had been with books. The shop seemed to strongly whisper of magic in the same way that everywhere else in Diagon Alley did, except this magic felt close enough to reach out and grasp, to touch. It had Harry's skin tingling in a similar, if greater, way as to how it had in the robe shop with the blond boy. Though he could feel that this magic was different from his own and from that of the blond boy's, it was more wild. More raw. Almost like what the goblins had held.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice murmured as its owner stepped into view.

Hagrid must have jumped from behind Harry because he could hear a loud crashing noise coming from the direction of the chair that the man had sat himself down in. Harry didn't dare take his eyes off of the newcomer though to look. 

Harry didn't answer the man. Mr. Ollivander didn't seem to notice.

 "I thought that I would be seeing you soon, Harry Potter," the man continued on. "Seems like only yesterday your mother was in here buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand, good for charm work."

Ollivander moved closer to Harry, causing the boy to take a step back to keep the space. He could see the details in the older man's silver, unblinking eyes. They were darker than the ones belonging to the boy in the robe shop, and Harry found them to be much more unsettling in nature.

"Your father on the other hand," the ancient man continued almost feverishly, "favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well I say that your father favored it, but really it is the wand that favors the wizard, Mr. Potter."

Harry watched as Ollivander's eyes traveled north, ducking his head just as a long, spindly finger reached out to touch the first scar to mark the boy's body. The wand maker removed his hand, drawing it back to his side, but his eyes never left the scar there as he spoke.

"I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that did that to you as well," the man said softly, his voice sounding truly remorseful. "A powerful wand… if I'd known back then what the wand would be going out into the world to do…"

Ollivander didn't finish his sentence, Harry could guess why. With things like this, where you're only looking back on time with the gift of foresight as to what your action would create, it was hard to tell exactly what you would do. Harry thought that the wand maker might have broken it, or perhaps killed the boy that had sought to buy it. But there was no telling what he truly might have done.

Harry watched as the man shook his head before, much to the boy's relief, the wand maker's gaze fell on the other man in the room.

The pair spoke for a moment, the conversation long enough for Harry's assumption that the giant still had pieces of his wand stored away in his umbrella to be confirmed.

"Which is your wand arm?" Mr. Ollivander asked suddenly, turning back to Harry with a measuring tape spooled in his hand.

"My right," Harry answered unsurly. It was the hand that he wrote with. The had. That he held a knife in. 

"Hold out your arm," the man instructed softly, almost like a school teacher telling students to pull out pencils. "That's it," he said approvingly as Harry complied.

Harry stood tensely as Ollivander measured him from shoulder to fingertip, wrist to his elbow, knee to armpit of all things, and - the most absurd in Harry's opinion - around the boy's head.

"Every Ollivander wand has a powerful magical core," the man informed Harry as he moved away to the shelves, leaving the measuring tape to float on its own. "Unicorn hair, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons are the most suspects that Ollivander wands use. No two of my wands are the same, Mr. Potter, just as no two creatures are quite the same. You will never get as good of a result with another's wand as you will with your own."

Mr. Ollivander had created a small pile of boxes on his desk before stopping in front of Harry once more. "That'll do," the man said and the tape measure immediately crumpled to the ground under the other's words.

And all without a wand, Harry mentally remarked bitterly, still not understanding why he was buying one at all.

"Right," Mr. Ollivander said, shoving a wand at the boy. "Try this one. Beech wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches and flexible. Just give it a wave."

Harry grasped the wand firmly, feeling the magic within it reach out to his own half heartedly. He wasn't surprised at all when he waved it and the only thing that happened was that the wand maker ripped the wand away, out of his hand. Harry hadn't exactly wanted to continue holding it either.

Another wand was forced into the boy's hand, but that one was quickly reheated too. And another wand, and another. The pile of rejected wands was only growing more and more as the time passed on, though it seemed to be doing so in tandem with the wand maker's level of excitement.

"An unusual combination, but I wonder," Mr. Ollivander muttered as he climbed down the ladder he'd been using to reach the higher shelves. There was a crazed look in the man's eyes that Harry almost thought that he liked at that moment. It was a light that he had seen before, one that all but promised that something interesting would soon follow. Jude had this light in his eyes more often than not, and Harry knew that he did too sometimes.

Harry took the wand and immediately felt its magic gasp onto his own like lovers intertwined in a dance, or a snake coiled around its prey. Warmth flooded through him, consuming him as if at any moment flames would be dancing across his skin.

Harry raised the wand in an almost dream - like state and brought it swishing down through the air, almost like a knife. Green and silver sparks danced through the air in a way that he'd never seen fireworks act before. It was beautiful in a way that Harry had never truly realized that magic could be, only ever having used it to survive before.

Harry thought that perhaps he loved magic almost as much as he haired it. As much as he hated himself for having it.

Hagrid whooped in joy, but Harry noticed that Mr. Ollivander looked almost stricken. Like someone that had seen a ghost after never having believed in them before then. Though Harry wasn't sure if that was a comparison that he could still stand to make in a world where ghosts are likely a very real thing. 

"Curious…" the wand maker muttered, not for the first time as he packaged the wand back up.

"What's curious?" Harry asked, speaking for the second time as annoyance whittled away at his better judgment. 

Ollivander looked down at Harry with a pale face and all too hollow eyes. "I remember every wand that I have ever sold, Mr. Potter," the man said, his soft voice shaking unsurely. "Every single one. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand, gave another. Just one. It's curious that you would be destined for this wand, when its brother gave you that scar.

"I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, the other did great things too - terrible, yes, but great."

Harry placed the galleons on the store counter and ran out of the shop before the wand maker could say anything more.

—-

Laden with more packages than Harry rightfully knew what to do with, the pair made their way back into muggle London together. Hagrid left after making sure that Harry got on the right underground back to Surrey. Harry steadfastly ignored all of the stares that he was being levied with by the other passengers on board as he read through his Fantastic Beast book, learning about all of the creatures that he had never really thought existed until then. He let himself be lost in another world that he would soon enter, a train ticket tucked neatly in the potions textbook that he was planning on reading next.

—-

That night, alone in his room with his stool things stacked neatly in the corner of the small room that Harry had been able to clean of Dudley's broken belongings, Harry sorted through it all. There was a whole other world waiting for him just beyond this one and Harrybwanted to survive in it until he never had to return to Surrey at all. Until he could learn how to live in it, to call it home.