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mickume
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alt_potterverse

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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"Something Hagrid said," Neville said. "I wasn't paying very close attention—Trevor was trying to do a runner." One of his pockets was squirming.
Hagrid waved his umbrella, and the little flotilla sailed through the curtain of ivy. Harry looked back at the castle, its towers and crenellations lit by the weak winter sun, and thought of the teachers who were holding him back.
When I return, he told himself, things will be different.
"You guys go find a compartment," he told Hermione and Neville. "I have a little errand to run—I'll catch up to you in a bit."
Neville looked curious, but Hermione simply nodded and started dragging her trunk down the corridor, and Neville followed her. They had boarded near the back of the train, so Harry ducked into the luggage car. A few moments later, he emerged and started walking down the train, glancing in doors as he went.
Finally, he found the compartment he was looking for and leaned in the door.
"Snap!" Seamus yelled, and the card on top of his deck exploded in a cloud of soot.
"You've got to stop doing that, mate," Dean said, shaking his head. He looked to the door. "Harry! What brings you to the Hogwarts Express Burn Ward?"
"Actually, I was wondering if I could have a word with you," Harry said.
"Sure," Dean replied, and he followed Harry a short distance down the hall.
"A couple months ago, you mentioned something that caught my attention," Harry said.
"What was that?" Dean asked.
"You said you live in a bad neighborhood. I thought I might be of assistance," Harry said. Then he reached into his pocket and, with a theatrical spin, flipped open a knife with a click-clack.
"This is a balisong, or butterfly knife," Harry explained. "It has one blunt edge and one sharp edge. The handle is split in two, and folds around the blade when it's stored. That means"—Harry flipped the knife shut again—"that you can open and close it with one hand. It also means you can do all sorts of tricks with i...
Harry flipped it shut and handed it to Dean.
"This is—this is for me?" Dean said.
"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm sorry I didn't wrap it, but I didn't want to take it out in Hogwarts."
"Thanks," Dean said, staring at the black-and-silver knife in his hand.
"One more thing," Harry said, and he took a similar-looking object out of his pocket. "This is a trainer. It's basically the same thing, but the edge is blunt. You don't do anything with the real knife that you haven't mastered with the trainer, right? Wand movements are hard enough with all ten fingers."
"Right," Dean said.
"The knife is illegal to carry in the Muggle world, so don't let police catch you with it—and you've seen what McGonagall will do to you at Hogwarts. But bring the trainer back with you next term and I'll teach you a few tricks."
"I, um, I don't have anything to give you..." Dean said.
But you'll want to pay me back later, Harry thought. "No need," Harry said.
"Thanks," Dean said. "I won't forget this, Harry."
No, you won't, Harry thought. "Happy Christmas," Harry said.
Harry had long ago learned the true meaning of Christmas: recruiting and reinforcing.
A brunette bullet shot past Harry and wrapped itself around a vaguely familiar man. Looking behind him, Harry saw that Hermione had dropped her trunk, so he grabbed it and dragged it with him.
"—missed you too, pumpkin," Lance Granger was saying as Harry approached. Hermione detached from him and hugged Jane, who hugged her back just as fiercely.
A few re-introductions, pleasantries, and exclamations over the supernatural lightness of Harry's trunk later, the luggage was in the boot of the Grangers" car and Hermione and Harry were in the back seat.
"So, we have a bit of a surprise for you, Hermione..." Jane Granger said.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Well, we rearranged our schedule and got the inventory done early, and we should be able to spend the entire Christmas break with you!"
They didn't have a chance to talk until Hermione showed Harry to the Grangers" guest room. When Hermione turned to Harry, she was almost in tears.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I just wanted to give you a nice Christmas, and instead I ruined all your plans!"
"Don't worry," Harry said, turning the key in his trunk's lock and opening the main compartment. "I wouldn't have accepted if I hadn't thought of backup plans."
"B-backup plans?" Hermione asked. "What kind of backup plans?"
"Well, in extremis"—Harry set aside the clothes he was pulling out and held up his potions kit—"we can always arrange for your parents to have a lie-in one morning."
Hermione's eyes widened.
"But if you're willing to abandon the idea of going with me, I think we can avoid that. I'll just need to—"
Suddenly there was a rapping on the window. Harry set down the potions kit and opened it for Hedwig.
"Hello, girl," he said fondly as she settled on his arm. "You knew you were needed, didn't you?"
"What a smart owl," Harry said with a smile, and she preened.
"Needed?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," Harry said. "I need to write to Inkeye."
"So what is this..."ritual’, anyway?" Lance Granger asked as they exited Blackwall Tunnel.
"I have to provide three drops of blood to the Potter Family Vault," Harry said, "to renew its tie to my bloodline."
"Does a lot of magic involve, well, blood?" Jane asked, nonplussed.
Harry shot Hermione a worried look. "No," Hermione said quickly, "it’s not even taught at Hogwarts except to warn you about it. Magical Theory by Aldabert Waffling says, "Blood magic is potent beyond all other kinds, but its power is difficult to control. It seeks to bind things tightly together, and scorns attempts to...
"Then—this ritual you’re doing, is it dangerous?" Jane asked.
Hermione shot Harry an apologetic look. "No!" Harry said. "No. The goblins do it all the time. Er, I already completed the first two parts of the ritual over the summer. This is the last one."
"Oh," Jane said, "alright."
"We’re almost there," Lance said. "We’d better start looking for somewhere to park..."
A few minutes later, Harry and the Grangers were standing in Diagon Alley.
"Alright," Jane said, "we’ll meet you two in the Leaky Cauldron at noon for lunch?"
"Right," Lance said, and Hermione nodded.
"Try not to get too many books," Jane said.
"You can never have too many books," Hermione said, scandalized, and she and her father headed for Flourish and Blotts.
Jane chuckled. "Come along, Harry, I doubt goblin bankers like being kept waiting any more than human ones do."
"Thanks for bringing me here," Harry said as they walked. "I didn’t mean to put you two out so much."
"Nonsense," Jane said. "Hermione wanted to do her Christmas shopping here anyway. Besides, I’ve been meaning to catch up on my reading."
She reached into her large purse and pulled a large book out far enough for him to read the title: Hogwarts, A History.
"Hermione swears by it," Jane said.
"You don’t know the half of it," Harry said. "It's her favorite topic."
Jane laughed, but there was something secretive in her expression that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on. 
"Actually, Jane, I was wondering if you could help me with Hermione's gift..."
Eventually they reached the bank. Harry spoke to a teller and, a moment later, Inkeye emerged from the tunnels.
"Hello again, Inkeye. Are the preparations made?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you down."
"Mister, um, Inkeye," Jane said, "are you sure Harry has to do this alone?"
"I’m sorry, madam, but Mr. Potter’s business this morning requires privacy," Inkeye said. "You’ll be shown to a waiting room in a moment."
The boy and goblin walked away. Once they entered the caverns and Inkeye whistled for a cart, Harry turned to him. "So I’ll be able to leave the bank and return in a couple hours without Jane or my companions in the Alley knowing?"
"That’s right," Inkeye said, clambering into the cart. Harry followed him. "What did you tell the woman you were doing, anyway?"
"A blood ritual to bind the Potter vaults to my line."
Inkeye roared with laughter. "A blood ritual! How absurd!" He pulled the lever and the cart jerked into motion. "If we bound our vaults to a customer’s blood, how would we ever repossess a delinquent customer’s assets?"
"Jane is a Muggle," Harry yelled over the wind. "She doesn’t know anything about magical theory."
"Is she? I can never tell humans apart. Even your genders are tricky!"
The cart didn’t travel very far or deep; it was only a moment until they stopped before a ladder cut into the rock. They clambered out of the cart. Harry looked up; the ladder led into a long, narrow vertical tunnel, lit only by two pinpricks of light at the top.
"Once you leave, you will forget the location of this exit," Inkeye said. "You can reenter through the lobby—we will ensure this Jane woman is elsewhere. Ask a teller to summon me again and I will take you to her."
"Thanks," Harry said. He fished a bag of gold from his pocket and gave it to Inkeye, who tossed it in his palm to judge the weight. "I don’t know how I’d get to meet Awlthrow without you."
Inkeye started so badly that the money bag hit the ground with a jingle. "Awlthrow? That perverted surface-dweller?"
Harry frowned. "What, is something wrong with Awlthrow?"
"What isn’t wrong with Awlthrow? Living under the sky! Selling goblin craftsmanship to wizards! Keeping that wife! Their beards rubbing together every time they kiss!" Inkeye spat upon the ground at his feet.
"Is—should I not buy from—"
"Oh, of course you should! The merchandise will be finer than anything a wizard could craft, and you’re sure to be able to negotiate a good bargain with a degenerate like Awlthrow. Always kick an opponent when they’re down!"
As he began climbing the rough stone ladder to the surface, Harry resolved to never fall down around Inkeye.
By the time Harry knocked on the door of Awlthrow’s Armory, he had forgotten that he’d emerged from a manhole behind Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlor. It was an impressive spell.
The goblin who swung the door open was a bit shorter and thicker than most of the ones he’d seen at Gringotts, with a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore a thick leather apron over simple but well-fitted clothes. "Harry Potter?" he asked.
"Yes," Harry said.
"It is a pleasure to meet you." The the phrase sounded unnatural coming from the goblin’s mouth. "I am Awlthrow. Please come in."
The room Harry entered was much larger than the store’s outside. The structure was wood, except for the floor, which was made of hardened stone. Racks of weapons and armors filled much of the room. Harry fought the urge to examine every single one.
"So, what can I do for you today?"
"I’m looking to get a set of throwing knives."
"I’m afraid I’ve never heard of such a thing."
In response, Harry pulled one out of his pocket, offering it hilt-first.
Awlthrow took it, shifting it in his long-fingered, callused hand. "Interesting," he said. "This is of Muggle manufacture, of course—mass-produced and unenchanted, but decent steel and precise machining. Exceptionally well-balanced, no handle padding, rather light..."
"I prefer them around seven ounces," Harry said. "You can learn to throw a knife with odd balance, but it’s easiest if the center of gravity is in the middle."
Awlthrow held the knife out to him again. "Can you show me how you use it?"
Harry took the knife and sized up the distance to a post in the wall at the far end of the room. Then he flipped the knife to hold it by the blade, took two steps forward, and threw. The blade flew across the room, making seven revolutions before embedding itself a little to the left of the post’s center.
"Impressive," the goblin said. "And without magic, too—I can tell. Oh, that brings back memories..."
"Memories?" Harry asked.