While Harry sat in a quiet corner of the small café in Diagon Alley, the two letters from his parents rested on the table beside his empty plate.
He read them again slowly, letting the elegant handwriting sink in.
Being betrothed to a girl he had never met—Daphne Greengrass—left a strange taste in his mouth.
It annoyed him, this lack of choice, this invisible chain forged by drunk fathers celebrating a birth.
Yet his father’s words had been clear: the contract was unbreakable.
Getting angry about it would change nothing.
He decided then and there that he would not hold it against the girl herself.
She was just as trapped as he was.
The real culprit was Cygnus Greengrass, and Harry already felt a cold spark of resentment toward the man he had yet to meet.
He folded the letters with care and slipped them back into his new document pouch.
Time to keep moving.
A short walk down the alley brought him to Porter’s Portmanteaus.
The shop smelled of polished leather and fresh cedar.
Behind the counter stood a large, heavyset man who bore a passing resemblance to Uncle Vernon, though his face was far kinder and his eyes held a calm, professional warmth.
“Hello, young sir,” the man said, approaching with a friendly smile.
“Looking for a school trunk, I take it? I’m Waldo Porter.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied.
“I was told I’d need one.”
“Quite right. Follow me.”
Porter led him to a wall lined with identical-looking trunks.
“These are the standard Hogwarts model,” he explained.
“Solid construction, anti-unlocking charm, and a standard key lock. We’ll emboss your name on the lid as part of the service.”
Harry studied the trunks for a moment, then asked, “The clerk at Flourish and Blotts mentioned a Featherweight Charm. Are there other enchantments available?”
Porter’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“There are, but they add significantly to the price.”
“That’s fine,” Harry said evenly.
“I can afford it. What options do I have?”
The shopkeeper gave him a quick, appraising glance, taking in the worn, oversized muggle clothes.
“Forgive me, young sir, but you don’t exactly look like someone who—”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Harry cut in calmly, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Still, you make a fair point. I should probably sort out some proper clothing before buying an expensive trunk. Could you recommend a good place?” This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Porter nodded, still curious about the well-spoken boy.
“Just up the alley, next door to Flourish & Blotts. Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. She’ll take good care of you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Porter. I’ll be back shortly.”
Harry stepped back into the bustling alley and soon found the elegant storefront of Madam Malkin’s.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he entered.
Inside, a young boy about his age stood on a raised platform while his parents watched a witch pin and adjust his new Hogwarts robes.
Harry waited quietly.
A few minutes later, a cheerful witch with a measuring tape draped around her neck approached him.
“Here for your Hogwarts robes, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am. And a full wardrobe, actually.”
“Wonderful! Step this way.”
She guided him to another platform in front of a tall mirror.
Harry stared at his reflection—ragged clothes, messy hair, and the faint outline of the scar he tried to hide.
The measuring tape sprang to life on its own, dancing around his body while a quill scribbled furiously on a floating parchment.
“First year?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she worked, the other family finished and left, leaving Harry as the only customer.
Once his school uniform was fitted and set aside, he took a steadying breath and spoke clearly:
“I need everything else as well. A complete wardrobe.”
The witch looked up from her bundling.
“Everything?”
Harry met her eyes without flinching.
“Yes. Everything I own right now is what I’m wearing.”
She recoiled slightly, eyes widening.
“You mean… you have nothing else?”
“Exactly.” He kept his voice steady, pushing down the familiar wave of shame and anger.
“I only just learned today that my parents left me money at Gringotts. This is the first time I’ve been able to buy my own clothes.” Find the original chapter at g.com.
The woman studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing his words.
Harry quickly added, “I had a sudden growth spurt. These are the only things that still fit.”
That seemed to ease her suspicion.
“Outfitting you completely is going to be expensive, young man. Are you sure you can afford it?”
Harry untied the heavy coin pouch from his belt and showed her the glint of gold.
“Quite sure.”
After a brief pause, she straightened with renewed energy.
“Very well. Underwear, shoes, everything?”
“Everything, please. Clothes for all weather. I… don’t really know what I need, so I’d appreciate your guidance.”
A warm, wry smile spread across her face.
“Smart boy. Most lads your age haven’t the faintest idea about fashion. This is going to be fun.”
What followed was nearly two and a half hours of fittings, changes, and decisions.
Harry tried on formal robes, casual ones, semi-formal attire, muggle-style shirts, trousers, jeans, jackets, coats, scarves, and shoes.
He chose between boxers and briefs, selected colors, and even picked out a full set of toiletries.
While they worked, the witch—whose name was Evelyn—chatted pleasantly, explaining wizarding customs and answering his many questions about this strange new world.
He remained careful, revealing only that he had been raised in the muggle world.
Whenever she gently probed about his home life, he deflected politely.
The last thing he needed was an adult trying to “rescue” him.
Toward the end, he asked about temporary lodging.
Evelyn recommended the Leaky Cauldron for short stays.
Harry made a mental note.
When the final total was announced—well over a hundred galleons—Evelyn looked almost apologetic.
Harry paid without hesitation.
She carefully packed and shrank all his new belongings, leaving out only a plain black baseball cap, which he immediately pulled low over his forehead.
It helped hide the scar and cast a shadow over his distinctive eyes.
With a grateful wave and a quiet “Thank you,” Harry left Madam Malkin’s and headed back toward the Leaky Cauldron.
The weight of the shrunken packages in his pockets felt strangely light compared to the heavy knowledge now resting in his chest.
He was no longer the boy who owned nothing.
He was Harry Potter, heir to an ancient house, and for the first time in his life, he was beginning to take control.