Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 10: The Book Hunt
The afternoon sun hung over Privet Drive, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed lawns.
Harry stood by the front window, watching the clouds drift past, his mind still half-lost in the pages of "The Standard Book of Spells".
He had spent the morning reading about wand movements and basic incantations, memorising the difference between a swish and a flick, and trying to understand why some spells required a sharp jab while others needed a smooth, sweeping arc.
It was fascinating, but it was also frustrating. He wanted to do actual magic, not just read about it.
But he knew he couldn't. Attempting to do magic in here would bring the attention of the Ministry of Magic, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
He remembers how unfair the original Ministry had been to Harry in the books, and he expected this one to be much worse.
"Harry! Time to go!" Petunia called from the hallway.
He tucked his wand into his pocket, a habit he was already developing, and headed downstairs.
Vernon had already left for work, and Dudley had been dropped off at Piers's house for the afternoon. It would be just Harry and Petunia making the trip back to Diagon Alley.
"Got everything?" Petunia asked, her handbag over her arm and her car keys jingling.
"Just the money for the robes," Harry said, patting the small pouch of Galleons he had withdrawn from his new Gringotts account. "And a little extra, in case I find any books I want."
Petunia smiled, but she was clearly still worried. Harry couldn't blame her.
The drive to London was quieter than the first time. Petunia seemed lost in thought, her hands steady on the wheel, and her gaze fixed on the road ahead.
Harry watched the suburbs roll past, then the city, then the grimy side street where the Leaky Cauldron stood.
The pub looked exactly as it had before, dark, unwelcoming, and somehow older than the buildings around it.
Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as they approached the entrance, but he pushed the feeling aside. He had business to do.
Tom the innkeeper was behind the bar again, polishing a glass with a stained rag. His dark eyes flicked to Harry as they entered, and his thin lips curled into something that might have been a smile.
"Back so soon, young Potter?" he rasped.
"Just picking up some robes," Harry said, not meeting his gaze. He remembered how Tom had spoken about his father, referring to him as "a great man " and how the other patrons had stared at him with something like approval. It made his skin crawl.
"Enjoy your stay," Tom said, and once more, he had kept his eyes fixated on Harry alone, as if Petunia didn't exist.
They passed through the back courtyard, and Harry made sure to memorize the pattern when Tom tapped the wall with his wand.
With some luck, on his next visit, he would not need the help of the barkeeper. That would be a relief.
The wall folded open, revealing the cobbled street of Diagon Alley.
It was less crowded than the day before, which made the tension easier to bear.
A few witches and wizards hurried past, their heads down, their robes clutched tight. A street vendor was packing up his cart early, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.
"Let's get the robes first," Petunia said, taking Harry's hand. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was firm.
Madam Malkin's was exactly as they had left it. The same clean windows, the same half-empty racks, the same faint smell of flowers hiding something rancid.
The tailor woman was behind the counter, smoking another cigarette. She looked up as they entered, and her eyes widened slightly when she recognised Harry.
"Potter," she said, stubbing out the cigarette in an already overflowing tray. "Your robes are ready. Wait here."
She disappeared behind the curtain and returned a moment later with a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Harry paid the remaining balance. The deposit had been taken the day before, and Petunia tucked the parcel into her bag.
"Thank you," Harry said.
The woman nodded, her eyes already darting towards the window. "Best be on your way. And remember to keep your head down."
Harry didn't need to be told twice.
Flourish & Blotts was only a few doors down, and Harry's heart lifted slightly as they approached.
The bookshop was one of the few places in Diagon Alley that still looked alive. Its windows were filled with colourful displays...spinning globes of the solar system, self-updating maps of the stars, and stacks of books with covers that seemed to shine and move on their own.
A bell chimed as they pushed open the door.
The inside was warm and smelled of old paper and ink. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with books of every size and colour.
A few customers browsed quietly, their footsteps muffled by the worn carpet.
Harry thought that this was exactly the kind of place he could get lost in for hours.
A plump, balding man with spectacles perched on his nose approached them, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Welcome to Flourish & Blotts," he said, his voice sounded cheerful. "Looking for anything in particular? We have a lovely selection of first-year textbooks that just arrived this morning."
"Actually, I already got all of my school books yesterday," Harry said, pulling out the list he had scribbled the night before, "I'm looking for some older books. These ones in the list."
He handed the parchment to the shopkeeper, who adjusted his spectacles and read aloud:
"The Foundation of Sorcery by Alardus the Wise… A Treatise on Magical Cores by Morgana of the Fells… The Young Wizard's Primer by Septimus Willow… and The Art of Intent by Rowena Ravenclaw."
The shopkeeper's eyebrows rose higher with each title. He let out a low whistle.
"Goodness me," he said. "You don't see these names every day. These are… well, these are ancient, young man. Centuries old. Most of them have been out of print for generations. And as far as I know, this last one...The Art of Intent" is considered invaluable. The only authentic copy in existence is being displayed at the Ministry of Magic. After all, we dont have a lot of books written by one of Hogwarts Founders."
Harry's heart sank. He should have known that the stupid grimoire was going to recommend him to take things that were impossible for him to buy nowadays. "I see...you there is no way for me to get them."
"It may not be completely impossible," the shopkeeper said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "We do have a section in the back...the Archival Section, we call it. Books that are too old or too fragile to keep on the main shelves. Some of them haven't been touched in decades. If any of your titles are still in existence, they'd be back there."
He beckoned for Harry and Petunia to follow, leading them past rows of gleaming new textbooks and into a narrower aisle at the rear of the shop. The lighting here was dimmer, the air dustier.
The books on these shelves were bound in cracked leather and faded cloth, their titles barely legible.
"Third shelf on the left," the shopkeeper said, pointing. "That's where we keep the works on magical theory. I'll leave you to browse...call if you need anything."
He shuffled back towards the front, leaving Harry and Petunia alone among the ancient tomes.
Harry scanned the spines, his eyes straining in the low light. Defensive Magicks of the 14th Century. A Herbal's Guide to Poisonous Plants. The Complete Works of the Druidess Cerridwen.
And then, tucked between two larger books, he saw it.
A Treatise on Magical Cores by Morgana of the Fells. Printed in the Year of Our Lord 1487.
Harry pulled it from the shelf carefully, as if it might crumble in his hands.
The leather cover was cracked and faded, the gold lettering barely visible. He opened it to the first page, and his heart sank again.
The text was written in an archaic form of English...all strange spellings and unfamiliar letters. He could make out some of it, but it was like trying to read a language he had only half-learned.
"Of the fyre that brenneth within eche chylde of magick, and how it may be kindled and controlled…"
"Can you read it?" Petunia asked, peering over his shoulder.
"Barely," Harry admitted. "But I think I can figure it out, if I put in the time."
He tucked the book under his arm and continued scanning the shelves, but was unable to find anything else of interest.
As he turned to leave the Archival Section, he noticed something at the far end of the aisle. A heavy iron gate, padlocked and chained, blocked off a small alcove.
Behind the gate, Harry could see shelves of books...but these were different. Their spines were blank, their covers bound in what looked like black iron. A sign hung from the gate, its letters carved into a worn brass plate:
"RESTRICTED SECTION – For Ministry-Authorized Personnel Only. By Order of the Chief Inquisitor."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He stepped closer, pressing his face against the iron bars, trying to read the titles of the forbidden books.
"Don't."
He jumped. A young woman had appeared beside him. It was a shop assistant, perhaps, though she wore no apron.
She was thin and pale, with messy hair and eyes that seemed too large for her face. She was twisting her hands together, and her gaze kept flicking towards the front of the shop.
"Don't look at them," she whispered. "Don't ask about them. It's safer that way."
"What's in there?" Harry asked, lowering his voice.
"What did I just say?," the woman shook her head. "Nothing you want to know about. Nothing anyone wants to know about. Just… forget you saw it, lest you get in some serious trouble. That section requires a special authorization from the Ministry."
She hurried away before Harry could ask another question.
He stared at the chained gate for a long moment, his mind racing.
A restricted section. Books that were off-limits to ordinary witches and wizards. Books that could only be accessed with permission from the Ministry.
'Knowledge itself is being controlled,' he thought. 'Just like everything else in this world.'
"Harry?" Petunia called softly. "Did you find what you needed?"
He turned away from the gate, clutching Morgana of the Fells's ancient tome to his chest.
"I found something," he said. "Let's get out of here."
They paid for the book at the counter, the shopkeeper charged him only a single Galleon for the old book, muttering something about "getting rid of the dust", and stepped back out into Diagon Alley.
The sun was lower now, casting long golden shadows across the cobblestones.
Harry looked back at Flourish & Blotts, at its cheerful windows and its warm interior. It looked so innocent. But he knew now that even here, even among the books, there were secrets.
Some things were hidden, forbidden...things that the Ministry, that Dumbledore, did not want anyone to read.
However, this had the opposite effect on him. Learning that some knowledge was forbidden just made him want to learn about it even more.
"Ready to go home?" Petunia asked, slipping her hand into his.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Let's go home." Unfortunately, he was in no position to do what he wanted, so he will have to be patient for now.
<><><><><><><><><>
They walked back through the Leaky Cauldron, past Tom's watchful eyes, and out into the muggle street where the car was parked.
As Petunia pulled out of the side street and into the London traffic, Harry stared out the window, his hand resting on the ancient book in his lap.
Morgana of the Fells, 1487.
He would learn to read it. He would learn what it had to say about magical cores, about the source of a wizard's power. And one day, when he was ready, he would open the grimoire and claim the knowledge that was rightfully his.
But first, he had to survive his first year of Hogwarts.
And that, he suspected, was not going to be an easy task.
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