Hogwarts Reimagined

Content warning: Child abuse, panic, isolation, gender dysphoria, panic attacks, misgendering, transphobia, homophobia, use of homophobic and transphobic slurs, bullying

Harry woke early Tuesday morning, seized with panic momentarily as she struggled to place her blurry surroundings, groping around to find her glasses – under the pillow, slightly squished; and now able to see she gaped around her in wonder at their surrounds. Hagrid was leaning against the wall across the aisle, his beard fluttering as he snored. Down the aisle to either side, other people – witches and wizards, Harry remembered hazily – had joined them in the night and so the bus that had been so empty last night was now a riot of motley colour, strange animals and products she’d never seen before spread up and down the purple aisle.

A sharp rap on the window interrupted Harry’s daydreamy perception of her surroundings. Hagrid’s snores ceased, and his eyelids fluttered. “That’s some nap you had, kid. Guess you needed it.” he commented, his eyes crinkling with good humour. “Let the owl in, the window slides.” he added, his voice muffled by sleep as he gestured vaguely to the window catch. Harry did as she was instructed and a very disgruntled-looking owl tumbled inside. It stood, eyeing Harry with a look of disdain as it set its’ feathers to rights, then unceremoniously dropped what was clearly a rolled-up newspaper in Harry’s lap and stuck out it’s leg as if waiting for something. “Er, Hagrid?” Harry asked, perplexed. Hagrid whistled and beckoned the bird over, depositing what looked like small, misshapen coins into the pouch fastened to it’s leg. Satisfied, the bird departed. “Toss us the paper, lad,” Hagrid said, scrubbing sleep from his eyes and so unaware as Harry flinched.

“I... um... that’s the thing, Hagrid.” Harry murmured, taking a deep breath to drown out the Dursleys’ voices that clamoured in her ears, the phantom pain of the beating Uncle Vernon had given her the one and only time she talked about this. She hesitated over the words, they caught in her throat before she opted for the simplest option. “I’m a girl.”

Hagrid blinked at her over the top of his paper, looking her up and down appraisingly. He was clearly taking in her long hair, delicate face and thin frame for a second time. If the Dursleys hadn’t repeatedly referred to Harry as a boy, if Hagrid hadn’t known her from birth, he would have easily taken her for any other girl. So, in his easy way, he did now. “Well, I ‘preciate yeh tellin’ me, Harry.” he replied with an easy smile, and Harry felt a surge of gratitude at his casual acceptance. Maybe this was going to be easy, for once. Hagrid frowned, and looked her over again. “You’re pretty grubby, though. There’s a bathroom down the end, if there’s clothes in that bag you brought you may as well go clean up in there.”

Harry took in a deep breath and stood a little shakily, following Hagrid’s gesture to the end of the bus aisle where there was a single bathroom stall. She slid the door closed behind her and hung her backpack on the handle, casting her eyes around. It was cramped but clean, a showerhead on the wall was set behind a metal bar, from which hung a floral plastic curtain that was currently pressed against the wall. When extended, it brushed up against the toilet and there was little room left for the small sink and cracked mirror. Harry peered into her bag but as she suspected, the only spare clothes she’d brought were her new ones.

Maybe this new school could be a fresh start, she thought with a faint glimmer of hope. She showered hurriedly, washing the grime from her body and glass from her tangled hair; then dressed and looked at herself in the crooked mirror. For a change the sight wasn’t one that made her flinch. She liked the embroidered flowers on the pockets of her jeans and the sides of her shoes, the lacy ribbon that ran around the top edge of her short socks, and the simple green shirt printed with an abstract pattern of flowers and spirals was cut so that it had a slight shape to it. Now she wasn’t dressed in Dudley’s cast-off clothes, she felt like an actual person, not some sad waif swallowed by her own attire.

Harry rummaged in the pockets of her back and dug out the lipgloss and a hair-tie she’d stowed there. She hesitated, then scraped her hair into a scruffy ponytail – some strands still hung down around her face, and her hair would never lie flat even when tied. Once that was done, she applied a light coat of glittery lipgloss and inspected her reflection again, the result drawing a small smile out of her. Harry rolled up her dirty clothes, pitching them into the bathroom bin with a small thrill of victory. No more Dudley’s clothes. No more hiding from herself.

Her shoulders set with a determined air, Harry opened the door and returned to Hagrid, setting her bag down and pulling up the bed-clothes before seating herself and looking to him with questions written plain on her young face.

Hagrid smiled, a surprisingly gentle expression for such a large, rough-looking man. “Well, don’t know how I coulda missed it before. You remind me of yer mum, Harry, she always looked like that – challenging, and holding back a hundred questions.” he said softly, bringing an unasked- tear to Harry’s eyes. Shaking his head, Hagrid continued on. “Well, figured the Knight Bus would be the best place for yeh. Normally Surrey to London’s a quick trip, but they didn’t seem to mind having us on all the rest o’ Sunday and yesterday. They’re pretty used to pickin’ up folks who are all kinds of banged up, had the healer on board see t’ ya.” he explained, gesturing around them.

“London?” Harry asked, a slight frown crinkling her brow. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it was certainly something more exotic than, well, that. “You can get magic school supplies in London?” she asked Hagrid, a hint of incredulity creeping into her quiet query.

The giant chuckled. “Sure, if yeh know where to look.” he replied cryptically. A shout from the bus conductor announced that the next stop was London, and so a few minutes later he and Harry were wandering along a narrow London side-street. Harry was gazing wide-eyed at her surroundings, turning in circles along the pavement with a shy skip in her step while Hagrid scanned the shop-fronts, clearly searching for something in particular. “Ah, here it is. C’mon,” he said, casually reaching out a hand for Harry who was by now spinning in a restrained expression of joy, her arms outstretched as she took in the colours and smells and new sounds around her.

Harry squeaked and flinched from the unexpected physical contact. She shrank back against the wall and stared at Hagrid, wide-eyed. Slowly, eyes now fixed downward, she slid to the ground, hugging her knees as she fought to control the sudden panic. “I’m sorry I just... you startled me...” she breathed, shaking her head as a lock of hair fell across her face.

To any onlooker she made a sorrowful sight but to Hagrid... he hadn’t known what to expect of the Boy – well, Girl, he corrected himself internally – Who Lived; but a terrified waif who shrunk from any touch and barely made eye contact, whose every expression was so cautious and... his expression darkened, and he thought back to how he’d seen the Dursleys treat her – and not just the beating she’d received from Dudley. There had been pain written in every line of her body when he’d first laid eyes on her. Hagrid hardly considered himself any kind of a thinker, but it didn’t take much to figure out who’d done that. He’d been the Hogwarts gamekeeper for almost five decades now, and had seen all kinds of kids pass through Hogwarts and grow up. Over time, he’d come to know some of their stories and while he wasn’t much for book learning, well, behaviour was something he knew a lot about. People weren’t as different from animals as they wanted to think, and just as a horse’s spirit breaks with every beating, so too did humans shut down in their pain. Harry’s instinctive terror tore at Hagrid’s gentle heart, he’d seen that wounded panic before. This kid had been abused, probably ever since she’d been left with the Dursleys that late spring night.

Moving slowly, Hagrid stepped around Harry and sat down, his back against the wall perhaps a metre from Harry so as to give the young girl some space. “I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t think.” he apologised, keeping his voice low and even. Something poked him in the side and he fished in one of the many pockets of his coat, eventually drawing out the now-very battered cake box. “Well, now it’s even more squashed. But hopefully should still taste alright. You want cake for yer birthday breakfast?” he asked, flipping open the squished box. Cake: still intact. Hagrid took out a pocket knife – at this, Harry flinched again and he cursed himself again for not warning her – and proceeded to cut them each a generous slice of cake.

Cautiously, Harry reached out her hand, offering Hagrid a wan smile and blinking the tears from her long lashes as he offered her the cake. It was crumbly and she giggled, surprised, as she managed to get semi-melted icing and raspberry jam all over the place. They made a funny sight, both sitting cross-legged on the foot-path, but nobody paid them much mind. Stranger things happened in the city than two people eating slightly squashed birthday cake.

Once they’d both finished licking the remnants of birthday cake from their hands, Hagrid returned the cake-box to his pocket and stood, offering Harry a hand. She didn’t take it but instead stood on her own, her stance a little more relaxed now but still tense and anxious. He smiled sadly at her, his gentle heart breaking for the kid.

“This is the Leaky Cauldron. It’s one of the many doorways into our world from the Muggle one,” he explained to her as he gestured at a very generic-looking pub. Once again, Harry was thrown off by his easy use of completely unfamiliar language, and she cocked her head at him in confusion. “Er... Muggle?” she inquired, stumbling slightly over the new phrase. “’S what we call non-magical folks. Some wizards are kinda stuck-up about it and use it like a sort of insult. Me? Nah, I save the insultin’ for folks like – well, them who really deserve it.” A very dark look crossed over his face, and Harry got the sense he was thinking of some Muggles in particular. She nodded, not wanting to continue with the thought-train of Muggles who deserved punishment any further; and jerked her head towards the pub window.

Clearly Hagrid got the message, and he took a few paces along the street to hold the heavy door to the Leaky Cauldron open for Harry. She laughed again, surprised – no-one had ever held doors open for her. It felt... nice, being treated like an ordinary girl - even if the big man was being a little silly about it, the whole affair felt like a friendly joke, one that she was in on. The feeling was unfamiliar, but she decided at once that she liked it and with a faint trace of hesitancy in her step, made her way past him into the pub.

All at once, the faint hum of voices ceased and it felt as if every face in the room – which was far larger than Harry would have expected, given the unassuming entrance – turned to face them. At first, there was silence broken only by Harry’s racing heartbeat and then; the whispers started.

“Is that..? Well, could be... Potter’d be about the right age now... thought ‘e was a boy? Yes, look, look! That’s the scar – don’t point...”

Harry’s vision glittered dangerously at the edges and she swayed on her unsteady feet, trembling, backing up against the door, frantically scanning the room for someone – anyone – who wasn’t looking at her like a brand new exotic specimen behind glass at a zoo.

Hagrid was, now, familiar with the signs of Harry’s panic and he pitched his voice low, making no move to touch her. “Easy, lass, I’ll handle it,” he murmured. He straightened up and looked about the room, irritation showing plain on his face. Sure the kid was famous, but gossip was dehumanising – a pet peeve of Hagrid’s, given he’d been on the receiving end of this kind of ogling more than once. “Alright, settle down ya flock of gossips,” he said, his tone somewhat humorous but leaving no room for complaint. “We’re just passing’ through, Harry’s here to pick up her school supplies. Don’t crowd, stick in yer seats – I’m sure Tom’s cleanin’ job’ll give you somethin’ more interestin’ to talk about if you look at it closer than ‘e wants.” he continued on, and the barman threw him a good-natured mock glare as he recognised the ploy for what it was.

Trouble successfully fielded, Hagrid led Harry through to the back room of the pub, fending off any busybodies with a scowl. He closed the back door behind them and turned to Harry with an apologetic wince. “Sorry ‘bout that. I... shoulda warned yeh, but honestly, they’re grown adults. You’d think they’d have better stuff to do than stare.” he finished with a mutter, searching in his pockets for the pink umbrella so he could set about letting them through. “You read over the school list again while I see if I can remember how to let us in, yeah?” he suggested, offering Harry another copy of her school letter – Harry wondered briefly just how many copies they’d printed – and then turning back to the very ordinary-looking brick wall ahead of them.

Harry opened the letter and scanned over the list, she’d skim-read it before but honestly hadn’t been able to take in much in her shock. Now she read it more closely, raising one eyebrow at some of the stranger instructions and reading it quietly under her breath.

Hogwarts School of Magic

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 protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags.

Set 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 Beginner’s 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, cat, toad or similarly small pet. Only one pet is permitted per student.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

“So you’re telling me... you can get all this stuff here, through the back of a pub?” Harry inquired, eyes still downcast. Hagrid gave a vague grunt by way of verification, and Harry looked up at him – or intended to. Absorbed in reading, she hadn’t noticed as he’d somehow managed to open the wall onto the most fascinating street she’d ever seen. It stretched for several hundred metres, finishing at the foot of a towering white building styled almost like pictures she’d seen of Roman temples, with it’s imposing pillars and soaring roof set about with... some sort of statues, she couldn’t see at this distance. Distractedly, she took her glasses off and scrubbed them vainly on her shirt as if it would help her take in the sheer wonder of this little pocket of the magical world any faster.

Hagrid looked over and felt a fond surge of protectiveness at the earnest amazement on the eleven-year-old’s face. “Diagon Alley. It’s somethin’ else, right?” he murmured. “Yeh know, I didn’t think I’d ever get to come here. Was a big surprise for everyone when I turned out to be a wizard at all, so when my dad first told me ‘bout this place it kinda felt like he was talkin’ about somewhere we’d never get to go together. Seein’ it for the first time... it’s somethin’ I reckon the purebloods miss out on.”

Harry still had stars in her eyes when she turned a curious eye on Hagrid. “Purebloods? Like, some aren’t all witch or whatever?” she asked, a little perplexed. The way Hagrid had put it with her aunt and uncle it seemed to be something you either were or weren’t, and she voiced as much to him.

That merited a snort of derision, uncharacteristic from the gentle giant of a man. “It is. Either you can do magic or you can’t. Well, there are squibs – folks born to wizarding parents who can see our world but can’t do magic; but they’re pretty rare. Aside from that it’s pretty cut and dry. There’s just a bunch of old wizarding families who want to think they’re better than everyone else. Everyone else is pretty much the majority though so... their point of view will fade out eventually. S’already stuck in the past, wish they’d leave it there.” he explained. Honestly, Harry understood that better than she’d expected. It seemed every society she stepped into had archaic views about the way things should be – they might be about different things but they came from the same place of prejudice and control. It was almost comforting, in a perverse sort of way. Harry was familiar with bigotry; knowing this world had it too made it seem a little less an abstract and overwhelming fantasy, a little more like her new reality that she could navigate and work to change.

Harry was roused from her musing a sharp click and she looked around, startled, before relaxing. Hagrid had rapped the wooden handle of his umbrella against the brick wall they still stood beside and she felt an immediate surge of gratitude that he’d seen her panic earlier and found a way other than touching her to gain her attention. “First stop, Gringotts – that’s the bank, that imposin’ lump o’ rock down the far end,” he elaborated at her incomprehending stare.

“Run by goblins, y’know. Yeh’d have to be pretty brave or foolhardy to try an’ nick anything from in there. Folks got a lot of bad things to say about goblins but they’re a proud lot and good at what they do. Lot o’ bad history between wizards and pretty much everyone else, but goblins more than most. So them havin’ the bank is... well, a point of pride for ‘em. And safety, I guess, if things got bad again. Some wizards can always use the reminder that they’re not the only folks out there and well, hard to miss Gringotts, ‘s as good a reminder as any.” Hagrid explained, keeping up the stream of education and wry social comments as they neared the great fortress of a building that dominated the rambling street.

The mismatched pair were greeted at the towering bronze doors by a sharp-faced individual uniformed in red, black and gold – this must be a goblin, Harry realised, and nodded politely to the attendant, who stood perhaps a head shorter than Harry. The doors were drawn open by some hidden mechanism and they were ushered inside. Now they faced another set of massive doors, this time burnished silver showing the colourings of age and emblazoned with an eloquent, grim stanza that drew Harry’s eye:

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn,
So if you seek beneath our floors,
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

Hagrid noticed where Harry’s attention was fixed and smiled a crooked, humourless smile. “Like I said. You’d ‘ave to be pretty bloody brave, desperate or crooked to try and steal from this place.”

Another pair of goblin attendants ushered them through the silver doors into a vast marble hall. Harry had never been to a non-magical bank but she doubted it’d be anything like this. Wooden desks were arrayed in two long rows, one either side of the enormous room, and stretched to the far wall. There were countless doors leading out of the hall, and milling crowds of people went about their varied business within. Unlike in the tavern, these people were busy and Harry went largely unnoticed – most of the attention she drew was directed more at her companion, and it was a new, immediately welcome feeling fitting into such a mundane activity of the magical world.

They were soon summoned forth as a teller’s desk opened up, meandering through the crowd as Hagrid shielded Harry from any unwanted jostling with one outstretched arm. “Mornin’,” Hagrid greeted the teller – another goblin, though he was assisted by a fair-haired young wizard Harry guessed to be in training by his meek demeanour, perhaps aged around eighteen or nineteen. “We’ve come to take some money out’ve Miss Harry Potter’s vault.”

The teller looked them up and down, focusing on Harry with the appraising stare that was becoming unpleasantly familiar. “You have her key, yes?” the goblin asked, his voice showing no hint that he was at all surprised by the feminine pronoun the way the crowd at the Leaky Cauldron had been. Hagrid grunted affirmation, rummaging in his pockets. “Er, hold this, would ya?” he asked, passing the cake box to the attendant.

As Hagrid emptied his myriad pockets out on top of the cake box – he soon ran out of room and took over the teller’s desk, either missing or ignoring the disparaging look the teller turned on him – Harry took the time to marvel at some of the transactions going on around her. At the next desk over, an aquiline man with sleek, silver hair weighed out rubies that glowed like egg-sized coals. When he saw Harry watching, he regarded her with a smile no friendlier than a drawn knife and just as sharp. Across the aisle, a short, curly-haired witch in embroidered scarlet robes took careful steps through the crowd, laden with a stack of embossed tomes almost as tall as she. Coins in unfamiliar shapes – the unevenly-shaped bronze ones with a hole in the centre she had seen before, Hagrid had paid the owl with those – but everything else was utterly foreign.

Her wondering was interrupted by a low whistle, Harry blinked before realising that once again it was Hagrid trying to catch her attention without inducing a panic. He’d replaced the contents of his pockets now, save for a small wrought gold key that he passed to the teller. Conferring quickly with his assistant, the teller then stepped down from his chair and beckoned for them to follow as he made his way through one of the many doors – a snap of his fingers had it swinging open and Harry realised dimly that the outside doors had been the same, opened not by a hidden mechanism as she had thought but by simple magic.

“Didn’t wanna talk about it in the main hall,” Hagrid began as they followed the goblin down a stone passage lit by rows of torches – Harry had expected more marble, but this was easier on her strained senses - “but Dumbledore sent me on an errand ‘s well. He wants the you-know-what, outta vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

Their goblin guide stopped, and fixed Hagrid with a piercing stare. No key was exchanged, it seemed there was an agreement here that Harry was left in the dark on as the goblin nodded and resumed their journey. The tunnel flattened out sharply, and Harry stopped abruptly as the tunnel opened up upon a yawning chasm sewn across with many myriad rails that trailed and turned at seemingly-impossible angles everywhere Harry looked. She peered upwards, the great pit was lit from above as the great domed spire she’d seen from outside was clearly translucent, allowing daylight through. Harry risked a look downwards and immediately wished she hadn’t, stumbling backwards into the safety of the tunnel at the sight of the yawning abyss. Daylight didn’t reach that far, and though torches glinted faintly off rails in the deep she had been unable to see where it ended.

Rails clicked and a strangely-rigged cart drew up alongside their tunnel. It must have been drawn by magic too, for it had neither driver nor any mechanisms Harry could discern. Their guide stopped the cart with a gesture and climbed in, gesturing for Hagrid and Harry to follow. Stiff-legged, Harry kept her eyes trained on Hagrid’s broad back ahead of her rather than risk losing her meagre courage by catching a glimpse of the pit below. They were supported only by rails and wood now, suspended in their wooden vessel many hundreds – perhaps even a thousand – metres above the floor. Panic threatened to override Harry again and impulsively she caught hold of Hagrid’s arm, hugging his elbow with a vicelike grip as she hid her face.

Suddenly, their cart pitched into motion and Harry stifled a whimper at the sensation, it felt as if her stomach had been left in the tunnel as they plunged down, down into the dark. She risked a peek at their guide and was not reassured, their cart must have been travelling by magic as he was not steering. Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, their journey was halted and Harry was glad she was held steady by her grip on Hagrid, she feared she’d have been pitched out otherwise. She was dragged upright as Hagrid stood and then, on weak legs, she tottered from the cart and sank down against the wall of the tunnel they had drawn alongside. When her vision ceased swimming she was surprised to see Hagrid had reacted similarly, his face was concerningly green and he threw their cart a look of utter contempt. “Nex’ time, I’m gonna tell Dumbledore t’ send someone else on ‘is Gringotts errands.” he grumbled, though there was no real venom in his tone. Harry recognised it as complaining for the sake of having something to say, and offered him a brief, wan grin. “You know, in the muggle world, people pay money to do something pretty similar.” she teased, and was rewarded by his look of horror.

Hagrid shuddered and dragged himself upright. “Not for me.” he replied decisively. Their guide was completely unaffected by their rapid descent, and strode along the corridor ahead of them to a heavy hardwood door bound in steel that was perhaps another foot taller than Hagrid at its’ highest point. Harry, now standing, leaned on the wall for support and peered curiously at their guide. She couldn’t see a lock, but the goblin’s clever fingers found it and inserted the delicate golden key she’d seen before. As it turned, the door produced a resounding click that revealed the size of the mechanism controlled by the deceptively small keyhole, and the door swung open. Thick, faintly purple smoke billowed from the opening and, as it cleared, nothing short of a minor fortune in the alien wizarding currency was revealed. “This is... mine?” she breathed, eyes round and wondering at the contents of the vault. While it’s contents were primarily coins, there were a few small treasures as well – jewelry, for the most part, though Harry was in no state to absorb any particular details right now.

The goblin turned a sharp-toothed wry smile on her, Hagrid’s was kinder and more genuine. “Yeah, lass. Your parents wouldn’t leave yeh nothin’ to get by on. They... when they died, it wasn’t exactly a surprise to them. They did their best to keep you safe, yeh know, but when You-Know-Who wants someone dead, well, they tend to get that way pretty fast.”

Harry swallowed past a lump in her throat. It was hard; after all the years of the Dursleys’ snide comments about her parents and the way they’d painted their deaths as a sudden, unexpected – by everyone except the Dursleys to hear them tell it - incident; to imagine her parents as the sort of people who could have cared for her, prepared for this worst-case eventuality enough to leave her this kind of protection.

“I... I never knew,” she whispered lamely, kneeling in front of a small wooden chest that she had found near the door. As she flipped open the lid her heart caught; the inside of the lid had a photograph of a loving couple holding a tiny, tousle-haired baby. They could only be her parents. Wordlessly, she lifted the photograph from it’s setting – the fact that it moved paled in comparison to the reality of its’ occupants. On the left, a wiry and untidy man with rounded glasses and thick hair like her own. On the right, a smiling woman, her long auburn hair pinned half-up behind her as she laughed soundlessly at some witticism Harry couldn’t remember. She had her father’s tawny colouring, unruly mane and clever hands, but a more keen observer could see her mother too in the fine lines of her wonderingly tearful face, the red-and-gold highlights in her hair – more visible here, under the torchlight – and, most clearly, in her green-hazel eyes. Harry knew it not but she had her mother’s smile too, crooked and playful at first and then brilliant, the sort of inescapably visible joy that lights up a room on the rare occasions it showed. There was nothing else in the box except a diminutive amber necklace, the sort infants sometimes wear; and the weight of the memories of the young couple who’d left it here for their daughter to find so many years later.

With a sigh, Harry replaced the photograph – it was safer here – and stood, wiping the tears from her face. Hagrid had left her to her quiet communion and collected a heavy purse of money for her which he now passed over. No words were needed, privately he felt there was nothing he could say that could encompass all at once the grief at a loss experienced anew, the unexpected gift of faces to put to her no-doubt tangled memories, and the confusion and wonder of this new world that she was experiencing without them. No, sometimes feelings were clearer without words to muddle them. He was reminded painfully of Harry’s extreme youth as she took hold of his sleeve and trailed along as they left the vault behind, taking their seats unwillingly again in the cart as before. Sometimes the depth of grief in Harry’s expressions and every motion made it easy to forget just how young she was, at other times she seemed even younger still.

Once again, both Hagrid and Harry curled in on themselves as the cart plunged deeper into the earth. There was no glimpse of daylight this far down, and strange lights billowed and flickered. A horrific clamour drifted up from the depths and Harry looked up to see the pain on Hagrid’s face. “That’s what they use to keep the dragons in the high-security vaults in line,” he explained. “It’s even crueller than the sound, but I don’t wanna get into it right now.” Harry appreciated it, she didn’t think she could handle any talk of abuse and pain right now let alone on an institutional level like this. Their goblin guide shrugged and an unexpected expression of sympathy crossed his angular face. Apparently not everyone who worked here was alright with how it worked. Maybe it wasn’t even their idea to begin with.

This time, Harry was prepared as their cart jerked to a halt after a much shorter trip. She glanced upwards, unnerved by how far down they were. The daylight from the spire was a pale disc. Some annoying mathematical part of her brain jabbered in the background that vault seven hundred and thirteen probably indicated they were seven hundred metres down with other numbers - say, three hundred and ninety – might be three hundred metres below the surface; the rhythm of mental chatter was simultaneously irritating and comforting in its’ regularity.

Realising she’d been staring into space, Harry startled and stepped hurriedly from the stationary cart on to the comfortingly solid stone of yet another tunnel. This time she was a little bolder in her curiosity, peering over the goblin’s shoulder. She’d seen no key exchanged earlier nor did their guide seem to need one. Instead, he placed his palm against the cold steel of the door and what Harry had taken for ornate design instead began to move, withdrawing from the edges of the door to the centre so it was allowed to swing free. Unlike Harry’s vault, there was no dramatic clouds of vapour, nor even the gleam of hidden treasure. Harry got a brief glance of a grubby paper-wrapped package as Hagrid hurriedly stowed it in his coat but nothing more. Really, Harry thought, after all that trouble it seemed rather anticlimactic.