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How in Merlin’s saggy pants could he have forgotten about Hedwig?!

Harry rushed towards Eeylops Owl Emporium, or at least tried to, with his heavy trunk slowing him down, despite it being charmed to be lighter. It worked well enough; otherwise, he would not have been able to lift it with the number of books he had purchased.

A few older witches looked at him as if he was crazy as he lugged his trunk with his scrawny frame while trying to rush with it. By the time he reached his destination, he was sweating and gasping for breath. While the Dursleys did not keep him hungry, they didn’t bother feeding him much either. After all, withholding food was one of their staple punishments. Unsurprisingly, Harry did not shoot up in height until he reached Hogwarts. He had forgotten how weak and quick to tire he was as a child before he could eat freely or survive the torturous Quidditch training.

The owl shop had its windows darkened, and almost nothing could be seen inside. A chime rang as Harry passed the rustic wooden door. The first thing that greeted him was the rancid smell of owl droppings and a few weary hoots. Most of the owls were asleep in the dark room, but a select few were glaring at him with their beady yellow eyes.

“Welcome to Eeyelops Owl Emporium,” a bored voice greeted him from the counter. “How may I help you?”

The shopkeeper was a middle-aged witch with a feathery hat and bright orange robe that was jarring to the eyes.

“I am here to purchase an owl, ma’am,” Harry replied uncertainly as he looked around, searching for Hedwig.

“We have tawny owls, screech owls, barn owls, and brown owls,” the shopkeeper lady waved around the shop as he felt dread setting inside his stomach.

That…certainly explained why he had not seen his fateful companion.

“Don’t you also sell snowy owls? The shop sign outside said so…”

“We used to sell them before,” the woman admitted, finally straightening up. “But not anymore. They are far more expensive yet no better than other owls. We scarcely sold one last year, so we simply stopped ordering more.”

Harry dazedly left the shop and mechanically walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron without even responding to the following pitch sale of tawny owls.

Did he really need a pet owl? The truth was … he did not. He spent a year on the run without Hedwig well enough. Hell, Harry had nobody to send letters to!

But Hedwig… Hedwig was far more than a simple owl or a pet. She had been a loyal companion who often helped him tide through the miserable summers in Surrey and faithfully. She had given her life, defending him from a Killing Curse even!

At that moment, he felt guilty. He never truly had the chance to mourn. Moody had also died that night, and… his death was a far bigger tragedy for the Order than that of a single snowy owl. After that, it was the hurried wedding preparation and the desperate time on the run…

He was already climbing the wooden staircase in the Cauldron when he remembered that there was one more pet shop in Diagon. When Harry visited the Magical Menagerie after the Second Year, there were no owls. Or at least none that he could remember.

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, he quickly left the library trunk in his room and rushed to the pet store.

The Magical Menagerie was just like he remembered – smelly, noisy, and cramped. He carefully inspected his surroundings while an unfamiliar blond boy his age spoke with the proprietress, trying to choose between three cats… or maybe they were kneazles?

Harry looked around, his gaze only glancing over the enormous purple toads, steelers, and a particularly vicious-looking fire crab. There were a couple of rafters full of eggs of various sizes and colours, none of which Harry could recognise. His gaze, however, settled onto a cage of cawing ravens. He was filled with jubilation for a moment as he spotted a sleeping snowy owl in the cage above them. But it was quickly replaced with disappointment as he approached and saw that it had a few brown feathers on its chest and was smaller than Hedwig.

“Another ssstupid two-legsss,” Harry froze at the low, hissing voice, and he could swear he heard a soft cracking sound.

He slowly turned towards it, only to be faced with a bright-yellow horned viper, rearing angrily at him from within a small vivarium amidst a rafter full of sleeping snakes. His hand subconsciously reached for his faded scar while taking a step back. He almost slammed into the rafter with the eggs while his finger ran along his brow. Once again, he only found a very thin, small line.

Was he still a Horcrux?

There was no burning pain, no headaches, and he felt far too… light, far too unfettered. He had lived with the cursed scar for as long as Harry could remember, and it never felt so… free.

No, he knew it in his bones. The sliver of Voldemort’s soul was no longer there.

But then, why could he still understand snakes?!

He desperately wanted to say something to the snake and see if he could still speak Parseltongue… but now was not the time or the place. The bell rang, and he spun to see the blond boy from earlier happily leave the store with an ash-coloured kneazle in hand. Harry swallowed heavily as he forced his drumming heart to calm down and turned towards the witch on the counter.

“Excuse me,” his voice came out raspy, and his throat felt very dry, but he forced himself to continue speaking. “Are these owls,” he motioned his hand towards the cages with the birds, “all you have here?”

“Yes, dearie,” she answered, gently nudging the heavy black spectacles upon her nose. “Eeyloops Owl Emporium has a far bigger selection of owls, but any other-“

At that moment, he had to face the hard truth. Hedwig… was not here. Maybe, someone else bought her before. Or his snowy old did not ever arrive in Diagon Alley if she existed in the first place…

“Thank you, ma’am,” Harry politely interrupted the sales pitch of purple toads while trying to keep his tone impassive and left the store.

His feet carried him back to the Leaky as Harry slowly tried to come to terms. As the years went by, he lost many things. His parents were gone too early, but could you truly lose something you didn’t remember having? Cedric was just a face he had known, but he was directly responsible for his death. Sirius… his only hope of a family, a father figure, died because of Harry’s folly. And Dumbledore…

At some point, he suspected that he’d never get away alive from the war but pushed those thoughts deep inside lest he was tempted to give up. In the end, Harry voluntarily walked to his death. All that struggle, sacrifice, death, and suffering and for what?

He never really had the chance to mourn Hedwig properly, especially when everything became a downward spiral of struggle, desperation, and agony, and death and misery slowly became commonplace.

So, why… why did it hurt so much?!

He entered his room, locked it again, and threw himself on the bed, feeling like a stranger in a world filled with familiar faces.

At that moment, something cold tickled his wrist, making him jump.

“Cold,” a small, barely noticeable, pitiful, weak hissing came from his covers. Harry stood there, too stunned to do anything, as a tiny, pitch-black serpentine head popped out of the crumpled bedding, looking at him, and quickly made its way towards his hand and coiled around his wrist.

27th of July

A young child’s magic is uncontrollable. No two children are the same, but at the age of eleven, it generally settles down enough for children to begin their magical education in earnest.

A young wizard, however, will still struggle to cast more complex magics, even if they are powerful. Magic takes time and extensive practice to fully mature and settle. This process continues while the witch or wizard has not yet come of age. Although it’s important to note that there are too many factors here, there are methods to help speed along the process and increase a young witch or wizard’s control.

Magic is internal to wizards. There have been many theories and speculations about where or how exactly it is stored; the only decisive conclusion is that it is “inside” the body. The more you use magic, the bigger your capacity gets. But this phenomenon seems to be true only for those who have not yet reached the age of majority. After a wizard becomes an adult, any increases in the amount of magic through practice is marginal at best.

Well, that definitely explained why he was struggling with spells so much. After all, he was not even eleven yet and had never consciously used magic. And this other bit about magic stored inside the body was completely new. Harry had not delved deep into the basics in his old world, but he was quite sure things were different. Something along the lines of magic being external, and wizards would get tired after they channelled more than their body or mind was used to. It didn’t matter, though; this certainly worked in his favour. The harder he practised, the more results he would get.

Harry quickly skimmed through the recommended methods for gaining a greater grasp on your magic. All of them were basic spells that required great control, precision or visualisation from the caster. He closed “On Magic” and placed it on the table.

At that moment, the snake slithered out of his sleeve and looked at him with warm, dark eyes. He gently ran his finger under its mouth, and it hissed happily, bringing a small smile to his face. Harry debated returning it to the Menagerie, where it probably had escaped but decided against it. He had no idea how to explain the snake’s presence to the proprietress; frankly, he did not want to part with it.

Still, keeping it would be wrong. Harry was not a thief, after all.

“Come,” he urged the snake back into his right sleeve, coiling around his forearm. “And stay hidden.”

At first, it had been a rather foreign sensation, but after two days, it felt…nice. His new pet, or at least would-be-pet until Harry paid for him, could only speak a few simple words. Most of the time, it stayed silent and just slept. It didn’t even eat, which was also worrisome.

It took him five minutes to get back to the Magical Menagerie. Thankfully, there were no other customers this time.

“Ah, you again? Finally decided on a pet?”

“Err, sort of,” he coughed, running his left hand through his messy hair. “Have you lost one of your snakes lately?”

“No, nothing is missing,” the proprietress muttered after thinking for a few seconds. “Why?”

“I found a small snake in my robes sometime after I left the shop,” he replied as vaguely as possible as he pushed down his embarrassment. “Are you sure it’s not one of yours?”

“I don’t think so, but it won’t hurt to look. Do you have it with you?”

He gently pulled the snake out of his sleeve and held it up with his palm. Its small head rose in the air and looked around warily.

“Maybe he hatched from one of the eggs,” Harry nodded towards one colourful rafter full of eggs as the hatchling hissed in displeasure in his hand.

“Unlikely, we have special incubators for those, and hatching most eggs requires specific conditions,” she explained and donned a pair of dragonhide gloves. “Bring it here, and be careful not to be bitten.”

He carefully placed the snake on the counter, but it panicked and instantly tried to hide behind one of the books nearby. Harry carefully took it in his hand again and ran a finger beneath its jaw, making it close its eyes in contentment.

The witch looked at him with wide eyes full of surprise behind her heavy spectacles.

“I don’t think it will bite me,” he explained half-heartedly as he gently placed his hand with his new pet on the counter.

She nodded gingerly, cautiously approached the now still snake, and observed for a few seconds. Harry tensed as she took out her wand and waved it several times over his new companion.

“Well, this is certainly interesting!” she exclaimed, putting the wand back into her robes.

“What is interesting?”

“What you have here is some sort of weird hybrid. It looks similar to a black mamba, but the colour is too dark and has horns like a viper. There is also a faint dark-green zig-zag pattern on its back that is common to adders. Snakes like this can fetch a pretty knut at potion masters. I am certainly interested in purchasing it,” the witch proposed thoughtfully.

“I’ve grown rather attached to it,” he declined immediately and quickly returned his distressed companion to his sleeve.

“I’d be more careful if I were you, young man,” she admonished him. “While the common adder is not too dangerous, both the black mamba and the horned viper are extremely venomous. One bite in your sleep, and you’ll never wake again. If you insist on keeping it, I suggest you buy a bezoar from the apothecary. It can protect you from most poisons and slow the stronger ones. You should also consider buying a vivarium so it does not wander around and bite someone.”

“I’ll take one,” he agreed after mulling for a few moments. It was not a bad idea since he was going to keep the snake. “Any idea why he doesn’t eat at all, though?”

“Hmm, I’d wager it’s because it’s too young,” the proprietor hummed thoughtfully. “Young snakes take up to a few weeks to start eating, so don’t worry.”

1st of August

Since yesterday, he was officially eleven again. It was a short, private celebration involving a generous amount of treacle tart. Now though, he was back to his routine.

Harry finished his control exercises and sprawled on the wooden floor panting for breath as his new pet lazily watched him from the desk near the window as she basked under the sun. These exercises did not only push his magic but his intent and visualisation as well. It was tiring but effective. In less than five days, he had managed to see quite an improvement. His magic still felt unruly and odd, but he was still getting used to it. Silent casting and the more complex magic continued to evade him, no matter the attempts.

When he pushed himself, he began to become physically tired as well. Harry always took care to stop immediately as soon as he felt sluggish, as completely emptying yourself from magic supposedly caused magical exhaustion, as opposed to the old world when you used too much too fast. The result was similar; if you overdid it, you would be out of commission for a few days, if not weeks.

It took him a minute to get his breathing under control. Harry got up from the floor and dragged himself to the small bathroom for a quick shower.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting on the desk feeling refreshed and browsing through his new collection of books.

Most wizards never bother training their bodies. But while you can do almost everything with magic, I’ve found that having a trained body is essential for a hit-wizard. Not only does training your body improve your control of magic to a lesser degree, but it could be a decisive factor when fighting an opponent of a similar calibre. While duelling has etiquette and rules to follow, that is not the case for fighting. There is no such thing as honour or rules in combat; anything goes, and the most ruthless wizard wins!

To truly rise as a capable hit-wizard, you must hone not only your magic but your body and mind to the utmost limit.

Did his spellwork improve after joining the Quidditch team in his first year? Harry vaguely remembered struggling hard with magic at the start, but it was no longer such an issue after a certain period. Nyx slithered into view and nudged his hand. He quickly placed ‘Hardwin’s Hitwizard Guide to Practical Combat’ on the small table.

“Food!”

He gave her a few flies he had caught in a jar. Letting her out to hunt for herself in the middle of the city was too risky, so Harry had to find her food. Luckily, she was small and easy to feed. He watched as his new…pet happily gobbled up her meal.

Yeah, it was a she. Harry had attempted a few male names, only to get angry hisses in response. Of all the feminine names, his new companion liked Nyx the most.

Having a snake was odd. Harry was well aware of their terrible reputation, but Nyx was just a sweet little hatchling. Harry had bought the glass container for her, but she didn’t like it too much, despite it being enchanted to always stay warm. Since Nyx always seemed to listen to him, he gingerly allowed her free rein around the room.

That last passage made him think hard. He was already working hard on his magic; maybe it was time to work on his body and mind. There was a public park close enough. Harry could jog there but had to get sporty clothes instead of Dudley’s oversized rags.

But how could one hone their mind?

After a few minutes of contemplating, Harry scowled when he reached a realisation. The only thing he knew could be classified as mind magic was Obliviation, Occlumency, and Legilimency, and he seriously didn’t want to dabble with something like obliviation, lest he ended up like that fraud Lockhart.

Harry didn’t like practising Occlumency, especially after the torture that Snape had the gall to call lessons. Still, he had to admit it was a helpful skill, especially against powerful Legilimens like Voldemort. And most of all, Harry hated the idea that certain people like Snape could read his mind.

With his mind made up, he quickly stood up and headed for the door.

“Take,” a panicked hiss quickly made him turn around and present his sleeve. Nyx slithered in and coiled around his forearm again. Harry finally left his room, locked his door, and headed towards Gringotts.

He couldn’t help but wonder how big Nyx would get. What if she grew to the size of that boa constrictor from the zoo? He would no longer be able to stealthily carry her around on his arm. The image of a giant snake hanging over his body while he tried to go to the store made him chuckle softly. Only time could tell how big Nyx would get since she seemed unique. He would deal with problems like this when they came; there were more important things to worry about now.

Harry entered the bank and warily looked around. Thankfully, there were few customers, and less than a third of the desks were taken. He quickly walked over to one of the desks in one of the corners, away from the other wizards.

“Can I exchange galleons for muggle currency here?” He quietly inquired the teller.

“Yes, one Galleon for forty Pounds,” the goblin nodded, and his eyes gleamed with interest.

Wait, didn’t that mean he had much more money than he thought?

“I’d like to exchange fifty galleons,” Harry replied after thinking for half a minute and counting the gold coins on the counter.

Two thousand pounds would be more than enough to buy himself decent muggle clothes for the next few years.

The goblin counted the Galleons again and handed over forty banknotes of fifty pounds each.

“Anything else I can help you with?” The teller asked with a toothy smile, far friendlier than before.

“I would like to withdraw from my vault,” Harry hesitantly requested.

He had spent a lot of money in the last week, so refilling his pouch would be prudent. He was already in Gringotts and had no intention of returning anytime soon if he could help it.

“Name?”

“Harry Potter,” he replied quietly and looked around warily. Nobody else seemed to have heard.

“And does Mr Potter have his key?” The goblin asked curiously as his eyes inspected his forehead.

Harry wordlessly handed the little golden key. The teller grunted and beckoned to follow him into a side hallway.

A wild cart ride later, he was again faced with vault 687, where all his wealth stayed.

“Err, is it possible for Gringotts to tell me how much money I have here?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“It will cost you two galleons, Mr Potter,” the goblin unhelpfully replied. Harry swore inwardly at the greedy little buggers and tossed the creature two gold coins from the pile. The goblin deftly grabbed it and vanished somewhere in the darkness for a moment before returning. “There are 33,789 Galleons, 13,651 sickles, and 7,893 knuts inside, Mr Potter.”

Harry returned another book to the shelf and ran a hand through his unruly hair. It had been a few hours, and the most he had found was the barest mention of Occlumency. It seemed that it was indeed a very obscure study. He looked around at the endless rows of shelves stacked to the ceiling and finally conceded defeat with a tired sigh.

Having no choice, Harry approached the proprietor, who was intently reading a book.

“Excuse me, sir, where can I find books on Occlumency?

He finally saw the book’s name and could barely suppress his snort.

“Occlumency? You’ll find no books on the Mind Arts here, young man,” the wizard quietly replied, placing ‘Felix Fawley’s Fabulous Adventures’ down on the counter.

“Do you know if any other shops sell them?”

“It is rare to see someone so young be interested in something like this,” the man muttered thoughtfully, scratched his chin, and curiously looked at Harry. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you; the Ministry has banned the sale of books on the subject. If you truly wish to learn, you’ll have to find someone willing to teach you.”

Harry thanked the man while trying to cover his grimace and left the shop. It looked like the Ministry was as useless a nuisance in this world as it was in his own. His stomach rumbled in hunger again, forcing him to head back to the Leaky and order a serving of bacon, meat pie, and a small slice of treacle tart. Ever since he returned, his appetite had been quite large.

The only practitioners of Occlumency he knew of were Dumbledore, Snape, and Voldemort, and it would be a cold day in hell before he gave any of them access to his mind. The problem was that the only thing he knew about the art was ‘clear your mind’, and a certain miserable potion professor never bothered to teach him anything beyond while brutally battering his mind.

‘What a load of bloody bollocks!’

Harry wished he didn’t have to bother at that moment, but leaving his mind unprotected with his memories was too dangerous.

What would he do now? Avoid the eyes of certain people, try to clear his mind, and hope for the best?

Just as he finished devouring the last pieces of his meal, an… idea appeared in his mind.

Harry left three sickles on the table to pay for the food and returned to the Alley. Before approaching the corner where Knockturn Alley’s entrance was, he pulled the hood to cover his face so only his mouth was visible and walked inside, trying to look confident. A pity that his short stature would probably give him away.

He was already getting curious looks from a few hags around the corner of a shop selling ominous-looking junk. His hand twitched, and he had to restrain himself from not pulling the yew wand out. The only real offensive spell he could cast right now was the severing charm. But it was weak and shaky and probably would not truly do anything beyond break the skin. The dilapidated Alley was too dangerous for an eleven-year-old wizard, but Harry had no choice. Every advantage mattered, and doing things like the last time would produce poor results. This is the only place where he could hope to find anything on Occlumency.

Borgin and Burkes looked just as creepy on the outside as on the inside, with its dark, weathered facade adorned with windows through which you could not see anything but darkness. He steeled himself and pushed the dilapidated door open, making a bell ring ominously. His skin tingled as soon as Harry stepped inside the dimly lit shop, but he paid it no heed and headed directly towards the counter. There was no point in browsing through the severed limbs, human bones, or the assortment of cursed items in the store.

“Do you have any books on Occlumency?” Harry inquired quietly.

Borgin leaned over to take a better look at him and gave an oily smile. The man was missing a tooth, and his breath stank worse than a troll, making Harry gag.

“My boy, selling books about the Mind Arts is illegal,” the proprietor’s voice was as greasy as his sparse hair. “This is a reputable establishment I run here!”

Harry barely managed to cover his snort with a cough as he glanced at a few human-like skulls in a jar filled with sickly-yellow fluid.

“Surely, you have something, if not a book,” he took ten galleons from his pouch and placed them on the counter next to a bloodstained bone. “I’m willing to pay.”

The man’s beady eyes shone with greed, and the gold coins were pocketed in the blink of an eye.

“Now that you mention it, maybe I can find something.” Borgin gave him a wide, sleazy smile and disappeared behind an inconspicuous dark door next to a rafter full of malignant-looking daggers.

Harry’s gaze wandered around while waiting. There was a myriad of creepy or… wrongly-looking items, such as preserved eyeballs, red fleshy strings, ominous books bound in black leather, and iron instruments that one could easily imagine in a medieval torture room. But the Vanishing Cabinet allowed Draco to smuggle the Death Eaters inside Hogwarts at the end of the Sixth Year was not here. Or maybe he just couldn’t find it?

At that moment, the proprietor returned with a rather small book bound in creepy pale leather under his elbow and slammed it on the counter.

‘Illegal, my arse!’

“How much?” Harry asked warily.

“A thousand galleons,” Borgin declared.

A small fortune for a book? Did he look like a bloody fool?!

“Do you think me mad?! Fifty,” Harry countered.

“Boy, there’s more than Mind Magic in this diary,” the man’s oily expression was replaced with caution. “Nine hundred.”

Borgin was too damn insistent, but he couldn’t say if the man was trying to swindle him or if the value of the so-called diary was truly that high.

“Let me see what’s inside first.”

“That won’t do,” the proprietor shook his head vigorously. “If you open the diary, you’d have to buy it!”

Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance. For some reason, he couldn’t shake away the feeling that he was being tricked. And it was bloody annoying. Worst-case scenario, he’d sneak around the Forbidden Section and hope to find something on Occlumency there.

“A hundred galleons, or I’m leaving!” He gave his final offer.

“Eight hundred and fifty! Surely you understand I’m taking a big risk here-“The regretful expression on Borgin’s face froze. The man’s eyes widened in horror, and he took a shaky step back.

“Ugly,” an annoyed hiss came from his sleeve, and he saw Nyx poking her small, pitch-black head out and glaring at Borgin.

Harry groaned inwardly. He wanted to chide her, but doing so would expose him as a Parseltongue. He tried to place her back into the sleeve, but the snake slid out of his fingers and coiled around the fabric while continuing to glare at the rapidly paling proprietor.

“Nyx,” the warning slipped out of his mouth, and she finally turned to look at him. A moment later, Harry realised that he had spoken in Parseltongue, and dread filled him.

“Ah… errr,” the proprietor coughed a few times as his face was as white as chalk now, and Harry could feel the terror in his voice. “A-A h-hundred galleons will do just f-fine.”

Unsure what to do, he stood still like a statue while his heart beat like a drum, and Borgin whimpered in fear. It seemed that he couldn’t help but hiss in the language of the snakes when looking at one. Maybe he could get this under control with practice? His free hand checked if his hood was still in place. Relief flooded him when he found the fabric obscuring most of his face.

“Back into the sleeve,” Harry ordered, and Nyx finally slithered back and coiled around his forearm.

He wanted to be mad at the snake but couldn’t. The serpent was barely a hatchling and… just helped him save a few hundred galleons. Borgin, however, looked like death had walked over not once but twice.

Screw it!

Harry quickly counted the gold coins, and once he had placed enough, he grabbed the book, shoved it in his inner pocket, and left the store, unwilling to stay even a second longer.

It took a whole minute for his erratic heart to calm down while his legs slowly led him out of Knockturn. Bloody hell, that was too close for comfort. He really needed to get that Parseltongue under control. Although it looked like it could be very useful for intimidation if nothing else.

He cautiously looked around in case someone dodgy decided to make trouble with him. A street vendor selling poisonously-looking candles gave him a creepy toothless smile and made Harry hasten his step. He had seen far worse during the war but had no desire to test his luck.

Red letters above a dingy door grabbed his attention and halted him mid-stride. ‘Mallone’s Malicious Monsters’. Harry hesitantly approached a fogged window that had not been cleaned in at least half a decade and carefully looked inside the dark interior.

Cages of various shapes and sizes were chaotically spread all over the place with no sign of order. A small three-headed dog was munching on a bloody piece of raw meat in each maw, and next to it was a small ghoul throwing bones at the wooden wall. There was also a pot with what suspiciously looked like a devil’s snare. But Harry’s eyes were instantly glued to a rusty cage that housed a familiar snowy owl.