Harry Potter and the True Heir

Harry Potter and the True-Blooded Heir

Chapter Three- Knowledge-Bound

"Train leaving for platform nine," a short, stout service-man in a copper sulfate blue uniform bellowed out amongst the mist of hurriedly panting travelers. On his left arm, there was an emblem of a railroad crossing sign and by it, in bottle green letterings "K.C.S." He rang his bell furtively as a horde of passengers staggered amidst one another, climbing aboard the train. Amidst the throng emerged a cart with four rugged suitcases, and a tan-white barn owl concealed inside its cage. Over the past few years, he had seen a pack of owls soaring over London in broad daylight, but never had he beheld one within arm's reach.

"Yeh, Miss." He stuck out his left index finger at the cart's pusher. Her petite body couldn't possibly haul all that weight, but she somehow managed it. The girl abruptly stopped her cart, causing her owl to hoot frenziedly. After hushing it a bit and pulling back her long black tresses from her bronzed skin, the service-man called out to her, "Care to tell me where you're headed with that load on your cart?" His bushy mustache had outgrown his expectations and slurred his speech.

"Nowhere, sir. But I am looking for Platform Nine and..." The girl's mature voice was muffled, and her expression staggered as a man placed all five of his fingers over her mouth. When the service-man's face matched the girl's, the man gave him a grim smile.

"Nine, yes. Nine, sir. Platform Nine," the man said to the serviceman.

"Really? Platform Nine is right here," the serviceman said, indicating to a big broad sign overhead.

"Oh, silly me, must've missed it. Well, then, must be off. Come on, kids." The man was shepherding his son and daughter forward, when the serviceman held out his hand in protest, causing the youngsters' carts to collide with one another; that sent the girl's owl in an uproar again.

"Wait a minute." The serviceman gave the man a piercing look, "May I see your boarding passes?"

The man replied rather nervously, "Certainly, here you go, sir." He handed the worker two boarding passes for a train leaving at Platform Nine.

After skimming over the tickets, the serviceman said, "Alri'ght then," tipping his hat to the man and his children, "Git on board, will ya?" He beamed broadly, and the man led his children ahead to a narrow spot on the platform between Platforms Nine and Ten.

"Alright, no one's going to see us." He surveyed his surroundings and nodded his 'go'. "Just push your cart right through that wall, and you'll go through it as well." He told the pair of them. "Shal," he said to the girl, "you go first."

The girl stood there blankly with apprehension written on her face.

"Go on, hun," he urged her. Then, at this, she ran with her cart all the way through the solid brick wall reaching Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Her bewilderment and floored expression were met by her brother and father as they came, following after. The Platform was vast and was packed with young wizards and witches, along with their guardians and parents. The girl gaped openly at the gargantuan train bellowing out steam. The Hogwarts Express blew its whistle once, alerting its prospective passengers.

"So, here we are. Ready to get on board? Good, for that's our signal. Shal, stay with Joseph. I don't want either of you to wander about the halls aimlessly. Hogwarts is quite a big school, a castle more like, so you'll be careful to mind where you're going. Joseph, don't leave Shalimar. Not even for a second--well maybe for--you get the picture, don't you? You listening to me, you prat?" the man called out to his son who was eying a girl with puffy brown hair boarding the Express accompanied by a ginger cat nestled under her right arm.

"Uh...huh," the boy replied; still goggling at the brunette beauty.

"You could get lost out there," the man said, pulling his son's chin in his direction. "Follow the rules and don't break anything. Just do your best. I love you both. See you for the holidays, alright? Send me an owl as often as you can." He said this as the Express blew its whistle a second time.

The family embraced one another, and the girl's gestures suggested that it was time to get on board with all the other anxious youngsters. They had found a coach suitable for all their belongings and set them inside, then came back out to say a final goodbye to their father.

"Don't skip any meals," the man hollered after them, picking up his pace. "None whatsoever!"

"Don't worry, we will," the boy called back from the front step. The pair of them waved to the panting man who had stopped to catch his breath; his hands rested on his knees and his back hovered low. He then took a deep breath and stood upright and waved back. When he was well out of sight, the kids went back inside their coach.

"You sit on that side," the boy told the girl.

"Don't worry, I will." She then sat in her desired seat and whipped out a lengthy piece of stationery. Its border was painted with pigments of sun-tanned yellow harmoniously in tune with waves of lavender and rose. She then took out a malachite green quill pen.

"Dad said to divvy up the money he gave us if a cart came by," the boy derided the girl, not making any eye contact whatsoever through the newspaper he was clutching in both hands that covered his entire visage.

"Don't worry your pretty little brown head, Joseph Marcus Olivier Arriens, I will. Besides, it's not like I'm going to buy everything in the cart with the little money we have."

Dialing out his sister's comments, the boy went on to say, folding his newspaper in tune with his words, "Take care of Perilies when you get there. That owl does nothing but sits around and moans all day, Shalimar."

"He does not! Look," Shalimar took in a moment's silence to put in check her level of voice, "I am 15 and you're 17. Don't you think you should start to act like someone your age and SHUT THE HELL UP?"

"Shal, that does it. Don't expect me to help you with anything when we get there. You're 15? My gosh, you are so immature!"

"Then why are you still yakking like a bird? As if I'll ever be as intelligent as yourself!

"Ugh, just shut it, okay?" Vehemence could be outlined in Joseph's face now as he fiddled with his newspaper, as if tempted to chuck it at her.

"Fine, that suits me. And wait, was that actually a request from the ever-wise wizard Joseph Marcus Olivier Arr--"

"Ugh," the boy grunted, looking awfully similar to a crazed gorilla, "Yes, and now as the Americans say: shut your pie hole!"

Silence took up most of the space in the compartment. Not a sound was made after the comment from Joseph until a lady with a food cart approached their compartment and slid their doors aside. Her appearance was prim and proper and only a rebellious strand of golden-white hair escaped the bun she had attempted to put it in. "Sweets, toffees, and treats," the woman announced in a nasal accent.

"I'll take your best sweets," Shalimar requested.

"I'll take your healthiest treats," the boy repeated after as the serveuse was laying out an assortment of healthy treats and sugary sweets for the pair of them to choose from. "Hand over the money, Shalimar."

"Uh, how much will two packets of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavored Beans and four packets of Agrippa's Sugar Casseroles come out to?" Shalimar chose to put aside her brother's disdainful looks to show forth her competence in something as simple as requesting a bit for them to nibble.

"Four galleons and 18 sickles," replied the serveuse with a full-throat.

"Fine, and how much for- what is it you want, Joseph?" the girl entreated assertively of the boy.

After a few moments of careful scrutiny of the menu of choices, he decided to go with, "Eight packets of Gringotts Goblins' Golden Carrots and Peas, please."

"Alright, zat's anoder eight galleons," the server squealed merrily.

"Good, here you have it: 13 galleons and one sickle." Shalimar opened up her purse proudly and handed over the money in exchange for their goodies.

"Can you check that again, Shalimar?" Joseph countered.

"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you--"

"It's supposed to be twelve galleons, 17 sickles, and 29 knuts." The boy folded his arms satisfactorily, but Shalimar merely squelched her brother's brooding overconfidence.

"Do you really want me to insult you in front of company?" she asked politely, with every bit of venom spurned out as her intentions would have it.

"You won't be, since I'm correct."

"Oh? Well, Joseph, in case you've forgotten in a little over a day, one golden galleon equals 17 sickles. And one silver sickle amounts to the same as 29 bronze knuts. Thus, if our total's four galleons and 18 sickles plus eight more galleons, our total will be 12 galleons, 17 sickles, and 29 knuts. Howe--"

"So, you do see that I'm in the right? So then--"

"You didn't let me finish. In short, 12 galleons, 18 sickles, and 29 knuts comes out to 13 galleons and one sickle because every 17^th sickle equals 29 knuts. So, I was merely trying to save us time. Glad to know that you used your noggin a little though. Thank you, Madame," the girl said turning to the French serveuse, handed her the appropriate change and received their bits to eat. Then the cart and its owner disappeared behind the sliding doors.

"We'll see when we get to Hogwarts exactly how well you use your head... I've seen your subjects and I know you'll never pass. Not since you're taking the higher level courses," the boy muttered quite audibly. It was the gnashing of his teeth, not the grinding of a Gringotts pea that was the size of a marble but slightly softer, that caused a problem.

"Yes, well, it was Professor Dumbledore who had instilled all that stuff into our memories. So, I hardly think that, with my hard work kept in mind, I will fail."

"Yes, you'd better hope that's how it turns out." Joseph set aside his packet of Gringotts Carrots and Peas and pulled down a suitcase, placed his cloak over it, and rested his head on it and his curled body nestled in the seat.

The girl glanced up for a moment, making sure that the boy was fast asleep, until she began to transcribe her thoughts onto her stationery. Each letter was carried out hastily as she clutched her quill pen hard, its nib spilling black ink onto the white background.

Day 1130,

Yesterday I went with Joseph and Dad to a place called Diagon Alley. It's just inside the confines of London. It astounded me for one reason and one reason only: to enter, one has to tap a brick wall in a certain manner that opens up to reveal the extravagant shopping bazaar. Also, alongside it is a pub visible only to the wizard's eye. Any Muggle cannot see it, which was nice. For once, I feel proud of my uniqueness.

We got there by means of the Floo Network. The Floo Network is a system of fireplaces that are used by wizards and witches to travel from one place to another. You get to your destination by using Floo Powder. I remember Professor Dumbledore using it when he left my house.

When we got there, Diagon Alley, that is, I was baffled by its simplistic beauty. Past the rustling cloaks, morose faces, and high-security posters put up everywhere, it was quite nice to enjoy the scenery. Right at the heart of this open market rested a snowy-white building with furnished bronze doors and gold filigree handles. It was headed Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Before visiting any of the stores, I was informed that Gringotts bank would be the place to turn to for all our financial needs.

And so, the three of us followed a procession of clattering students and their guardians into Gringotts. We were met by a scarlet and gold uniform and its tiny occupant. The creature looked menacing, but its high-pitched voice made him rather amusing.

"Right this way, Mr. Arriens," the goblin said, leading the way to a tiny chamber passage, by way of cart. After a few moments worth of nauseating travel had passed, we abruptly halted, making me feel as if my breakfast was going to adorn those seated in front of me, but they weren't that lucky. "Sector ARI, vault 718 is reserved for you, I see." Our driver had gotten out of the cart and wobbled his way to a vault; tugging a large golden key along his side.

"Shalimar, you and Joseph can come inside if you wish, although I really see no point to it." My dad had uttered the last five words or so as he mingled himself with the darkness of the repository. But, not soon after, the tiny creature came rushing outside in a frantic state.

"I'm sorry, sir," he called back, still clambering on, "I really didn't know about it. I'll take it to my superior immediately."

"What happened?" Joseph demanded of the worried goblin.

"Well, it appears that your mum's money has been moved to another vault."

"But why?"

"Well, it said on the piece of Official Gringotts parchment posted in there, mind you, that after her death, her housed away assets and money would be transferred to a separate vault. You see, we have very strict policies here. No money can be claimed by anyone not on the piece of parchment."

"So, we're not on the parchment?"

"No, my dear boy, you two are." The goblin pointed to me and Joseph. "But your dad isn't."

"Why would mum do that?" I asked. Even though there was little chance that this worker knew my mums reasoning behind all of this, I still figured it wouldn't hurt to ask; maybe it was stated why on the parchment.

"I don't know." the goblin shrugged remorsefully. "But if your dad is willing to take care of a little extra paper work, he can."

"Alright, we should do that then," said Joseph. Although he didn't know exactly what this 'paper work' comprised of, he still enjoyed taking the lead on this situation.

"Alright, it's 80 pages long. Does he have the time?"

"Eighty? What the hell's on that parchment that needs to be overridden by 80 pages?"

"Oh, lots of things. We have the Strict Muggle Restriction Optional Page, then the Pure-Blood Limited Optional Page, then the Housing Away Assets to Pets Page, and then the--"

"I don't need a list, thank you very much."

My dad, by the time, had managed to slip out of the shadows with three large pouches full of coins clanging together with his every stride.

"No need for all of that, Joseph. Mr.--"

"Smurfy Polacktate," the goblin amusedly replied.

"Yes--Mr. Polacktate, there is absolutely no reason to take care of all that right now. I'll do it in after a bit, so do set those 80 pages out for me. Children, let's proceed. We have loads to accomplish in this short amount of time allotted to us." He inclined his head to the goblin and ushered Joseph and me out of Gringotts.

Our next destination was to be Ollivander's. However, our expectancy to see a service-an, who also happened to be the owner, was short-lived. Mr. Ollivander was nowhere to be seen for days, and had already set out his visitors' wands before his departure, which makes me wonder where he's off to. A teenage boy filling in for him presented us our already reserved wands, and Joseph and I sniggered to each other about my comment earlier about them being 'fashionable sticks'.

I made out my wand's description from the box by which it was encased to be 101/2 inches of Holly with a core of Veela hair; it was supposed to be pliable, which made it great for charm-work. I remember Professor Dumbledore telling my dad that his excellence in Charms in his Hogwarts going days still stayed with him; and wondered if I would ever get the chance to have my wand bear such fame.

Next was the Apothecary for all my Potions needs. Then we briefly stepped inside Flourish and Blott's, for our textbooks had already been ordered and were merely waiting to be picked up. The weight of the books was added on to a wand-box's and Potions materials, and my arms were getting rather tired; so they were joyful when they got a chance to rest at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The store's owner was a rather plump woman who greeted everyone like an old friend.

"So, what can I do you for, dear?" she asked of me, already leading me to a fitting room. I just assumed that she said that line out of habit.

"Well, I'll be needing robes for my new year at Hogwarts."

"Oh, well, what House are you in, dear?" she asked, taking my measurements.

"House? Well, I live in an old brick building and--but what does that have to do with anything?"

"What on Earth are you talking about, dear? I asked which House at Hogwarts you were in, not what kind of house you live in."

"What's a 'house'?"

"Haven't you been sorted? You don't look like first year."

"No, I haven't been... what was that--sorted?" Just as I said this, my dad appeared from behind the curtains.

"Madam Malkin, our situation is a bit confusing. Just the cloaks and Hogwarts crest will do."

"Alright, can do." The woman cheeringly flicked her wand after completing taking my measurements, and my cloaks were placed on a nearby chair opposite my things.

"Come along, dear," she told Joseph. After his fitting and receiving of his cloaks, we greeted her out the front door.

Then we were told that taking a pet along with us to Hogwarts was possible and that it was more rather required. Our options ranged from cats, frogs (or of the kind), rats (or something like that), and finally owls. I figured that an owl was best because of this whole 'owl post' business, so we went to Eelopys' Owl Emporium.

Joseph immediately caught sight of a beautiful tawny owl that he chose to appellate Caesar. I think that's quite fitting, since the owl hoots threateningly at everyone. I spaced out my options a bit. After roaming around the Emporium for more than fifteen minutes, I heard a soft cry coming from the back of the room. There was a sad-looking owl and it reminded me of myself: neglected. So, I concluded that by accepting it, I would be soon accepting myself. I asked Dad to get me that 'glum' barn owl, as Joseph labeled it. But, to me, it was Perilies. A friend that would be there through all my perils. All right, I was being overdramatic. Joseph left the Emporium feeling quite haughty of his new prized possession. I, on the other hand, simply was grateful that I had found a silent companion to take with me to Hogwarts.

"Alright, we all have what we need," Dad said. "All we need to do is grab a quick drink at the 'Cauldron' and we'll be good to go."

"Okay." As Joseph and I had said this, our entire luggage of school supplies had disappeared.

We were approached inside the ill-lighted, dingy pub by several uncanny men and women who were all too battered by the drink. I'm not really sure which one, but still, it made them all drunken mages, let alone inarticulate. We then made our way to a table amongst the clitter-clatter; squeezing in between belching bodies and grog on the floor. It was already occupied by a hooded-cloaked man so I thought that we were going to rest ourselves in the table beside him. My dad sat down across the man without making any gesture of welcome, and Joseph followed suit. Although, I'd have to say there really wasn't much to gesture to. Only faint shadows outlined this man's features and his thin, pursed lips were seen. Silver strands of hair made their way through the cover, by which he had attempted to conceal them.

"Nice to see you again, Professor," Dad said.

"Yes, it is rather nice to be greeted in an appropriate manner," said the man, letting down the veil that had covered his silhouette. He was Professor Dumbledore.