Tangents of History

Two of Coins

The Spindle of Fate, by Ladoga Wundu

'Have you by any chance seen a toad? Neville's lost his.'

Harry looked up. It was a girl with long bushy brown hair. She was dressed in a dark green tunic and leggings, seeming oddly out of place in the world of swirling robes and bright colours.

'Toad... Neville?' echoed Harry.

A dumpy boy stood slightly behind her. He smiled shyly.

'Toad: any of various tailless stout-bodied amphibians with long hind limbs for leaping; semiaquatic and terrestrial species. This one happens to be big enough to fit in one's palm, a dark olive green with warts. He was last seen in the garden pond.' The girl glared at him impatiently, waiting for an answer. Somewhere in the brambly tangles of her hair Harry noticed the remains of green ribbon. The thought of it amused him strangely.

'No, but-' began Harry.

The girl had already abandoned him and was marching up to another hapless customer to interrogate them on the toad's whereabouts.

Hagrid returned shortly and was accompanied by a woman with a tray piled high with food. It smelled heavenly. Gravy swamped the enormous joint of lamb, thick slices of bread piled precariously into a leaning tower and a mountain of roast vegetables. The woman set the tray down. After wiping her hands on her apron she bestowed a kiss on Harry's forehead and whispered, 'For my hero.'

'Thank yer, darlin,' said Hagrid as the woman swished away. 'Eat, Harry.'

Though the Dursley's never really starved Harry, the empty feeling in his stomach was a more or less constant companion. Hot, filling food was a scarcity. Harry attacked the food with vigour.

'Erm... Hagrid... What exactly did I survive?'

'Whach’yer meaning?'

'They call me the Boy who Survived. What did I survive?' asked Harry.

'The dark wizard Necronundrum, of course...' Hagrid noticed Harry's expression of bafflement. 'Yer don't mean the Dursleys didna tell yer this?'

Harry nodded. Sipping his hot cider, he waited patiently as Hagrid invented new swear words to describe the Dursleys.

When Hagrid finally calmed, he continued. 'Twas the first night of Samhain. Yer survived an attack by the riddling one when yer were 'bout one. Yer survived, but yer parents didn't. Neither did the riddling one.'

'But my parents died from red plague or-'

'Red plague would never killed James and Lily of Loxley,' declared Hagrid. 'Never. They were killed by the riddling one.'

'Why? My father was a potter.'

Hagrid shook his head. 'I ain't the right one te tell yer this, Harry. I didn't understand most of it when it happened.'

'But... Could you at least tell me who this riddling one is?

'His name... his name is...' Hagrid seemed suddenly very scared. A heavy shadow of fear fell over them. In a whisper, Hagrid finally said the name: 'Necronundrum, Riddle of Death.' Having said it, Hagrid looked around nervously expecting a something horrible to happen.

'I've said it and yer won't hear me say it again...' Hagrid took a deep breath. 'One thing yer have ter understand, Harry. Not all wizards are good... he was a dark wizard, as dark as they come. 'Twas about twelve years ago when he came just appeared. No one knew where he came from. Just feared him. The fight was brief. Some hardly remembered how dark and long those two years were. They like te forget, but they don't forget ye. Ye came along and saved everyone. Yer survived.'

Seeing Hagrid's discomfort on the subject, Harry swallowed his questions and allowed conversation to drift to Hagrid's fascination for magical creatures.

'I'd like ter raise a dragon someday,' said Hagrid, slightly misty-eyed. 'Most reckon they're a little dangerous, but they're just misunderstood. Dragons are beautiful creatures. A little antisocial, but beautiful...'

Remembering the stories he had once heard about fire-breathing, man-eating dragons, Harry hesitated to comment.

After they finished the meal, the innkeeper led them to the room. Through the man's friendly banter with Hagrid, Harry garnered that the inn was quite full and individual rooms were impossible. Once they arrived, Harry learnt that sharing the room's floor with about six other people would be no easy feat. Harry minced around the sleeping bodies, carefully avoiding stepping them. Finding himself a comfortable spot by the fireplace, Harry curled up to sleep.

Harry awoke the next morning uncertain of where he was. Fragments of a disturbing dream lingered in his mind. They soon melted with the early morning sun shining through the shutters and the events of the day before finally sank in.

After a hearty breakfast in which Harry received another short lecture on dragons (the Short Snout, to be precise), they headed off to finish their purchases.

Their visit to Mistress Malian’s Robes for All Affairs provided him with the three sets of plain black robes, a pointed black hat, dragonhead gloves and a black winter cloak, that was on their shopping list. Hagrid engaged in some spirited haggling with Mistress Malkin who was curiously not intimidated by Hagrid's height and persistently advertised the goods in her piercing voice.

'Harry, ye stay here fer a moment, I've somthin' to fetch. Mistress Malkin'll give ye the robes. Try 'em on. Should fit ye betta than whach’yer wearing now.' He spoke slowly, as though every word had to take a special detour to avoid a certain subject he was avoiding.

Harry nodded. Hagrid would tell him if it was important.

As he waited for Hagrid and Mistress Malkin systematically searched her stacks of clothing, a blond boy waltzed into the shop.

'Young Master Malfoy, I'm afraid that the robes Mistress Malfoy ordered aren't ready yet. Would you like to-'

The Young Master Malfoy dismissed her with a wave of his hand. There was something about his haughty air that Harry immediately disliked.

'I've a note from my father, Mistress Malkin,' he drawled.

The seamstress scanned the note. Face paling, she nodded. 'I'll find it, Young Master,' she promised and disappeared to the back of the shop.

The boy turned his attention to Harry. 'Hogwarts, I presume?'

Harry nodded.

'Likewise. Father was hoping to get me a tutor but ever since the Devil's Snare got the last one...' his voice trailed off, evidently bored. 'I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.'

Harry nodded again and made some sound in his throat to indicate he was still listening.

Mistress Malkin returned with a bundle and carefully handed it to Malfoy.

'Thank you, Mistress Malkin,' said Malfoy ceremoniously and left the shop. Somehow he had made the innocent words sound insulting.

Clearly shaken, she leaned back and breathed slowly. Harry was puzzled by the whole situation. The only conclusion for him to draw was that Malfoys were bad news.

'And yes... your robes,' began Mistress Malkin, suddenly noticing Harry.

'It's all right. Rest a moment,' said Harry quickly.

Mistress Malkin shook her head. 'I've almost found it...' She unfolded a black robe, looked critically at it and pointing to a curtained-off corner of the room, asked Harry to try them on.

Hagrid reappeared with a grey owl perched on his wrist. 'Yer look quite a wizard, Harry,' he said. 'And happy birthday again. This is Hedwig. She'll keep yer company at Hogwarts.'

Hagrid and Mistress Malkin haggled some more before Harry paid, but he could see her heart wasn't really in the exchange. Her insults have lost their edge and her praises seemed oddly tarnished. If Hagrid noticed the difference, he didn't show it.

Their next stop was the bookstore, Smudges. They walked by Flourish and Blotts, a neater store by far; Smudges was cluttered with books, like great clumsy butterflies perched on every surface of the room. Books were stacked precariously high or leaning on one another in groaning piles. The colourful spines of the books in the wall seemed to form the spine of a great, dangerous serpent, coiled tightly around the room. The girl with the bushy hair sat on the only spot not covered by books, engrossed in a tome much larger than herself.

Hagrid frowned. 'Irma should be here... I'll go find her, Harry, she might have gone te that Blotts place. Take Hedwig.' Right on cue, the grey owl hopped onto Harry's shoulder. She was a heavy bird, her claws digging almost painfully into his skin.

With nothing better to do as Hagrid disappeared the second time this morning, Harry flitted through the books, overwhelmed by the shear number of them. The fact that he didn't know how to read had never mattered much before, but now it seemed a horrible tragedy as he was faced by a room full of knowledge that he couldn't access. It was like trying to touch one's reflection; it was so close he could see it, yet he cannot touch it or know it. As he opened one of the volumes, he became fascinated by the material the books were printed on, something far lighter than the calfskin parchment that his uncle reserved for Very Important Documents.

'Mistress Pince called it Zi,' supplied the girl, looking up from her book. She was very much dwarfed by the tome on her lap. She looked at him from behind the tangled mass of her hair, hair that was neither entirely straight or uniformly curly, just tangled. 'It's much cheaper than parchment, made from wood and leaves. They haven't told the Muggles this part of the world about it yet, though I'm surprised they haven't learnt. Most wizards still call it parchment though, out of habit.'

'Oh...'

'I'm Hermione Ranger of Kyrklies.'

The grey owl on his shoulder hooted, prompting him. 'Harry of Yanworth.'

'Are you really? I know all about you, naturally. I've been reading a lot about you - see my parents are Muggles, I've been trying to catch up with all the comings and goings with the Wizarding World; wizards are secretive people, you know - I've read about you in High Tea with You Know Who and The Dark Conundrum. You're also in Mark the Remarkable: Great Wizards of Our Time. I believe Riddling Dark Lords mentioned you in the last chapter, though not favourably.'

Harry nodded, feeling dazed.

'Goodness, didn't you know? I would have read everything I could have gotten my hands on if it was me,' said Hermione. 'Do you have any idea of how the house system works? Hogwarts hasn't been around for long enough for much literature to be written about it.'

'Well...' said Harry. 'I suppose you could ask Hagrid.'

Hagrid returned with a tall woman raimented in dusty purple robes.

'I know, Hagrid,' the woman was saying. 'But I just needed to make it clear to them that I won't sell my shop. They sent me another owl this morning about it. I'm just getting so sick of all these offers to buy up this place.' She waved her hands around. 'Just because my husband died does not mean I have to faint into the arms of the nearest convenient male.'

Hagrid nodded grimly. 'Understood, Irma. We're here to keep yer in business. We'll need these,' said Hagrid, giving the list.

'We?' asked the woman, looking around. Finally spotting Harry, she gestured for him to go closer. 'Pleasure to meet you, Master Potter. Mistress Pince at your service.'

'You know me...' said Harry, uneasily. It was disconcerting being famous for something he could barely remember.

The woman squinted at the list. 'Yes, we have these...'

Hagrid produced the caldron they had bought the day before and Mistress Pince carefully placed book after book into it, dictating the titles as she went. 'Old Bagshot's A History of Magic... I'm sure I've got a copy of Magical Theory somewhere... Adalbert Waffling's book is brilliant. He makes it all seem oh-so-easy... Three Thousand Useful Herbs and Fungi... seems a little heavy for a beginner, but I'm not to question their choices... I remember this, Arsenius Jigger's Magical Drafts and Potions. That wizard used to teach me, always spoke of writing a textbook one day... Now where is that copy of Magical Theory...' She fluttered through the mountains of books, occasionally levitating herself to reach the higher shelves. How she navigated remained a mystery to Harry.

'You used it to balance your worktable, Mistress Pince,' reminded Hermione. 'You said no one would buy it earlier this morning and jammed it under the left corner of the wobbly table.'

'Ah, yes!' Mistress Pince smacker her hand against her forehead and tottered off to collect the book. Carefully removing it from its position wedged underneath the heavy oak table, she dusted it a little and thrust it at Harry. 'Have a look... It should be readable.'

'Umm... I can't,' muttered Harry quietly.

'Can't what, Master Potter?'

'Can't read.'

Harry heard a gasp from Hermione. For one who seemed to have built her world around books, finding out that someone didn't know their letters would be quite a shock, he supposed, but illiteracy was hardly an uncommon trait. Most of the people he knew couldn't read.

'Well, child, you'll just have to learn.' Mistress Pince voice had softened. It was as though she had realised that the Boy who Survived was exactly that - a boy.

'Yes, Mistress Pince.'

Hagrid haggled with Mistress Pince. It was then that Harry realised that Hagrid actually enjoyed haggling and did it more for the sake of itself than the three or four sickles one can save.

'He's haggling to raise the price,' whispered Hermione. 'And she's haggling to lower the price. Ironic, isn't it?'

'She didn't seem the sort who would accept that brand of sympathy.'

Hermione nodded. 'Have you tried any spells yet? I've read all the textbooks and have been trying a few - nothing difficult, really. It's a lot easier if you speak Latin, of course and I don't suppose you do - the spells have all worked very well. Mother still can't see the point in levitating cutlery though. I'm sure it would come in handy one of these days.'

'Ever get the feeling that the whole world is conspiring to make you feel incompetent?'

'Constantly.'

Harry looked at her strangely. The slightly nervous, bubbly girl seemed anything but that. She returned his gaze with an equally querulous one. 'So your parents are Muggles...' he started.

She nodded. 'They're rangers.'

As the stubborn Mistress Pince and the equally stubborn Hagrid hammered out the price, Harry learnt that Hermione's parents worked for the sheriff of Yorkshire as rangers of the forest up north, guarding the game there from thieving poachers. Harry also learnt that despite her evident scholarly inclinations, Hermione was 'competent' with a wide array of arms. 'But it really depends on how you define it,' she added. 'I won't take my own arm off by accident, by my definition.'

'Let's go, Harry.' By the look on Hagrid's face, it was obvious who won.

Having left Smudges with a caldron-full of books, their next and last stop was Ollivanders. The shop was small, crowded with neat white boxes. After initial exchanges and what Harry now learnt was a habitual moment of awe about him and his scar, Master Ollivander led him to the backroom where they could safely test out the wands. Hedwig obediently flew to Hagrid's shoulder. He began to rummage around for a suitable wand for him.

'Hogwarts? I had another student from there earlier. Three handspans. Bamboo. Nicely whippy. Nundu claws and Liondragon heartstrings, I recall. Each Ollivander's wand is filled with a unique magical core. Common ingredients include dragon's heartstrings, unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers... Now, try this. Two and a half handspans. Ash. Springy. Core of unicorn hair and holly.'

Harry held the wand awkwardly. He looked at Master Ollivander for confirmation; Hagrid nodded solemnly. Still feeling a little foolish, Harry waved the wand in a little half circle.

'No... Try. Two handspans exactly. Rigid oak. Unicorn hair and fluxweed... Two and a quarter handspans. Laurel. Swishy. Manticore sting and nettles... No... Two handspans and three thumbwidths. Cinnamon. Bit soft, but very flexible. Ashwinder scales, knotgrass and ginger... Two and a quarter. Ebony. Thestral mane and nightshade... Two and three quarters. Bloodwood. Auguery feather, adder's tongue fern and dew-diluted boomslang venom...'

The pile of used wands grew larger and larger; Master Ollivander grew more and more excited. The wand ingredients also got progressively stranger.

'Maybe...' Master Ollivander stared at the wand for a long moment before giving it to Harry. He sounded just a little uncertain when he said, 'Two and a half handspans. Yew. Phoenix pinion, Lethifold threads and helmetflower buds.

The moment his fingers closed around the wand, a chill crept up his spine. The wind seeping inside through the shutters seemed to change direction and the magical light flickered. A haunting strain of phoenix song, silver in its beauty, could be heard. A sense of belonging and completion overwhelmed him. There was a promise of companionship and constancy in the warm polished wood he held.

'The wand has found its wizard,' said Master Ollivander ceremoniously.

Harry drew a circle in the air with his wand. It trailed silvery sparks.

'Curious that... very curious...' muttered Master Ollivander.

'What is?'

'Your wand. I had given up trying to sell that particular combination for the past nine centuries. In fact, I had stopped using Lethifold threads for the past seven centuries. Too volatile. Too hard to acquire. Lethifolds are dangerous creatures. Powerful, certainly, but too powerful at moments. I remember there was a time when the Council wanted to abolish wands with Lethifold threads... The only other wand I know still in use with a Lethifold thread in it is... never mind.'

Harry didn't share the details of his wand with Hagrid. Despite Hagrid's apparent fascination for all things deadly and dangerous, having a thread from a ferocious creature that looked like a finger-width thick cloak that attacks and smothers people at night, didn't seem like the ideal subject to discuss over dinner. Their subject of conversation did revolve around creatures equally dangerous, however. Harry ended up in a Care for Magical Creatures crash course and drifted off to sleep that night with thoughts of dragons and Basilisks and manticores swimming in his head.