The morning of Harry’s thirteenth birthday dawned bright and warm, sunlight streaming through the windows of the Tonks’ kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed tea mingled with the scent of eggs and toast, adding a comforting backdrop to the day. Harry sat at the kitchen table, absently tracing patterns on its polished wood surface, his thoughts restless and wandering.
Thirteen felt like a pivotal age—a turning point. Yet, the day had started as unremarkably as any other. His fingers twitched slightly, his gaze flicking to the window every few moments.
Across from him, Dora, ever perceptive, was watching with a knowing grin. Her hair was a playful lavender today, shimmering faintly in the morning light. “You’re going to wear a hole in the table if you keep that up,” she teased. “Relax. The owl’s probably stopping for a bite at the Leaky Cauldron. Or maybe it’s holding out for a dramatic entrance.”
Harry gave a faint smile but couldn’t hide the tension thrumming under his skin. His gaze darted back to the window.
“It will come,” Andromeda said firmly, placing a plate of toast and eggs in front of him. Her voice was warm, and reassuring. “Hogwarts doesn’t forget anyone, and you’re certainly not going to be the exception.”
Before Harry could respond, a faint tap at the window made his heart leap. A proud tawny owl perched on the sill, a thick cream-coloured envelope tied neatly to its leg. Harry jumped up, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste. He opened the window with slightly trembling hands and untied the envelope. The weight of it—the smooth parchment and the elegant green script—felt impossibly real.
He read the address aloud, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and excitement:
Harry James Potter
Tonks Residence
Second Bedroom, First Floor
“Well, don’t just stand there—open it!” Dora urged, bouncing slightly in her seat.
Harry broke the wax seal, his fingers steadying as he unfolded the letter inside.
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Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find the enclosed list of all the necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagallDeputy Headmistress
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Harry read it twice, the words sinking in slowly. His next chapter had begun. He was going to Hogwarts.
Ted, seated nearby with his usual cup of tea and the Daily Prophet, lowered the paper with a proud smile. “Congratulations, Harry. It’s official now—welcome to Hogwarts.”
Andromeda’s expression softened, a mix of pride and wistfulness. “This is just the beginning, Harry. Hogwarts will be an adventure, one you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life.”
Dora, meanwhile, was practically glowing with excitement. “And don’t you worry—I’ll be there to keep an eye on you. Fifth years know all the best tricks and secrets.”
Harry’s grin widened, some of the tension easing from his chest. “When can we go to Diagon Alley?”
“How about tomorrow?” Andromeda suggested. “You’ll need plenty of time to get your books, robes, and, most importantly, your wand.”
Dora leaned closer with a conspiratorial smirk. “And maybe we can sneak a stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Trust me, Harry, you’ll want to see the brooms.”
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The next morning, Harry found himself once again swept into the wonder of Diagon Alley. The cobblestone streets hummed with activity, witches and wizards bustling between shops, calling out greetings, or haggling over cauldron prices. Even though Harry had visited before, today carried a new significance. This trip wasn’t just another errand—it was for him, for his journey to Hogwarts.
Their first stop was The imposing marble facade of Gringott Wizarding Bank towered over Harry as he stepped out of the bustling crowd in Diagon Alley and onto its wide, polished steps. Even after multiple visits, the sight of the goblins and the grandiosity of the bank sent a thrill of awe through him.
"Right then," Ted Tonks said cheerfully, placing a guiding hand on Harry’s shoulder. "Time to sort out your account. This is a big milestone for any young wizard."
"I thought Hogwarts students just used vaults their parents set up," Harry said, a mixture of curiosity and nervousness in his voice. "Do I need to do something special?"
"Not for most students," Andromeda explained, her tone calm and measured as they ascended the stairs. "But you're not most students, Harry. You’re a Potter. The vaults tied to your family come with responsibilities—and opportunities."
They entered the grand hall, the vaulted ceilings gleaming in the light of enchanted chandeliers. The air smelled faintly metallic, and the faint clinking of coins echoed in the distance. Goblins scurried to and fro, their sharp eyes and long fingers darting over ledgers and stacks of galleons.
The trio approached a high desk, behind which a particularly sharp-featured goblin stood, his piercing gaze meeting Harry’s without hesitation.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," the goblin said, his voice smooth and professional. "We've been expecting you. Ragnok, at your service."
Harry blinked. "You’ve been expecting me?"
Ragnok’s thin lips twitched into something resembling a smile. "It is customary for heirs of prominent wizarding families to formalize their accounts upon reaching certain milestones. Thirteen is a significant age for magical inheritance."
Ted gave Harry a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry, lad. It’s nothing complicated. Just paperwork and a few introductions to what’s yours."
Ragnok motioned for them to follow. "If you will come with me, Mr. Potter, we shall review the details of your estate."
They were led to a private room deep within Gringotts, its stone walls etched with intricate runes that glimmered faintly under flickering torchlight. A polished oak table sat in the center, piled with parchment and an ornate chest emblazoned with the Potter crest.
"Your family estate is extensive," Ragnok began, his tone brisk as he spread out the documents. "It includes vaults in multiple locations, properties both magical and Muggle, and various artefacts. Some of these items are currently under protective enchantments, given your age."
Harry’s head swam at the mention of properties and artefacts. He glanced at Ted and Andromeda, who both nodded encouragingly.
Ragnok continued. "Vault 687 is your trust vault for daily access. It contains your school fund and discretionary finances. Vault 722 holds heirlooms and family records. Lastly, Vault 143—the Legacy Vault—is restricted until you reach majority."
The mention of a Legacy Vault sent a shiver of intrigue through Harry. "What’s in the Legacy Vault?"
"Artifacts, rare books, and items passed down through the Potter lineage," Ragnok replied. "Its contents are enchanted to remain confidential until the rightful heir is of age."
Harry nodded, though the idea of hidden family treasures made his mind buzz with questions.
The descent into the Gringotts tunnels was exhilarating. The goblin-pulled cart zoomed through narrow, twisting tracks, the air growing colder with each turn. Harry clutched the edge of the cart, a mixture of excitement and unease churning in his stomach.
When they stopped outside Vault 687, Ragnok retrieved a long, ornate key from his robe. The door was a solid slab of metal, carved with runes that shimmered as the goblin approached.
"Your key, Mr. Potter," Ragnok said, handing it to Harry. "A momentous occasion, opening your first vault."
Harry slid the key into the lock. The runes flared briefly before the door swung open with a low groan, revealing neat stacks of galleons, sickles, and knuts that gleamed in the torchlight. Harry’s breath caught.
"There’s… so much," he murmured, stepping inside and running his fingers lightly over the cool metal of the coins.
"Your parents ensured you’d have everything you needed for Hogwarts and beyond," Andromeda said softly, her voice tinged with pride and sadness. "Use it wisely, Harry."
As Harry collected a pouchful of coins, Ted cleared his throat. "Harry, there’s something important to understand about all this. Money’s useful, sure, but what really matters is how you use what you’ve been given—not just the gold, but the opportunities it provides."
Ragnok chimed in. "Your family’s influence extends far beyond wealth. The Potters were known for their efforts in magical research, diplomacy, and equality between magical beings."
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Harry’s curiosity piqued. "Equality? Like… fighting against the Dark wizards?"
"In a way," Andromeda said, smiling faintly. "Your ancestors believed magic should unite people, not divide them. They supported alliances with goblins, advocated for better treatment of No-Majs, and even funded schools to help Emergent children adjust to the magical world."
Harry pocketed the coins, his chest swelling with a sense of pride and responsibility. "I want to do that too," he said earnestly. "Make a difference, like they did."
Ted clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You’re already on your way, Harry."
As the cart sped back toward the surface, Harry sat quietly, lost in thought. The enormity of his inheritance wasn’t just about vaults or properties—it was about what he could do with them. He was connected to a legacy of change, of challenging the status quo, and of bridging divides between magical and non-magical worlds.
When they emerged into the sunlight once more, Harry felt a shift within himself. The day had started with excitement for Hogwarts, but now it held something deeper—a sense of purpose.
“Ready for the next stop?” Ted asked, grinning.
Harry returned the smile, gripping the pouch of coins tightly. “I’m ready for anything.”
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Flourish and Blotts, the towering bookstore packed with shelves upon shelves of magical texts. Inside, the air smelled of old parchment and freshly printed books, and the soft rustle of turning pages filled the space.
As Harry wandered through the aisles, he noticed a girl about his age standing with her parents. Her wild, bushy brown hair framed a face lit with eager curiosity as she flipped through a thick textbook. She held a shopping list in one hand, ticking off items with quick strokes of a pencil.
Curious, Harry approached her. “Need any help?” he offered, smiling.
The girl startled slightly, turning toward him with wide eyes that quickly softened into a smile of her own. “Oh! Yes, thank you. I didn’t mean to block the aisle—I just… there are so many books! I’ve read about magic, of course, but seeing it all in person is—well, it’s overwhelming.”
Harry chuckled, reaching for one of the books she’d been eyeing. “It is a lot at first. I’m Harry, by the way. Harry Potter.”
Her eyes widened briefly at his name but didn’t linger. Instead, her excitement bubbled over. “I’m Hermione Granger. It’s nice to meet you. I only found out I was a witch a few months ago, so this is all completely new.”
Harry glanced at her parents nearby, who were flipping through books with a mix of fascination and bewilderment. He gave them a polite nod before turning back to Hermione. “I get what you mean. I didn’t grow up fully in the magical world either. My guardians Ted & Andi, Ted is an Emergent and My aunt Andi is what people would call a pure-blood witch, so I live in both world magical and mundane, but i have still so much to learn in both.”
Hermione tilted her head, intrigued. “Emergent? What does that mean?”
“It’s something I started using after a trip to France,” Harry explained, his voice growing thoughtful. “They use different terms for magical people like us there. It made me think about the words we use here, like Muggle-born or even Muggle. Sometimes they’re said with this... bite, even if people don’t mean it that way. It can make things seem more divided than they really are.”
Hermione frowned, her brow furrowing as she processed his words. “You’re right. Even in the books I’ve read, there’s this... tone when people talk about Muggle-borns. Like we’re outsiders.”
“Exactly,” Harry said, nodding. “That’s why I started using No-Maj for non-magical people—it’s neutral. And instead of Muggle-born, I say Emergent. It focuses on the magic itself, not where someone comes from.”
Hermione’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “That’s brilliant, Harry. It makes it sound... magical. Like we all belong.”
“That’s the idea,” Harry said with a small smile. “There’s so much to think about in the magical world. It’s not just spells and potions—it’s history, culture, and how we see each other.”
Hermione’s excitement was infectious. “I can’t wait to get to Hogwarts. There’s so much to learn! Do you think they’ll teach us about magical cultures in other countries?”
Harry grinned. “If they don’t, I’ll teach you. I’ve got loads to share from my trip to France.”
The two continued talking as they browsed the shelves, their conversation flowing easily. By the time they parted ways, Harry felt a strange sense of kinship with Hermione. She was eager and curious, if not a tad overbearing at times but he could be too if you talked about obscure magic, but besides all that he could already tell she would be someone he wanted to know better After finishing their shopping at Flourish and Blotts, Harry and the Tonks family moved through the lively streets of Diagon Alley, ticking items off his school list one by one. The conversation with Hermione lingered in Harry’s mind as he carried his new stack of books. Her enthusiasm and fresh perspective had felt refreshing, and her questions reminded him of his first encounters with the magical world.
“She seems like she’ll be a good friend,” Dora said, breaking into his thoughts. She nudged him playfully. “Bit of a know-it-all, though. Bet she’s already memorized half those books.”
Harry smirked, adjusting the weight of his bag. “She’s curious—there’s nothing wrong with that. I think she’ll be brilliant.”
“Brilliant’s one thing,” Dora teased, her hair shifting to a fiery red as she grinned, “but let’s hope she doesn’t end up making us all look like slouches.”
Ted, overhearing the exchange, chuckled. “Curiosity’s a good trait in the magical world. You both have it. Just don’t let it steer you into trouble.” He raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Or should I say, don’t let Dora steer you into trouble?”
“I resent that!” Dora said, though her mischievous grin betrayed her. “I’ve never steered Harry into trouble... on purpose.”
Harry laughed, shaking his head. The warmth of their banter carried them through the remaining errands. Soon, they were laden with cauldrons, potion ingredients, parchment, and robes. By the time they reached Ollivanders, the sky was streaked with shades of orange and pink.
The narrow shop smelled of wood and varnish, and the air seemed to hum faintly with magic. Harry felt a twinge of nervous anticipation as he stepped inside. Stacks of long, narrow boxes towered precariously on every shelf, giving the space an almost labyrinthine feel.
“Ah, Mr. Potter,” said Mr. Ollivander, stepping out from the shadows as though he had been waiting all day just for Harry. His silvery eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Harry swallowed but nodded, his heart beating faster. “Hello.”
“Choosing a wand is a momentous occasion,” Ollivander continued, his voice soft yet purposeful. “Every wand is unique, just as every wizard is unique. Finding the right match is an art as much as a science.” He studied Harry for a moment before disappearing among the stacks.
When Ollivander returned, he placed a slender box on the counter and opened it with reverence. “Try this. Ash wood, unicorn hair core, ten and a half inches. Quite supple.”
Harry picked up the wand and gave it a tentative flick, but nothing happened. The wand felt stiff in his hand, unresponsive.
Ollivander hummed thoughtfully, then handed him another. “Ebony and dragon heartstring, eleven inches. Good for transfiguration.”
This wand sent a few golden sparks into the air before fizzling out. Harry frowned, feeling that is was resisting is magic intent.
“Patience, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said softly, as though reading his thoughts. “The wand chooses the wizard, remember. Let’s try... this.”
The third wand sent a surge of warmth through Harry’s hand the moment he touched it. He gasped slightly as a faint golden light emanated from the tip. The wand felt alive, as though it had been waiting for him.
“Holly and phoenix feather,” Ollivander murmured, watching the wand with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. “Eleven inches, nice and supple. A powerful combination.”
Harry looked at him curiously. “What’s so special about it?”
Ollivander tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Curious. That wand shares a core with another. The phoenix who gave this feather provided only one other—a wand used by You-Know-Who”
Harry froze, the wand suddenly heavy in his hand. “Voldemort?” he echoed, the name sending a faint plus in his mind.
“The wand chooses the wizard,” Ollivander repeated, his voice calm but firm. “And while your wand may share a core, it is yours and yours alone. Great things await you, Mr. Potter, though whether they are for good or ill is up to you.”
Harry nodded slowly, gripping the wand tighter. He didn’t fully understand the implications of what Ollivander had said, but something about the wand felt right. It felt like his.
As they left Ollivanders, the group headed toward their final stop: Eeylops Owl Emporium. Inside, the shop was alive with the hoots and flutters of owls of every size and colour. Harry wandered between the cages, marvelling at the snowy owls, barn owls, and tiny screech owls.
One owl in particular caught his attention. A regal snowy owl with piercing amber eyes sat in the corner, her feathers as white as freshly fallen snow. She stared at him intently, as though sizing him up.
“I think I’ll take this one,” Harry said, pointing to the snowy owl. The shopkeeper smiled as he carefully transferred her to a cage.
“She’s a fine choice,” the shopkeeper said. “Stubborn but a Smart, loyal, and strong companion. Treat her well.”
Harry grinned as he carried the cage out of the shop. “I’ll call her Hedwig.”
As the family started back toward the Leaky Cauldron, a voice called out behind them.
“Harry! Wait!”
Turning, Harry saw Hermione hurrying toward him, her parents trailing a few steps behind. She was clutching a thick stack of books to her chest, her eyes alight with excitement.
"I just wanted to say thank you," Hermione said, slightly breathless, her words tumbling out in a rush. "For helping me earlier. And… well, I thought maybe we could write to each other before term starts. You know, to compare notes?"
Harry smiled warmly, his green eyes lighting up. "Of course. I’d like that. We can use my new owl, Hedwig." He turned to the snowy owl's cage, leaning closer. "Would you help us out, girl?"
Hedwig let out a soft, dignified hoot, as though granting her approval.
Hermione beamed, her excitement bubbling over. "Brilliant! There's so much to talk about—magic, Hogwarts, everything. It's all just so fascinating, isn't it?"
“It is,” Harry agreed, his excitement bubbling up again. “And there’s so much more to learn.”
As Hermione waved goodbye and disappeared back into the crowd with her parents, Harry couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation for the year ahead. Meeting Hermione had reminded him of just how big the magical world was and how much there was still to discover.
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That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Harry sat by his bedroom window, Hedwig perched on the sill beside him. The day had been overwhelming, full of new experiences and emotions. The wand, the owl, meeting Hermione—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle slotting into place.
He thought back to his conversation with Hermione about words and their hidden meanings. The terms people used to define others—Muggle, Muggle-born, No-Maj, Emergent—were more than just words. They carried weight, shaping how people saw themselves and each other.
Harry felt a flicker of determination. He didn’t know how yet, but he wanted to challenge those old ideas, to make the magical world a place where everyone could belong.
Hedwig hooted softly, her amber eyes reflecting the fading light. Harry reached out to stroke her feathers, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Ready for Hogwarts, girl?” he murmured. “Because I think I am.”
And for the first time that day, he felt entirely certain. Hogwarts was just the beginning.