Chapter 4: Chapter - 4 : Stranger in a Familiar World
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that in mind, Harry paused when he reached the front steps of Gringotts, thinking of all the gold locked inside the imposing white marble building. Harry needed money but unfortunately he couldn't think of a way to get large amounts of it without resorting to outright theft. His counterpart had probably had a trust vault, but Harry wouldn't be able to access it without revealing his identity - and maybe not even then, since with the other Harry's death his property had surely been inherited by someone else.
In the end Harry's desire for secrecy won out over the slim possibility of getting his hands on a heap of galleons and he reluctantly continued on down the street. Being without a wand was making him increasingly uneasy and the only way to fix the problem was by buying one. Fortunately for Harry, he'd learnt a lot from watching the Weasleys shop for school supplies over the years, and he knew of a small junk shop on the corner to Knockturn Alley where he hoped he could get everything he needed.
As he walked he examined his surroundings and found ever growing proof of being in a different world. Where Harry expected to see a second hand robe shop there was instead a run-down café; 'Obscurus Books' appeared to have been renamed 'Opus Obscurus'; and - most astonishing of all - a white marble statue of a five-year-old Harry Potter stood on a pedestal in the middle of the street.
Harry stumbled to halt in front of it, tilting his head up to stare at the small stone figure. A shiver ran down his spine as his eyes traced over the familiar features - the messy hair, the pointed chin and, of course, the lightning bolt scar. At the base of the statue the simple words In Memoriam were carved, but other phrases were scribbled in graffiti alongside it. Thank you, Harry! Down with Dumbledore! Avenge the Boy Who Lived! Death to all Muggles! The messages were many and varied, but Harry was disturbed by the numerous outpourings of hatred against the muggle world. He didn't remember there being such blatant anti-muggle feeling from his old world before Voldemort's return.
Harry wasn't sure how long he would have stood there staring at the statue in morbid fascination if one of the many street-peddlers hadn't approached him.
"How abou' some flowers, eh? To lay at little Harry's feet?" The peddler waved a tray of lilies under Harry's nose and gestured to where dozens of wreaths already littered the ground in front of the statue.
"No," Harry said, pushing the tray away. "Thanks," he remembered to add, then hurried past the peddler before the man could get a good look at his face.
The statue made it even more imperative that he buy a wand and disguise himself, and Harry was relieved to find that at least his memories of the junk shop matched the new reality he found himself in. The single shop window didn't give much of a hint as to the available merchandise and once inside Harry was confronted with a confused jumble of different items. Books were stacked in towering piles along the walls while baskets of second-hand clothes, broken scales, old broomsticks and various other knick-knacks covered every other available surface.
The shopkeeper sat reading a magazine with his feet up on the counter and paid no attention to Harry as he browsed the shop. Harry was happy to be ignored, not keen on dealing with intrusive questions such as why he was wearing clothes that were several sizes too big for him or why he wanted a wand in the first place. Many wizarding children practiced magic before they started Hogwarts but they normally used family wands. It was rare for a child to buy a wand before the age of eleven, considering it generally took until then for their magic to become mature enough to find a proper match.
It took some rummaging around, but eventually Harry found a basket of old and battered wands behind a stack of dog-eared Martin Miggs comics. One by one Harry picked them up and waved them around, hoping to find a wand that suited him. Finally, one gave off a few sparks and Harry smiled in satisfaction. He tilted his head to read the label tied to the worn and scratched handle. 'Birch, serpent scale core. 9 1/2 inch.
Gregorovitch.'
Harry doubted whether the battered old wand really was a Gregorovitch creation, but decided it would have to do. Buying his Phoenix feather wand from Ollivander would not only be too expensive but would also draw unwanted attention. Maybe later once he knew more about the world he found himself in, he could risk purchasing the Dark Lord's brother wand, but for the time being he'd have to settle for a half-decent temporary one.
"Oi! You buying or what?" the shopkeeper demanded.
"Oh, right, yeah." Harry shook off his thoughts and moved over to the till. Bending down he tugged off his too-big dragon-hide boots, then dropped them and the wand down on the counter.
The shopkeeper snorted. "Whatcha do, kid? Steal your dad's boots?"
"None of your business," Harry retorted.
"They're yours in exchange for the wand and some old clothes. What d'you say?"
The shopkeeper didn't bother to haggle much, clearly more interested in returning to his Quidditch magazine, so it didn't take long for them to strike a deal. Harry handed over the dragon-hide boots (a very generous birthday gift from Charlie Weasley) and in return he got a wand, four second-hand robes, and a pair of ratty muggle trainers. He even managed to get a box of old Daily Prophets thrown in as well, and by the time Harry left the shop he was smiling and wearing clothes that actually fit him.
It was a relief to be dressed more inconspicuously and to feel the reassuring weight of a wand tucked up his sleeve. Harry knew there was no reason to expect any trouble considering the world he was in was safe enough as far as he could tell. But with a wand Harry could ensure that no one would connect him to the dead Boy Who Lived, giving him enough breathing room to figure out what exactly he wanted do with his new life. Covering his scar with his fringe was a very flimsy disguise.
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