Of Magic and Lavish (HP SI)

England [Magical]

23-08-1969​

Perteus Graymort​:

Diagon Alley was…odd. The place felt both vast and claustrophobic, with buildings and people only gaining significance when you got close enough to them. It was crowded too, filled with strange folks dressed in equally strange clothes.

"'Tis a wondrous place, isn't it?" Slughorn said beside me. Despite his size, the man was a proper guide, pointing out places of novelty and explaining much and more about them.

"It is," I agreed, still reeling from the day's events. It had only been a short while since the Potions professor revealed the nature of my new reality. Excluding my own oddness and the man's demonstration, I had already experienced two magical wonders—both of the spatial sort.

And now, I was in the alley of Diagon, here to stock on supplies.

And our first stop—

"Ah, it seems we're here. And just after they opened too," the professor said.

Before the storefront, we stood, our motion halted by my wonderment. The bloated professor indulged me, allowing me to soak in this imagined sight with great patience—a grand favor.

Madam Malkin's shop. One of the key spots from the books and pictures.

I gave it a proper look and saw the cracks in the depictions, the maturity not yet etched upon its image. It was still young, still clear. The hue of the shopfront was still deep and glossy, its purple paint unmarred by blemishes or cracks. The clear windows, bewitched with charm, were untouched by damage or taint.

I breathed, my heart drumming to a spasming rhythm. My shroud was there, infused with the ambience, caressing at the wooden front of the store and identifying the twisted existence knitted within it.

The unreality that was magic.

It dwindled away, a piece at the time. The order of the universe still enforced itself upon it, though the beauty still stood.

My heart ceased its erratic thrumming. Calming and taking to a more composed experience.

The seamstress's love, her pride, was still heavy—the full brunt of it bleeding from every square. Her passion would endure, but this care, this untarnished attention, would one day fade. This charm would flee with it—as it was the wont of time's avarice—though I wondered if the awe of tomorrow would hold a lesser significance.

I turned to look at the animated mannequins. They moved no different from living people, clothed in fashions so queer and yet undeniably tasteful.

It made me wonder about Dumbledore, his fashion. So flamboyant was it, the mask of his pain. I dared not begrudge him, of course.

Perhaps sensing my satiation, the professor began his walk, the tap of his spell-made footwear drawing me out of my funk. He pushed at the doors, the bell within chiming with the same oddness loud within incantations.

Magic.

It forced attention upon me, causing me to look back at the entrance as if I were the proprietor. I immediately withdrew my shroud, and the magical-reinforced urge whisked away.

'I need to reconfigure my instincts.'

My cultivated boon was quick to intermingle with foreign magic. I knew, of course, that the shop's urge was triggered by distance, and my awareness—my pseudo-presence—had been further within the shop proper via the telekinetic shroud.

"Oh, hello there," came a soft, light tone from a lean young woman of rather average height. She had vibrant amber eyes and a pleasant, heart-shaped face adorned with a warm smile. "How might we assist you?"

She was no Madam Malkin, I decided. However, no disappointment simmered in my breast at that fact. The store owner was not much of a famed character, nor someone of significance.

The good professor stepped forward, a mirror smile on his face. I was still a fair bit impressed by Slughorn, the man more pleasant than my imagined character of him. He was not blinded by flowery words, nor did he favour so fiercely. No, he acted more like an adult ought to act. He saw and deduced with acquired wisdom, though his vices were still there.

This, of course, made me even more curious of Tom's charisma…or was it manipulation. The dark lord was barely a young adult when he acquired the knowledge of horcruxes, after all.

The professor's voice killed my thoughts. "Ah, Ms. Selpie. How have you been?" He greeted, his joyous regard banishing the girl's previous query.

I let them talk, not particularly curious, and chose instead to survey the store properly. It was… more akin to a tailor's shop—a mundane one at that. I wandered its corners, brushing against the fabrics with a hint of appraisal lingering in my shroud.

The spellwork imbued within the material felt contradictory to my senses, and deep inside, I knew that understanding it would take time—replication even more so.

Magic was its own reality, though its rules—if it had any—were malleable, easily overrun by intent, desire, and, in most cases, belief. My shroud was the third, born from my belief in what it should be and how it ought to function. I wondered if I should feel proud for choosing something so versatile, or be ashamed for limiting my capabilities.

"Come now, young Perteus, you've a fitting to go through."

And so I did.

I was led to a round, elevated platform and instructed to remain still and calm as measuring items flew around me. They wrapped around my form, squeezing my extremities to varying degrees, as though measuring something beyond my current stature.

"Will the clothes grow with me?" I asked the young woman nearby. A notebook and quill floated beside her, scribbling down notes and curiosities.

"That, and a few other things," she answered, smiling up at me. "Are you perhaps new to the magical world?"

I nodded. "It was only today that I was made aware of its existence." I watched as a measuring tape stretched to a height beyond my current one before shrinking to less than my actual height. "It's all so incredible."

"It is," she affirmed. "I was just as bright eyed when I was first introduced." Her face took a reminiscent look, a past wonder replaying.

I looked at her. "So you weren't born into it?"

"No." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "My pa was, though. He was a squib—a non-magical wizard-born—so he took to the mundane world to spare his family the shame."

A simple "no" would have sufficed, I believed.

Nevertheless, her tale made me ponder the discrimination embedded in the magical world. Personally, I was indifferent to it—not invested enough to oppose it, nor attached enough to embrace it. To me, this side of the world was merely a novelty…a limited wonder.

I certainly wouldn't dedicate my life to it as Ms. Selpie had. So, I simply hummed in response—my age afforded me that leeway.

Another lull of silence settled between us, one I decided was of the comforting kind. It lingered until the fitting was done. I was informed that the preparations of my uniform would take a couple of hours—another point to magic's vast potential.

…And thus our venture continued.

——————

Outside the clothing store, I had thought our destination would be the other shops to pick up the stationery required for first-years. My heart burned with the thirst for arcane knowledge, the eagerness so thick it bled into my shroud—now housed within my body…

I was quite certain now that my brain was spell-touched, as I had my wits and persona about me mere minutes after my birth. Unfortunately, my other senses were not so mature, and it took some months for them to develop proper.

Alas, my parents—those of this life—had already gone by the time they did, and thus my knowledge of them was nonexistent, and so too was the origin of my strangeness.

An infant with the mind of an adult—a toy for an entity. Such was the cliché of these scenarios. Thus, I had consciously ignored the implications, and forced normality unto my existence.

But I digress.

What I meant to say was that my intellect was much sharper now, and when it came to cognitive development, I was more gifted than in my prior incarnation. Though I was still not a genius—or rather, I was not willing to label myself as such.

This boosted mind, it was fed by my curiosity, the lust for the primary secrets of wizardry, and the nature…the phenomenon that was magic. It was my key—the way in which I could achieve my fullest dreams and desires without significant effort or debts on my part.

All I had to do was channel my new intellect into the mysteries and inspire my works with the developments and ingenuity of the mundane.

…the good professor moved beside me and pointed. "We'll be making way to Gringotts now, Mr. Graymort. The other purchases will require immediate payment."

I looked at the pointed building, though I did not awe much at it—the Malkin's store took much of my wonder, and I was rationing whatever remained for my yet-to-be conduit. The bank was as splendid and odd as the other buildings, though I remember there being a pale dragon atop it.

It was not there, and that was a right shame.

We were there in no time, and Slughorn handled the talking. He left me by the waiting seats, and I was there with a few individuals. I did not initiate conversation, nor did I think I desired one. No, I was more interested in the twisted little creatures dubbed goblins.

They were not quite the…generic depiction of their representation in fantasy, and I dared say these odd things fitted more the part of a dwarf than a goblin.

The greed. The metal work. The stature.

"Young Perteus," Slughorn's voice sounded, beckoning. I did not dally, picking up my small bag and joining him a bit farther to a private booth where a lone goblin waited, its face frozen in a perpetual sneer. "Come, sit. The good banker here will need to see if your lineage is registered with their establishment before attempting to open an account for you."

I did just so, minding my movements as I settled upon the chair, my blank gaze upon the magical creature. "Might I ask what is to happen if an existing lineage is found?" The question was more a way for me to introduce something other than the awkwardness that sought to become a prophecy.

The goblin was the one to answer, as the bloated professor had excused himself from the booth. "Then you would know of your family," it paused, the sneer on its face growing. "And if you're lucky, perhaps inherit the fortune they have left behind."

I hummed, thinking.

Personally, I was not much hopeful of such a thing coming to pass. No average magical would leave their offspring in the flickering arms of the muggles. Too much risk, not to mention Ely was a christian city with a history of witch hunts.

"Your hand." The goblin demanded. I did not begrudge his request, though I made sure to offer my less dominant arm. The creature grabbed it, its palm like a buck with how rough it was.

A device was pricked into my thumb, and it was only by the reinforcement of my shroud that my reaction did not touch upon my exterior.

'Note yourself, add some torture to your regiment to enhance tolerance.'

The procedure complete, I pulled back my arm and inspected the wound on my finger . It was still there, an echo of pain lingering, though it did not bleed. I guided a sliver of my shroud to it, forcing it to close so that it did not blemish when it healed.

From my dulled sense of the ambience, I felt the goblin twitch slightly at the exercised magic. An interesting discovery, though one wholly expected. Goblins were a magical race and likely possessed exceptional sensitivity to the eldritch reality.

The same was true for elves—the servant creatures able to utilise magic without the aid of conduits.

The device concluded, and the goblin read its results…somehow. "It'd seem you've no lineage to speak of, not even in communities outside Magical Britain." It announced, a twist on its lips that seemed somewhere between disgusted and amused.

I decided right there that if chance presented itself, I was extincting the foul creatures. And this was not a desire spawned by its mistreatment of me, but the unpleasantness of its appearance. They were too twisted and removed from human aestheticism for my comfort.

"Unsurprising," I responded, denying the thing the satisfaction. "Now if you could open an account in my name—Perteus Graymort. I've also some funds to see exchanged, I believe that's something you can help me with?" I knew my speech had strayed far from that of even inspired kids.

The goblin nodded, "I can."

——————

"We've only four more stores to visit, though I feel I should handle the other three while you head over to Ollivanders for your wand. That will probably occupy you for some time," the professor announced as we stepped out of the bank.

I twitched—at least my arm did. I didn't want that. My curiosity for the magical literature of this reality was immense. The Potterverse had always intrigued me with its magic.

"I'd rather come with you to the bookstore, Professor," I countered, or rather requested. He looked at me, prompting me to elaborate. "The subjects mentioned in the letter—I'm intrigued by them. I would be most thankful for a chance to survey and purchase some books beyond those recommended."

A moment passed in silence after that.

"You've an eloquence about you, Mr. Graymort. A maturity seldom seen in kids your age," Slughorn said, his jovial expression shifting into something more inscrutable.

My posture shifted slightly, discomforted. Whether it was suspicion or interest, I could not tell. I could not read expressions quite as clearly, though I cared little for the skill.

"Thank you, Professor," I decided to say in response. The thought of deception crossed my mind, but I was unwilling to expend the effort. "Matron Caldwell was ever so willing to instruct us on proper manners, and I found an interest in the discipline."

His expression changed, bleeding into something more wistful. "Diligent too," he almost chuckled, but a shake of the head recentred him. "You're a model, young Perteus. A dream child for every parent."

Another shift of discomfort, and I was starting to wonder if I was unable to take compliments.

"Alright then, we shall journey for the bookstore together." The man smiled, "Though we shall not linger there. Have you any clue in what kinds of subjects you hold interest?"

A proper question, and one I could answer freely. "The mysteries of magic, the brewing of potions, and the nature of runes and enchantments."

These were not just curiosity-sparked interests, but pursuits that would be the foundation for my renown, wealth, and strength. In both societies.

I was not willing to abandon the mundane—in fact, I found it far more intriguing than the stagnant magical society.

"Might I ask why those subjects in particular?"

"They correspond quite beautifully with my dream, Professor. And the opportunities they offer are endless, with ample room for innovation," I replied as we passed by a family on a similar mission. I couldn't help but notice, however, that the child in the group seemed far from enthused by the proceedings.

Potential squandered, ignored, seen as normality. I wished I could begrudge the youth, insult his ignorance. However, his regard was one I harboured in my life before, and I knew I could not force upon him a love for something that was not fascinating to him.

Slughorn smiled at the family, perhaps his previous students. "You're rather forthcoming with your ambitions, young Perteus."

"I see little reason not to be." I reached into my pocket, where my pouch rested snugly, a smile tugging at my lips. The conversion of my funds yielded little in the way of galleons—not nearly enough for a lavish lifestyle. However, it was sufficient, especially in this economy.

We passed through the bookstore's entrance, and the first thing I noticed was the derangement of space. The interior was a library, vast and spanning. Before I could deplete my wonderment, the good professor pulled at me, guiding.

A moment later, we stood at the front desk, where a stern man served as the receptionist.

"Horace," the man said, his tone utterly impersonal.

It drew my attention to him, and I could see the tedium in his eyes. "Is there something I can get you?"

"Ah, Gilbert," the professor replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I see you're still as vibrant as ever." He chuckled at the last part, entirely unbothered by the other man's dry look.

That moment passed, however. "Anyway, I've a student here—a first-year. Could you supply him with the usual package?" Slughorn dropped a pouch full of coins, "And could you provide us the introductory list, the young lad is the studious type."

The receptionist attention drifted towards me, and for an instant, something else burned in his dry gaze. "Have you a name, lad."

"Perteus Graymort, sir." I said with much formality.

He looked at me, assessing. I did not much fear his regard or judgment, my garments were so impeccable. "Graymort, huh? I can't say I've heard the name," the man muttered. "So, Mr. Graymort, have you decided on what house you want to end up in?"

"Not yet, sir."

He held my gaze for a second longer, then he scoffed. "You'd probably end up with the snakes if your eyes are anything to go by."

I wondered if I should be offended by that, though a part of me knew that he was right. Beside me, Slughorn broke into a laugh, his belly trembling at the effort.

The man, Gilbert, ignored the professor, his attention going to the pouch.

In a swift display of grace, the man flicked his wrist, and a greyish wand shot out of his sleeve. He caught it effortlessly and swiped it through the air, a buildup of magic at its tip.

"Convoque!" The man intoned, that odd speech doing…something to him. I had still yet to understand what exactly incantations were. It was obvious they were not just words, even if they echoed like such to the ears.

An instant later, a scroll popped into existence just a few centimetres from the receptionist. "Your list," he threw the scroll towards me, and I almost reached for the item with my telekinesis.

The moment I caught the scroll, a barely perceptible sensation brushed against my chest and face. A shudder washed through me, and I knew the stupid thing had somehow violated my privacy.

'Fuck!'

The item unraveled, unsurprisingly stopping at a section detailing subjects aligned with my expressed interests: Magical Flow. The category featured books like:

"The Flow of Magic: An Invisible Current" by Esmond Whispermere

"Magical Pathways: A Study of Energy Channels in Spellwork" by Drusilla Greenleaf

"Wands and the Flow of Power" by Draumik Ollivander

"Harmonics of the Arcane: The Resonance of Energy in Magic" by Felix Chanterly

"Channeled Power: Advanced Applications of Magical Flow" by Lyra Flamelight

"Elemental Flows: Harnessing Nature's Magic" by Sylphine Meadows

"Energy Loops and Magical Burnout" by Sebastian Aetherwell

"Symphony of the Arcane: Balancing the Flow of Magic" by Cassandra Seren

"Runic Channels: Magical Flow in Ancient Scripts" by Edwina Glyphwell

"The Ripple Effect: How Magical Flow Affects the World" by Thaddeus Rippleton

Suddenly, I felt the pouch in my pocket lose its heft. These books were exactly the kind I was looking for. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to waste my coins on them—not without jeopardizing my plans for the coming week.

I'll have to choose wisely, I decided, glancing back at the receptionist, who now had a set of books stacked on his counter.

"Have you come to a decision, young snake?"

A pure smile spread across my face. "I believe I have."

————————

The Saint: I'm trying to establish the personality of the MC, and because of that, things are dragging. I'm not dissatisfied with it, but I won't begrudge anyone for finding the pace tedious. Also, I'll like to add that not all of the MC's deductions are spot on, though I intend to disprove his misconceptions quickly, granted those deductions don't interfere with the mystery aspect of the story.

And remember, if you find any inconsistencies, errors, or just have some creative suggestions, do share. I'm not opposed to altering previous chapters if the ideas are interesting enough. And if you do find yourself craving additional chapters, I have advanced chapters on my pa-treon under the same name .

Anyway, bye!