Chapter 12 — Birthday Adventure
I woke up to sunlight on my face and the sound of someone thumping down the stairs. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. Then I remembered it was my birthday. I was ten years old today. And Harry's seventh birthday.
The plan from yesterday came rushing back into my head — Diagon Alley, Snape's help, and everything that came with it. It will be my first real step into the magical world.
Downstairs, the smell of toast and fried eggs filled the kitchen. Mum — Petunia — was at the counter, humming softly while she poured tea. Dad was already in his chair, paper in hand, trying to look serious despite the party hat Dudley had stuck on his head.
"Happy birthday, lad!" Dad said with a grin as I walked in. "Ten years old, eh? Practically a grown man now. You'll be borrowing my car next."
"Not unless you want it back smelling of burnt rubber," I said, and Dudley snorted into his cereal.
Harry came in next, still rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up like a small explosion. "Happy birthday, Arthur," he said shyly.
"Same to you, little brother," I said, ruffling his hair. "Seven suits you. You look older already."
Harry grinned. "Do I get cake for breakfast?"
Mum gave a long-suffering sigh. "You get toast for breakfast and cake after dinner. That's final."
"Cake for dinner it is," Dudley muttered, and we all laughed — even Mum, though she tried to hide it.
There was an easy warmth in the air that morning — a sort of lightness we didn't often have. Maybe birthdays could do that, or maybe it was just that everyone had grown softer since Harry came into our lives. How I nudged with ideas and steered the family in the last 6 years can be made in a tale of a great undertaking.
When the laughter settled, I cleared my throat. "I've got a surprise planned for today," I said, trying not to sound too pleased with myself. "But you'll all have to be ready to leave in about an hour."
"A surprise?" Mum raised an eyebrow. "Arthur, I do hope this isn't one of your projects."
"No projects," I promised. "Just trust me, Mum. You'll like it."
Dad folded his paper. "You've got that look again, son. The one that means trouble disguised as good intentions."
I grinned. "Then I'll take that as a compliment."
Petunia sighed but smiled in spite of herself. "Fine. But if this surprise involves anything exploding or flying, I'm bringing my rolling pin."
After Dad left for work still chuckling about how "his grown-up boy was now plotting family adventures", I made sure everyone was dressed and ready. Harry had his cap on, Dudley wore his usual curious expression, and Mum kept giving me suspicious glances that said she half-regretted agreeing to this. And Brigid chose me as her Cat carrier.
Then came the flutter of wings.
A large brown owl swooped down right outside the kitchen window, making Mum drop her spoon with a clatter. The bird tapped its beak against the glass, a parchment tied neatly to its leg.
"Oh my—!" Mum gasped, hand over her heart. "Is that—?"
"An owl," Dudley said, fascinated. "Blimey, it's real!"
Harry pressed close to the window, eyes wide. "It's beautiful."
I stood, smiling with quiet relief. "Right on time."
The owl blinked at me expectantly. I opened the window, untied the parchment, and the bird took off with a low hoot.
"It's from him," I said, scanning the neat, angular handwriting. "Professor Snape. He's sent the time."
Mum's lips tightened, but she didn't say no. That, I decided, was progress.
"Everyone ready?" I asked.
Dudley nodded eagerly. Harry was practically bouncing. Mum still looked like she was going to faint, but she picked up her handbag anyway.
"Let's go then."
We took the train into London, the city humming with its usual busy sounds. As we walked down Charing Cross Road, Mum slowed, her gaze darting around as though half-recognising the place.
"I… I've been here before," she murmured. "With Lily. A long time ago."
Her voice was soft, almost wistful.
And then we saw him.
Professor Snape stood outside a dingy little pub that looked like it had been forgotten by time itself. His black cloak seemed entirely at home against the peeling sign that read The Leaky Cauldron.
He raised an eyebrow as we approached, his expression shifting from mild irritation to something close to disbelief. "I said you could come, Mr Dursley," he said dryly, "not the entire Dursley household."
"I couldn't leave them behind," I said quickly. "They deserve to see it too."
His eyes flicked to Harry, and for a moment, his face softened — just a flicker — when he saw those unmistakable green eyes. He murmured, "The resemblance truly is uncanny."
"Thank you," said Petunia automatically, then seemed to realise what she'd said and looked away.
Snape's mouth twitched in amusement, or pain, I couldn't tell. "Come," he said shortly. "Let's not linger."
Inside, the Leaky Cauldron was dim and smoky, with wooden tables that had seen better centuries and a smell that was equal parts ale and old spellwork. Tom, the bald innkeeper, looked up as Snape entered.
"Morning, Professor! Haven't seen you in an age."
Snape gave a curt nod. "Let's keep it that way."
Dudley whispered, "It's like stepping into one of Arthur's bedtime stories."
Harry nodded, staring wide-eyed at the witches chatting over tea and a wizard reading a newspaper that moved.
Mum clutched her handbag like a shield. "Honestly," she muttered, "you'd think they'd have heard of windows in here."
Snape led us to the small courtyard behind the pub. He turned to me and said, "Pay attention, Mr Dursley. You'll want to remember this."
He tapped a brick three up and two across with his wand.
The wall shivered, then folded in on itself, bricks sliding aside until an archway formed — revealing a cobblestone street glittering with magic.
"Welcome," Snape said quietly, "to Diagon Alley."
It was….. breathtaking.
Shops lined both sides of the winding street, their windows filled with everything from gleaming cauldrons to glittering broomsticks. The air was alive with chatter, the smell of sweets, parchment, and spell-dust. An owl hooted overhead, and somewhere nearby, a bell jingled as a door swung open.
Even Mum stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide despite herself. "Oh," she whispered, "so this is what she saw."
Snape handed me a folded parchment. "Your requested list," he said. "Do with it as you will."
"Thank you, sir."
"Go to Gringotts first. You'll need wizarding currency. And no," he added sharply before I could ask, "Mr Potter may not access his vault. He is neither of age nor enrolled at Hogwarts."
"Right," I said. "Understood."
He turned to leave, cloak billowing dramatically, then paused. "Try not to cause an incident."
"I'll do my best," I said cheerfully.
He gave me a look that suggested my best wouldn't be nearly enough and then he was gone.
We wandered through the alley like tourists from another world — which, in a way, we were. Dudley stared at a display of magical sweets with open longing. Harry pressed his nose against the window of a shop full of quidditch supplies. Mum was equal parts horrified and fascinated by the self-stirring cauldrons in one window.
Finally, we reached a tall, white building at the end of the street — Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Two goblin guards stood at the doors, their armour gleaming and expressions distinctly unfriendly.
We stopped to read the warning engraved above the entrance.
~Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there. ~
Dudley gulped. "They sound too friendly."
"Come on," I said, leading the way in.
Inside, the bank glittered with marble and gold. Goblins sat at long counters, counting coins and scribbling in enormous ledgers. One of them looked up as we approached. His eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed by our mix of Muggle clothes and confusion.
I bowed slightly. "Good morning. We'd like to exchange some galleons for Muggle currency, please."
The goblin eyed us as if weighing our worth in knuts. "Exchange rate is five pounds per galleon," he said. "Maximum five hundred galleons."
We agreed, and the transaction was made with an alarming number of clinks. Petunia was just about to suggest we leave when I spoke again.
"Excuse me," I said to the goblin in a low voice. "Could you fetch the Potter family account manager? Mr Harry Potter has some questions — or at least, someone who can make decisions for him."
Mum frowned. "Arthur, what are you—"
But the goblin froze. His eyes widened. "Harry Potter?" he hissed. "The Boy Who Lived?"
His voice seemed like it carried across the hall, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire bank had gone still. But thankfully no one heard it.
I met his gaze evenly. "Yes," I said. "He's here."
The goblin leaned closer. "You are certain?"
"I am," I said firmly.
He stared at me for a long second, then snapped his fingers for another goblin. "Fetch Ragnok, account manager for the Potter estate. Immediately."
A few moments later, we were guided into a side chamber — smaller, quieter, with polished stone walls. The goblin seated behind the desk looked older, his eyes sharp and calculating.
All this time, Mum Petunia was looking like she had a hundred questions. Dudley was standing a little straight and had that face where he knew trouble was near. Harry was confused but tried to pay attention to the topic we were discussing.
"Welcome," he said. "I am Ragnok, guardian of the Potter accounts and responsible for managing all the deposits, investments, and assets of the Potter family. What may I do for you?"
I swallowed, then stepped forward. "You said you're responsible for managing all the deposits, investments, and assets of the Potter family. Does that include the family?"
"Yes," he replied. "And for ensuring their safety and prosperity."
"And if the family's heir was… forced into something? Or in danger?"
Ragnok's gaze grew colder. "Then we intervene, with more force than necessary. The free will and safety of an account's rightful owner are our highest laws."
I nodded slowly, feeling the room grow heavier around me.
"Then," I said, my voice low and steady, "what will you do if I tell you that Harry Potter, Heir and the last member of the Potter family, is cursed by one of the darkest spells in existence?"
End of Chapter 12 — Birthday Adventure