Harry Potter 'sTwin Brother

Chapter 20: The Sunday Visitor

Sunday, July 28, 1991

The morning began like any other on Privet Drive. Sunshine streamed across the white tablecloth in the dining room, where toast crisped on plates and the smell of burnt sausage lingered faintly from the frying pan. Petunia had served eggs precisely—without enthusiasm—and Vernon sat behind his newspaper, humming approvingly at the economy section.

Dudley clutched a new toy in his hands—some battery-operated dinosaur that roared too loudly for a Sunday. Hardwin sipped plain tea, while Harry picked quietly at his food, both boys exchanging subtle glances.

Outside, birds chirped lazily, and the air held the still warmth of mid-summer.

Then—DING-DONG.

The doorbell rang, sudden and clear.

Vernon grunted, folding the corner of his paper down. "Who's that? On a Sunday?"

Petunia stood slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. "I wasn't expecting anyone."

Hardwin felt something in his chest—a shift in the air, a stirring at the edge of what felt ordinary.

He already knew.

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🚪 At the Door

When Petunia opened the front door, the sunlight framed a tall woman in a green cloak. Her square spectacles glinted. Her grey-streaked hair was tied back in a tight bun. She carried herself with quiet precision, like a general or a judge, and her eyes were keen and focused.

"Good morning," she said politely, voice crisp as fresh parchment. "I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall. May I come in?"

Petunia's mouth opened but no sound came out.

Vernon stepped behind her, squinting suspiciously. "What's this about, then?"

"I'm here to speak with Harry and Hardwin Potter. Regarding their admission to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Both boys had stood by now, barely breathing.

"Magic?" Vernon barked. "Not this nonsense again!"

McGonagall's gaze was steely but calm. "Nonsense? Mr. Dursley, I assure you—there is nothing nonsensical about the education your nephews are about to receive."

Petunia's voice was low and brittle. "Why are you here in person?"

McGonagall tilted her head slightly. "The boys replied with reasonable caution. It was clear they were raised among Muggles, and they requested proof. I am here to give it."

Without waiting for further protest, she stepped inside.

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🪄 Magic Revealed

McGonagall walked to the center of the living room. The carpet crunched faintly beneath her boots. The curtains fluttered slightly though no window was open. Her presence seemed to change the room's very temperature.

She reached into her sleeve and withdrew what looked like an ordinary wooden wand—twelve inches, dark brown, carved with soft spirals.

The Dursleys stepped back instinctively.

McGonagall pointed at a vase of wilting flowers on the side table. She flicked her wand once, then whispered, "Florere."

In a blink, the flowers stood tall and radiant—blooms bursting open in full color, petals unfurling as if summer had just begun. The room smelled faintly of roses.

Harry gasped.

Hardwin, though he knew what to expect, still felt a thrill crawl up his spine. Real magic. Even here, in the grey edges of suburbia, it shimmered like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Then, with another gentle flick, the vase itself lifted and floated gently across the room before settling back with a soft clink.

McGonagall turned to them. "Do you believe now?"

Harry nodded breathlessly. "That… that was amazing!"

Vernon sputtered, "This is—this is madness!"

Hardwin stepped forward, voice even. "No, Uncle. This is exactly what we asked for. Proof."

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⚖️ The Tension

Petunia folded her arms tightly. "I knew this day would come. Just like her. She was one of you too, wasn't she?"

McGonagall softened slightly. "Yes. Lily Potter was one of the brightest witches I ever taught."

Petunia's lips trembled, but she said nothing.

Vernon growled, "I won't have these boys corrupted with broomsticks and frog magic!"

She turned back to the boys. "On the first of September, both of you will board the train from King's Cross Station. I'll send instructions. But first—"

She reached into her cloak and handed each of them a sealed envelope, thicker than the last.

"These contain travel details, how to access the train platform, and a list of wizarding shops in London. Diagon Alley. You'll find everything there—robes, wands, books, and more."

Harry held his envelope like treasure.

Hardwin gave a quiet nod, tucking his away carefully.

"I've said what I came to say," McGonagall added, her tone softening. "And I trust the boys will be prepared."

She turned, then paused at the door.

"Oh—and Mr. Dursley," she added with just a hint of cool amusement, "magic is not a switch you can turn off. Whether you like it or not, they are wizards. Best accept it."

And with that, she stepped outside, the breeze catching the hem of her cloak.

The door clicked softly behind her.

The Road to Diagon Alley

The car ride was unusually quiet.

Professor McGonagall sat in the driver's seat of a borrowed Ministry car, her posture upright, hands calm on the wheel. Harry and Hardwin sat in the back seat—Harry wide-eyed with excitement, Hardwin thoughtful, soaking in every detail.

Outside, the streets of Little Whinging blurred by, summer leaves flashing past the window. The air smelled faintly of hot pavement, cut grass, and distant bakeries opening their shutters.

Harry finally broke the silence. His voice was small, uncertain.

"Professor… was my mum really… a witch?"

McGonagall glanced at him through the rearview mirror, her face softening. "Yes, Harry. Lily Potter was a remarkable witch. Kind-hearted. Brilliant with charms. I taught her myself from her first year at Hogwarts."

Harry looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers. "And my dad?"

"James Potter," she replied with a faint smile. "Brave, clever, endlessly mischievous. He came from a long line of wizards. Both of your parents were very respected in the wizarding world."

There was a heavy silence after that. Harry blinked fast. Hardwin placed a hand lightly on his twin's arm, offering quiet support.

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🚕 Entering London

The car entered central London, its rhythm shifting. Traffic thickened. Crowds filled the sidewalks. Street musicians played distant violins. The Thames shimmered faintly beneath the bridges.

McGonagall continued calmly, "We'll park near Charing Cross Road. Diagon Alley is hidden behind a shop there. You'll see."

Harry leaned forward. "What's Diagon Alley like?"

"Busy," she said with a faint smirk. "Loud. Bright. You'll love it. It's where every young witch and wizard buys their school things. Books, cauldrons, wands…"

Hardwin tilted his head. "Do normal people—Muggles—see it?"

"They don't," McGonagall replied. "There are enchantments to keep it hidden. Unless you're magical, you'll walk right past the entrance and never know it's there."

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🏙️ Questions from Both Sides

As the car parked in a narrow spot, Harry asked, "Why didn't anyone tell us about all this earlier?"

McGonagall turned in her seat. "The people who raised you—your aunt and uncle—they wanted you to live a life without magic. It was not my choice."

Hardwin watched her closely. "But the letters still came. Hogwarts kept trying."

"Yes," she said. "We never stop trying. Magic has its own way of finding those it belongs to."

As they stepped out into the bustling street, the city sounds swirled around them—buses rumbling, footsteps echoing, laughter in nearby cafés.

Hardwin walked beside her and asked quietly, "What's Hogwarts like? Is it like a normal school?"

McGonagall raised a brow. "Define normal."

He smiled faintly. "Math, science, classrooms?"

She chuckled. "There are classrooms, yes. But you'll be learning Charms, Transfiguration, Potions. You'll study the history of magic, care for magical creatures, and—eventually—how to defend yourself."

Harry's eyes widened. "And flying?"

McGonagall nodded. "Flying lessons begin in your first year. If you're any good, you might make it onto your House team."

Hardwin kept his tone curious and light. "What are Houses?"

"Hogwarts has four Houses," she explained. "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. They shape your time at school—your dorm, your classes, even who you sit with at meals."

Harry asked, "How do we know which one we go in?"

"There's a magical Sorting Hat," she said. "It reads your heart and places you where you'll grow best."

Hardwin smiled faintly. I already know… but this time, let it be natural. Let it be earned.

---

🪄 The Alley Approaches

They turned a corner and entered a narrow alley that ended with a small, shabby-looking pub. Above the door, a peeling sign read The Leaky Cauldron. People passed by without even glancing at it.

"To Muggles, this place doesn't exist," McGonagall said.

She led them inside. The air changed the moment they entered—cooler, older, filled with the scent of oak, smoke, and something faintly spicy like dried herbs.

Wizards sat at small tables reading newspapers that moved. A witch stirred tea without touching her spoon.

"Morning, Professor," the barkeep nodded.

"Good morning, Tom," she replied.

They passed through the pub to a small walled courtyard in the back.

McGonagall tapped the brick wall—three up, two across—with her wand.

The bricks shifted. Slid. Pulled back as if breathing.

Before them unfolded a narrow street filled with shops and stalls, steam and sparkles, laughter and shouts.

Diagon Alley.

Harry gaped.

Hardwin exhaled slowly, letting the sights wash over him.

Welcome back, he thought silently.

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Would you like Scene 3 to cover their visit to Gringotts (the bank) and them receiving their vault keys and seeing wizard money for the first time?

Absolutely! Here's Chapter 20: Scene 3 – Gringotts Visit, with detailed sensory description, dialogue, McGonagall's calm guidance, and Hardwin's intelligent, careful questions about wizarding finances, goblins, and possible privileges tied to the Potter name. This version blends magical discovery with strategic awareness.

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Chapter 20: Scene 3 – The Visit to Gringotts

The cobbled streets of Diagon Alley buzzed with magical life. Wizards in emerald robes bustled past carts selling self-stirring cauldrons. The air was filled with the scent of spell-dried parchment and roasted nuts. Colorful signs swung overhead: Flourish and Blotts, Eeylops Owl Emporium, Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.

But towering above the alley like a crooked white fortress was Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

Its marble steps shimmered in the sunlight. A great pair of bronze doors loomed at the top, flanked by a single figure.

A goblin.

He was lean, sharp-eyed, and dressed in a tailored black uniform. His fingers rested on a ledger bound in silver clasp, and his narrow eyes missed nothing.

Harry slowed his steps. "He doesn't look very… friendly."

Professor McGonagall gave a faint smile. "The goblins of Gringotts aren't here to make friends. They are bankers. Proud. Brilliant. And absolutely unwavering in matters of money and magic."

Hardwin's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The goblin's eyes flicked toward him and Harry. Hardwin gave a respectful nod. The goblin blinked once, then turned back toward the doors.

They climbed the steps.

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🏦 Inside Gringotts

The moment they passed through the bronze doors, a second set of silver ones opened automatically—engraved with words in a language both boys didn't know but somehow felt old. Carved beneath was a warning in English:

> "Enter, stranger, but take heed / Of what awaits the sin of greed…"

Harry swallowed.

Hardwin walked quietly, his mind ticking. These warnings aren't poetic—they're real.

Inside, the grand marble hall opened wide—white walls glowing with charmed light. High desks lined both sides, each manned by goblins writing with quills, weighing gemstones, or whispering to enchanted ledgers that glowed faintly gold.

McGonagall stepped forward. "We are here on school business—two new students from the Potter family. Vault access and standard funds withdrawal."

The goblin behind the nearest desk looked up. His eyes were reddish-gold.

"Names?" he asked in a precise tone.

"Harry Potter and Hardwin Potter," she said.

A pause.

The goblin raised an eyebrow. "Both?"

McGonagall nodded. "Yes."

He reached beneath the desk and produced two identical keys—silver and aged, with the Potter family crest etched on their stems.

"Griphook," he called sharply.

Another goblin appeared at once—leaner, older, with a half-healed scar running across his left temple.

"Vault retrieval," said the first. "Potter twins. Standard ride."

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🛤️ The Vault Ride

They followed Griphook through a long hall, then down a spiraling stone tunnel lit with torches. Cold air rushed up from the depths, and metal tracks gleamed faintly in the torchlight.

A cart waited—rickety and silver, with side rails that didn't look very reliable.

"Hop in," Griphook said without turning.

Harry hesitated, but McGonagall stepped in first. The boys followed.

The cart shot forward.

Wind screamed past their ears. Stone walls flashed by. Harry held on with both hands, teeth clenched. Hardwin remained still, eyes narrowed—not scared, but deeply focused.

At one point, the cart turned upside down for a brief moment. Harry yelped. McGonagall's bun didn't even shift.

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💰 The Potter Vault

At last, the cart screeched to a halt.

Before them stood a large iron door with no visible lock. Griphook stepped forward, pressed one clawed finger to the surface, and muttered something in Gobbledegook.

With a grinding click, the vault opened.

Inside, piles of gold Galleons gleamed. Neat stacks of silver Sickles and bronze Knuts lined the edges. A few scroll cases and boxes sat neatly to one side, sealed with wax.

Harry's jaw dropped.

Hardwin said nothing—but his thoughts raced.

> This… this is enough to survive, study, and maybe more. But this is only the surface. What else lies beneath the Potter name?

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❓ Hardwin's Questions

As Harry leaned over to touch a Galleon, Hardwin turned quietly to McGonagall.

"Professor… does our family have any other vaults? Or properties?"

She blinked at the question.

"That sort of thing isn't usually discussed at age eleven," she said cautiously. "But the Potters are an old wizarding family. There may be trust vaults, ancestral records—Gringotts would know."

Griphook, who was counting coins nearby, glanced at Hardwin. "Your question is well-formed," he said flatly. "Inheritance inquiries can be made with a formal bloodline confirmation and elder authorization."

Hardwin tilted his head. "And the goblins keep the records?"

"Of all wizarding families. And debts," Griphook added dryly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "That's enough for today, Mr. Potter."

Hardwin nodded, hiding his smile.

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🧾 Coin Conversion

Harry whispered, "So, how do we use this money? Can we, like, buy things in pounds?"

Griphook replied, "Gringotts does currency exchange—but the conversion rates are volatile. Most purchases inside the wizarding world are in Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. We do not recommend withdrawing wizarding coin for Muggle spending."

Hardwin asked, "Are there savings options? Investments?"

McGonagall stifled a cough.

Griphook narrowed his eyes slightly. "There are… wealth management branches for adult clients. You are not yet of age."

Hardwin bowed his head respectfully. "Of course."

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📦 Withdrawing Funds

Griphook placed several bags of coin into a velvet pouch.

"This is a standard student starter withdrawal.

McGonagall took the bags and handed them to the boys. "You'll return before school starts to top off anything missing."

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🚃 Return Trip

The cart ride back was no less wild—but this time, Harry whooped with laughter, hair flying.

Hardwin held tightly, watching the flashing runes and deep-carved tunnels as they flew by.

The world was shifting.

And he was already planning what to ask next.

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– Flourish and Blotts

As the sunlight glinted off the polished marble of Gringotts and the noise of Diagon Alley returned in full force—clinking cauldrons, barking shopkeepers, fluttering owl wings—Harry turned to Hardwin, his face still lit up from the vault adventure.

"So where to now?" he asked.

Hardwin didn't hesitate. "Bookstore. Let's find out what this school is really like."

Harry frowned slightly. "Don't you want to get your wand first?"

Hardwin shrugged, adjusting the small pouch of Galleons now tied to his belt. "That's exciting, sure. But books will tell us how everything works. Might even help us choose the right wand."

Professor McGonagall, walking just behind them, let a small approving smile slip across her face. "A wise choice, Mr. Potter. Knowledge before power."

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📚 Inside Flourish and Blotts

The door creaked open as they stepped into Flourish and Blotts, and immediately, the world shifted.

The scent of fresh parchment, ink, leather bindings, and warm wood filled the air. Shafts of golden light streamed through high arched windows, landing on crooked shelves bursting with books. Some whispered. Some buzzed. One nearby fluttered its pages as if sighing in its sleep.

"Wow," Harry murmured.

Hardwin breathed in deeply, almost reverently. "Smells like home already."

They stepped further in, eyes wide.

"I thought there'd be more… like books for spells and stuff," Harry said, looking at a rotating shelf that displayed Witch Weekly and A Beginner's Guide to Herbology for Toddlers.

"There are. We just need to go to the right section," Hardwin said. He gently pulled Harry away from the spinning rack and toward the deeper rows. "First-years. There."

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🔍 Course Books—and Beyond

Hardwin began pulling out books with precision.

> "The Standard Book of Spells – Grade 1"

"A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration"

"Magical Drafts and Potions"

"A History of Magic"

He picked one up, flipped through the pages quickly, then put it back and selected a second edition of the same title by a different author.

Harry watched, amused. "Aren't they the same?"

"Same subject," Hardwin said, holding up both. "But this one explains better. See? More diagrams. Cleaner instructions."

Harry squinted. "You really like reading, don't you?"

Hardwin gave a quiet smile. "I like knowing."

Then he grabbed Grade 2 and Grade 3 spellbooks and added them to the pile.

Harry blinked. "Aren't those for, like… later?"

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared," Hardwin murmured.

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🗨️ A Moment with McGonagall

McGonagall, who had let them wander ahead, approached at that moment.

"Hardwin," she said softly, "those are advanced texts. You won't need them until third or fourth year."

"I know," he said politely. "But if they're available, I'd like to learn ahead. Just in case."

McGonagall paused, studying him. Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line.

"That kind of curiosity will serve you well," she said at last. "So long as you balance it with caution."

Hardwin gave a respectful nod. "May I ask something else?"

"Go ahead."

"Are there… books that aren't on the list, but that Hogwarts professors expect we know already? Maybe unspoken things—etiquette, customs, rules that aren't written?"

That caught her off guard.

She blinked. "Well… most students pick those up through family, tradition. But yes. Magical etiquette, basics of law, wizarding customs… those are rarely taught directly."

"Could you suggest one or two?"

McGonagall smiled more warmly now. "Try Etiquette in Enchanted Society and Wizarding Law: A Beginner's Primer. And maybe What Every Witch and Wizard Should Know Before Hogwarts—it's written for Muggle-borns, but many purebloods could use the reminder."

Hardwin bowed slightly. "Thank you."

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📚 Harry, Meanwhile…

"I'm getting this!" Harry called over. He was holding a large, glossy book called Flying With the Cannons, covered in action shots of wizards on broomsticks.

Hardwin raised an eyebrow. "Didn't they say no brooms for first-years?"

"Still fun to read!" Harry grinned.

McGonagall sighed. "So long as you also get the required books, Mr. Potter."

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📦 Packing Up

By the end, the counter was stacked with two neat piles: Harry's required books and a few fun reads, and Hardwin's towering stack that included course books from future years, magical theory manuals, and more obscure titles like Runes for the Curious Mind and Understanding Magical Resistance.

The witch at the register levitated everything into enchanted bags that shrank and lightened their weight.

"Fifteen Galleons for both lots," she said.

Hardwin carefully counted the coins. "Here."

As they stepped outside, Harry asked, "Do you really plan to read all that?"

Hardwin smiled. "I plan to try. Who knows what will matter later?"

McGonagall, walking behind, thought: That boy… he doesn't ask like an eleven-year-old. But he doesn't pretend to know everything either. He learns with purpose.

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