Rewritten Magic: The Chronicles of Harris Wells ( A HP Fanfic)

The next morning in Elderfield was quiet, too quiet, as though the village itself was holding its breath.

Inside Wishing Well Cottage, the tension was sharp.

Mara kept wiping down the same cup, muttering about whether Harris had enough socks. Thom sat outside with a hammer and some nails, pretending to fix the fence, though not a single nail had been hammered in twenty minutes.

And Harris?

He just waited by the window. Calm on the outside, electric on the inside.

Then, right on time, a soft pop echoed from the garden.

A tall woman with stern eyes, neatly tied hair, and flowing green robes stood at the gate like she had always belonged there.

Professor Minerva McGonagall.

She knocked with quiet dignity.

"Good morning," she said, offering a small nod. "I believe you've received our letter?"

Harris stepped forward. "Yes, Professor. Thank you for coming."

McGonagall looked him over, as if measuring something beyond his height. Then she gave a tiny, approving nod.

"May I come in?"

Inside, she explained everything, magic, Hogwarts, and how Harris belonged to a world they hadn't even known existed. She made teacups float, lit blue fire with a flick of her wand, and made Mara's cleaning rag fold itself neatly.

After a long pause, Mara was numb and she said softly, "You said we'd be… going somewhere?"

"To buy his school supplies, yes," McGonagall said. "But we cannot just walk into Diagon Alley. It is hidden from non-magical eyes. First, we must visit the Leaky Cauldron."

She raised her wand, offered her arms, and said, "Hold on tight."

The world twisted.

A heartbeat later, Harris and his parents stumbled slightly into a dim, cozy room that smelled like old books, soot, and buttered toast.

They were standing in the Leaky Cauldron, the pub between worlds.

The ceiling was low and wooden-beamed. Wizards in pointy hats sipped tea or beer at shadowy tables. A fire crackled warmly in the hearth. No one batted an eye at the newcomers.

Thom looked around with wide eyes. "This is… a pub?"

"It's the passage between your world and ours," McGonagall said briskly. "And behind that wall" she pointed to a bricked courtyard through a back door, "lies Diagon Alley."

But first, she gestured to the bar. "We'll stop by Gringotts. The wizarding bank."

They stepped outside into the tiny stone courtyard.

McGonagall pulled out her wand and tapped a specific sequence on the bricks.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap.

The wall shuddered, bricks folding away like puzzle pieces, until a wide arched opening appeared.

Behind it…

A winding cobbled street, bursting with movement.

Shops with flashing signs. Cauldrons stacked high in storefronts. Books flying around shelves. Owls hooting from cages. A wizard chasing a top hat that danced away from him.

Mara gasped. Thom stared.

And Harris? His heart thumped so loudly it was hard to think.

But McGonagall didn't give them long to stand and gape.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley"

"To the bank," she said firmly.

At the end of the alley stood Gringotts, tall and white, built of marble, leaning slightly as if daring gravity to correct it. Goblins stood guard outside, short and sharp-eyed, in deep crimson uniforms.

Inside, chandeliers sparkled over long counters where goblins scribbled in huge ledgers, coins clinking in gold and silver piles.

A goblin approached them. "Can I help you?"

McGonagall gave a slight nod. "Exchange. The boy has Muggle currency."

Harris stepped forward. He reached into his bag and pulled out a battered brown pouch. It looked small, unimportant.

"I've been saving," Harris said quietly. "Since I was five. Birthday money, chores, odd jobs. I didn't know why… but it felt important."

The goblin took the pouch, blinked once, and opened it.

Crisp pound notes. Rolled coins. Clean bills sorted and saved with care.

The goblin said nothing, just nodded and counted.

"You'll receive… seventy-five Galleons, twenty-two Sickles, and four Knuts."

Mara's jaw dropped. Thom let out a low whistle.

Thom said "let's make it 100 galleons" and takes out the rest of the money brought by him and then gave it to harris.

Harris only nodded, calm but deeply satisfied.

The goblin passed him a small leather pouch. It shrank slightly to fit Harris's belt.

McGonagall smiled faintly. "Impressive forethought, Mr. Wells. You'll find that kind of planning very useful."

And then she turned toward the street.

"Now," she said, "you'll need robes… a wand… books… and a few surprises."

Harris didn't move at first.

He was staring at a girl across the street, standing with what looked like her mother outside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

She had long, soft blonde hair and cool blue eyes. Her robes were green, trimmed in silver. Her posture was elegant, calm but confident.

She glanced up.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment, the crowd faded.

She gave him the faintest nod. Not rude. Not friendly. Just… interested.

Then summer greengrass turned back to her mother.

"Who's that?" Thom asked.

"I don't know," Harris murmured. "But I think I'll find out."