Hey, so before people start hunting me down for doing this again, let me explain.

When I started Bored Genius I didn't really take as much time as I should have before writing and posting those first chapters. Since then I have, and it has given me ideas on how to make it better. I simply can't keep writing a fic when I know I could have done something better, it just eats away in the back of my mind until I lose all will to keep writing it.

So here we are.

Not a lot is different in the first part of this chapter, but I have gone through and touched it up where possible. There are however a few minor things different and it ends sooner than the last chapter, so I recommend reading it just to be sure for people that read the original.

A few things for people that didn't read the original.

Neville and Hermione will eventually be Harry's friends in this fic. Neville will be sort of like his conscience, and Hermione will be to one to make him focus. I am telling you this so that I don't get people bitching to me about it later, if you don't like it don't bloody read it. I am getting tired of people complaining about not liking a certain character. I. DON'T. CARE!

Sorry, just needed to get that off my chest.

Anyway I don't want to keep you reading this long Arse AN any longer, so I will let you get to the first chapter :)



Summary: He was a genius, the most gifted mind since Nicholas Flammel. Unfortunately Harry Potter is also not exactly 'all there'. He is rude, unmotivated and doesn't give a crap who knows it. Can Hogwarts change this, or will he get bored of magic too. After all, 'if everything comes easy, everything is boring'.


Disclaimer: I own nothing :(


Beta: alexis. metoyer. 1


Chapter 1- Bored


Harry frowned in slight annoyance as the light bulb in the old lamp on his desk flickered, tilting his book slightly in an attempt to catch what little light he could. The book itself was on 'Advanced Genetics', a subject he had taken a passing interest in over the past few days along with Physics, Chemistry, and Behavioral Psychology.

Now, most people would think so many advanced and complicated subjects would be hard for anyone to understand, and Harry supposed for normal people it would be. But Harry wasn't normal, a fact his…relatives, often enjoyed pointing out to him.

At ten, almost eleven years old, Harry not only understood these subjects- along with any others he found interesting- but excelled at them. His primary school teachers had called him a genius, though at that time he had been four. After only one year with them, he had started skipping multiple years at a time.

Presently, Harry's schooling was complete and he was now looking into university courses. His Aunt and Uncle would never pay for him to go, of course, but that was what scholarships were for. It's not like they would actively try and stop him from leaving their home.

When he was younger, Harry had lived in the cupboard under the stairs. It wasn't until his intelligence and performance in school started attracting attention that they had been forced to move him to the small spare room. Idiots they may be, but even Vernon Dursley knew he wouldn't be able to explain away why he was locking Harry in a small cupboard.

The room itself was barely habitable, with mold growing on the walls behind the peeling grey wallpaper, and the wooden floorboards loose and rotting in many places. He had a rickety old bed that Harry theorized would collapse in on itself any day now, and the desk he was currently sitting at had a stack of books instead of a fourth leg.

In fact, there were piles of books covering most of the free space in the room- many stacked taller than Harry himself. They were all different, as well: from Language and Geography, to Chemistry and Mathematics. What is most surprising is that Harry has read every single one.

The fact is, for most of his life Harry has always been, for lack of a better word, bored. Everything was boring to him because everything was easy to understand.

The only things he didn't understand were the odd events that sometimes happened around him as he was growing up.

His teacher's hair changing to bright neon pink in the middle of a lesson after shouting at him for falling asleep was, while amusing, not normal. There were other things, too, like his Uncle breaking his hand once when he tried to "beat the Freak out of him"; or the time Ripper, his Aunt Marg's bulldog, lost the ability to bark after chasing Harry up a tree.

On top of that, just the other day Harry discovered after a trip to the zoo that he could speak to snakes. Then right after that, the glass from the front of the cage disappeared and said snake escaped. The fact that it had scared his whale of a cousin on the way had been amusing while it lasted, though the novelty had worn off quickly. Harry had spent years searching for any leads he could find, any mention of an explanation. But no matter where he looked or what subject he learned to find an answer, none ever came.

But that was why he found it so interesting, the fact that he didn't understand it. All he had been able to understand was that he was the common denominator. He was the thing that connected all of the strange events together. Harry also didn't miss his Aunt and Uncle's reactions when these things happened, though his Uncle turning purple in rage was hard to miss anyway. They clearly knew something and hated him for it.

Logically, this made him assume that his parents had something to do with it, or that they were the same as him, seeing as his living relatives definitely weren't. He could ask, but he knew there would be no point; they wouldn't tell him anything. The only reason his Uncle had stopped beating him was because of the time he broke his hand. They seemed to fear it would happen again, so instead they stuck with insults and ignoring him for days at a time.

He sometimes contemplated telling someone about the abuse, but in the end just never saw the point. If people didn't notice the clear signs then why should he try and point it out to them? There were people paid to notice and fix things like that, and he wasn't one of them. Though Harry also wondered if they were paid too much because they clearly didn't know how to do their jobs.

It was actually just over a week before Harry turned eleven, not that he celebrated his birthday or understood why other people did. It just seemed like a waste of time and money to him, though Harry would admit to himself he wasn't exactly 'sociable'. For all his genius, Harry could never understand people in general.

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of loud banging on his door, and with a sigh Harry put his current book down and made his way to the door. He was met with the frowning face of his aunt glaring from the other side of the door.

"Get up! If you want breakfast there is some cold toast in the kitchen for you. You can grab the post while you're at it and bring it through,"said his Aunt in a haughty voice, her nose in the air.

Harry simply gave her a bored look, "Get it yourself. It's on the way downstairs anyway."

"Do what I tell you boy! You should be grateful you're still allowed in this house, you ungrateful little freak!" Petunia practically screamed at him. Frowning slightly, he used his little finger to try and clear the ringing in his ear from the shrill voice of his Aunt.

Harry looked her in the eyes and flipped her the bird while drawling in the same bored tone as before, "Fuck off you stupid giraffe. You're getting on my nerves." He absently noted the way her face turned red before she turned away from him with a huff. The fact that she showed very little reaction to his words showed how used to them she was. Back when he had first started cussing her out, she had looked close to fainting.

Harry tried to ignore his aunt after that and return to his book, but then she came back and stood in the doorway. The feeling of her eyes glaring at him was starting to make his skin crawl. When this carried on for five more minutes, he had had enough. He slammed his book closed again and followed her downstairs. She didn't even look at the post as she walked past it on her way to the kitchen.

Letting out a sigh, Harry slowly moved to grab the post. It wasn't like he actually cared one way or another, he just didn't want his Aunt to think she could boss him around without any argument. If he started giving ground they would walk all over him, and Harry had spent too long getting them to mostly ignore him to bother retraining them now.

He decided to take a look through the letters while he made his way to the kitchen, expecting the first of his university acceptances to be arriving soon. While not fond of self-advertising, a ten year old boy genius would always catch the eyes of universities, and he had been sent applications for several without even asking. At this point it was a formality; Harry could choose any university in the world and they would probably lay a red carpet for his arrival if he asked.

There was a postcard from his Aunt Marge for his Uncle, a few bills, and three letters with his name on them.

The first had the Cambridge University logo in the corner, the second was Oxford, but the third he was unfamiliar with. The envelope looked more than a little old fashioned, made from parchment instead of paper. It was actually sealed with red wax, with some kind of emblem pressed into it. But what really caught his attention was the hand written address on the front:

Mr H. J. Potter,

The Smallest Room in the House,

4 Private Drive

Was this supposed to be a joke or something?

Frowning as he walked into the kitchen, Harry tossed the other envelopes at his Aunt without looking before taking a seat. Ignoring his relatives as they started ranting about how ungrateful he was, the dark haired boy put the university letters to one side so he could focus on the strange letter.

Dear Mr Potter,

We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

He stopped reading after the first line, holding the obviously joke letter from the Dursleys and frowning at them.

"Ha-ha, very funny. I'm leaving in a few weeks anyway; you don't need to send fake acceptance letters from a clearly made up school."

Without bothering to wait for their reactions, Harry crumbled the letter and tossed it over his shoulder into the kitchen bin before turning to his real letters.


Harry would give his relatives credit, they were nothing if not persistent.

Over the next week Harry received another twenty letters, all saying the same thing and all binned before he even bothered to finish them. His relatives even played the part of acting like they didn't send the letters, going so far as to act like they were trying to stop them from arriving.

After his Uncle nailed the letter box shut, the letters were left on the porch. When that didn't seem to work, the letters were shoved through the windows that were left open in the night to let cool air into the house. Then the day before, hundreds of the letters came shooting out of the chimney like a garden hose. Harry ignored them all and didn't stop his Uncle from burning them and bricking up the fireplace.

He didn't know why they were still trying to pull the joke- or whatever the letters were supposed to be. Normally, when he called them out on something they would just drop it and pretend not to have done anything to begin with.

That night he decided to read on his bed, not even keeping track of the time as it drew closer to midnight- his birthday. The book was an English to German dictionary. Out of boredom, Harry decided to learn the language to go with the others he knew. He had stopped counting after the sixth language, simply adding the books he learned from to the pile dedicated to Languages.

He also had plans to learn Chinese next, maybe Finnish after that if he was ever bored enough. Harry didn't like having nothing to do; his mind needed something to work on constantly. It was like a constant inch that could only be scratched by learning something new.

The sound of someone banging on the front door broke him from his reading. Unbeknownst to him, the time had just reached midnight exactly.


His Uncle's angry voice reached him through the door. The banging continued insistently before the enraged yelling began again, shortly followed by even louder stomping as the man ran down the stairs. Harry could almost see his purple face, that one vein on his forehead bulging dangerously.

He decided to try and ignore the commotion in favour of his book, though it wasn't easy.

Harry ignored the shouting from the visitors at the front door- a woman and a man from the sound of the voices- that reached his ears through the floor. But after several minutes passed and they were still being loud and distracting, Harry was frustrated. It even sounded like his Aunt had joined in now, too.

Getting up with a scowl, Harry moved to the top of the stairs and looked down on the four people arguing in the hallway. His Aunt and Uncle were easy to spot; he was amused to see that his Uncle's face was indeed very purple with a bulging vein.

However, it was the other two that caught his interest.

The first was an older woman looking to be in her mid-fifties, dressed in what looked like dark green robes with a pointed hat of all things on her head. Behind her was the largest man Harry had ever seen in his life. He was dressed in poorly stitched animal furs and had a head long, messy black hair and a beard covering most of his face.

"Will you shut the bloody hell up already! I am trying to read!" Harry called down, drawing the attention of all four adults at once. He noted how his relatives suddenly went very pale as they looked from him to the two unknown people. They attempted to discreetly back away and make themselves invisible.

The other two, however, were simply staring at him with slightly shocked expressions on their faces. Although, judging by the large smile that quickly covered his face, the giant man also seemed to be happy.

When several seconds passed without any of them saying anything, Harry turned away and walked back to his room. However, by the time he had returned to reading his book, the sound of footsteps reached his ears and the old woman appeared in his doorway.

Harry made a point of ignoring her for several minutes as he continued to read his book. Unfortunately, she cleared her throat loudly to get his attention.

Harry lowered his book slowly so he could look at her over the top of it. With a bored expression on his face he gestured to the book in his hands, "What the hell do you want? I'm busy, in case you didn't notice."

His words brought a slight frown to the woman's lips as she stepped into the room.

"Mr. Potter, I am Professor McGonagall and the man downstairs is Rubeus Hagrid. We are here because you did not respond to our letters," she said in a clipped voice, her eyes never moving from his as she spoke.

Harry sat up and closed his book now, realizing that he wouldn't be able to read until he spoke to her. "Which letter? Oxford? Cambridge? You claim to be a Professor, so I assume you are a teacher of some sort, though the fact you would come here in the middle of the night just because I didn't reply to you is a little odd," said Harry.

Frowning at his words, the now named McGonagall pulled out a familiar letter and held it out to him.

Harry didn't make any move to take it, merely raising an eyebrow at the woman.

"So you're the ones sending me the joke letter? And here I thought it was my Aunt and Uncle. Should have known they weren't smart enough to pull it off when the letters came shooting out the fireplace," said Harry absently as he leaned back slightly.

Her frown only deepened as she stepped closer and held the letter out to him again, " , I assure you this is no joke."

Still looking bored, Harry shrugged his shoulders and took the letter offered to him. He opened it and pointed at the first line, "'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'? Am I supposed to believe in magic because you send me some letters and turn up in a pointy hat?" he asked sarcastically.

His words seemed to only confuse the woman, her eyes narrowing as she seemed to be thinking something over. When she finished, McGonagall let out a deep sigh and pulled out a stick from her sleeve, pointing it at his desk. There was a flash of light that shot from the end of the stick to his desk, and then his desk was no longer a desk.

Instead it was now a pig. A pig that very much reminded Harry of his Uncle and Cousin.

Blinking slowly as he looked from the pig to McGonagall, Harry raised an eyebrow before turning his full attention to the old woman, pushing his glasses up to cover his eyes when they slipped down slightly.

"Ok…you now have my only slightly divided attention," he said, somehow still managing to sound bored even as his mind started to work overtime.


An hour later, Harry found himself walking out of Private Drive following McGonagall and Hagrid. He carried a bag that had been expanded on the inside by McGonagall to hold all his books. They were really the only things he owned that he cared enough to bring with him, even if he only ever read them once.

The conversation with McGonagall had been…enlightening, to say the least. Needless to say, she had gotten Harry's attention after turning his desk into a pig. After that she went on to explain about the Wizarding world, Hogwarts, and even some things about his parents. Turns out they both went to Hogwarts to learn magic too.

After that Harry agreed to go to Hogwarts. After all, he could go to University later in life, and the only reason he was going to go before was because of his boredom. Magic sounded interesting. If nothing else, maybe it would be harder for him to learn than other things. He was told to pack anything he wanted to take with him before leaving without a word to his relatives.

Once outside, he was offered McGonagall's hand as Hagrid walked over to a large motorbike after saying he would seem them both at Hogwarts. The moment he took her hand Harry felt like he was being squeezed through a straw. It was a very uncomfortable sensation, and as it was happening the world seemed to spin around him in random and undistinguishable blurs. But the moment it stopped and the dizziness wore off, Harry found himself in a completely different place than where they had been a moment ago.

He was now standing outside a rundown looking pub, its sign claiming it to be 'The Leaky Cauldron'.

So that was what teleportation was like…interesting. He would have to remember the feeling of it, maybe try and recreate it himself at a later date and make it less unpleasant.

Harry silently followed his guide into the pub, his keen eyes taking in every detail as she led him to the bar and spoke with a bald, hunchbacked man with only three teeth in his smiling mouth. There were several people drinking even at this early hour, all dressed in robes of various colours. The glasses behind the bar were floating around before being cleaned by a floating rag and moving to the shelves on the back wall.

'Very efficient,' thought Harry.

Nodding to himself, Harry tuned back into what McGonagall was saying just in time to hear her booking a room for him to stay in until he was meant to get the train to Hogwarts. Guess he wasn't going to be seeing the Dursleys for a while then…the thought was almost enough to bring a smile to his face.


The next morning Harry was woken up by the sound of someone knocking on his door, followed by the slightly muffled voice of Professor McGonagall. Quickly shaking off his sleepiness, Harry stretched for a moment before calling out and saying he would be out after getting dressed.

After thinking about what his temporary guide had told him last night before he went to sleep, Harry decided that it would be easier to dress in a way that made it harder to recognize him. This just meant putting on an old red cap to cover his scar and keeping his head down so people wouldn't see his face.

Hearing that he was credited for the killing of a 'Dark' wizard as a baby honestly made Harry wonder about the Wizarding world's intelligence as a whole and if he should reconsider his choice to be a part of it. Who in their right mind would think that a baby could kill someone that was reported to have killed hundreds of people, women and children included?

Even with the little amount of information McGonagall had been able to give him on the subject, Harry could tell it was most likely something his parents had done that had killed the man, so why was it himself who was credited for it? Either this 'Wizarding World' was a bunch of idiots, or they were a bunch of sheep following the words of a shepard; not that there was really much difference between the two options as far as he was concerned.

Though the information that his scar came from the time he was hit with a curse that should have killed him was interesting; he would definitely have to look into it later.

After a quick breakfast provided by Tom the barman, McGonagall led him to the back of the pub. They came out into a small alley that smelled like puke, but the older woman simply ignored it and tapped her wand on the back wall. The air was filled with the sound of grinding bricks, and Harry watched with his regular bored expression only slightly lessened as the bricks started to fold back on themselves into an archway.

On the other side of the archway was a busy street with people walking around between the different shops without a care in the world, all dressed in robes with pointy hats on their heads.

As he was led through the archway, Harry listened to McGonagall telling him the place was called Diagon Alley. He absently wondered why he didn't hear any of the noises from the street before the wall had opened up.

He already knew their first stop was going to be the large bank at the end of the street, another fact the Professor had gone over with him before he went to bed. As they walked towards it Harry's eyes moved from one shop to another and took in everything he could. He had already spotted a bookshop and planned to spend quite a lot of time looking through their selection.

Just because they were given a list of books they would need for school didn't mean he couldn't get a few extra to read in his spare time.

The bank itself was impressive, a large white marble monolith with gold to show both power and wealth. The white marble steps led up towards a pair of large intimidating doors with armed guards standing on either side; the axe staffs in their hands stood almost two feet taller than the guards themselves. Then there were the actual guards, both short creatures with pale skin and long hooked noses. Long fingers ending in inch long claws wrapped around the shafts of their weapons, and their bodies were covered in polished metal armour.

Harry stood over a head taller than both, yet knew they could kill him in a second without trying.

McGonagall had also told him about these creatures, or rather warned him about them. Goblins, a warrior like race with a fondness for riches of any sort and very short tempers. While there had been animosity between them and the wizards in the past, though even now it wasn't much better, they were now the Bankers of the Wizarding world. They guarded the wealth of wizards and witches, and were given a lot of leeway to do so.

Apparently, the bank itself worked in a way similar to an Embassy in the Muggle world. It was considered foreign soil and therefore was out of the controlling government's jurisdiction. It allowed the Goblins to use any security they wished even if the country the bank was based in declared the method illegal. Of course, there were a few exceptions that the Goblins agreed to, but for the most part they were left to their own devises.

Honestly, from what little he had been told of the Goblins by Professor McGonagall, Harry liked them already. She told him they didn't like to mince words, so the best method was to just talk straight with them. They were practical, but enjoyed making people they didn't like squirm, and were all too happy to remind people where they stood when they got out of line.

The bank wasn't too busy when they arrived because it was still early, and they were able to walk straight up to a teller without waiting in line. The Goblin behind the counter was slowly examining a pile of rubies one at a time with a jeweler's magnifying glass held to his eye- at least, Harry assumed it was a male. He didn't know enough about the species to be 100% sure. The goblin also seemed to be ignoring them even after McGonagall cleared her throat in an attempt to get its attention.

After five minutes of this, Harry got bored.

"Hey, arsehole behind the counter ignoring us, do your bloody job already. I have better things to do than stand here, watching you figure out that only half of the rubies in that pile are real," Harry said, his words drawing the shocked looks and attention of everyone within earshot.

They also seemed to finally get the attention of the Goblin, who looked up from the pile of stones on his desk. A small frown was on its lips with several sharp teeth poking out as he tried to stare him down without success. When he realized this, the Goblin let out a small chuckle before it turned into full blown laughter.

"You have a sharp eye, young wizard. How could you tell that some of them are fake?" the Goblin asked. His voice was deep and throaty, and as he spoke the goblin leaned forward slightly to get a better look at him.

With his face still set in a bored expression, Harry reached over and grabbed two of the rubies from the pile right from under the Goblins chin, one fake and the other real, before holding them up to the light. He also ignored the shocked faces of the people around him at the fact he had just taken the stones and still had his hand.

Harry held the stones in such a way that the light shone through them and hit the desk in two separate spots, one being a slightly paler red then the other.

"The way the light shines through them is what gives them away. The real ruby is the darker blood red. The fake is paler because the light travels through it easier. While it is possible to make a fake that doesn't have this problem, whoever made these was clearly an idiot and didn't put much effort into them. Sloppy work if I've ever seen it," Harry explained in a flat tone. He tossed the stones back onto the table into the correct piles.

Harry then pulled the key McGonagall had given him last night out of his pocket and placed it on the desk between them. Finally meeting the impressed expression of the Goblin he said, "Now can I go to my bloody vault and take some money out? I have a lot to do and standing here waiting for you to stop ignoring me is a waste of my time."

For a moment the Goblin just stared at Harry as if looking for something , before a smirk finally crossed his lips.

"Griphook!" shouted the Goblin at the top of his voice. Another goblin came running over, his little tailed suit wrinkled slightly in his rush before he stopped next to Harry's leg and bowed deeply to the first Goblin.

"Yes, Chief Ragroc?" asked Griphook, his voice a lot higher than the now identified Ragroc.

"Take this young wizard to his vault," ordered Ragroc as he nodded to Harry with the smirk still in place.


Fifteen minutes later, after two very high speed cart rides through a maze of tunnels, Harry and McGonagall left Gringotts Bank. Harry had paid for a special pouch that was bigger on the inside and could only be opened by him and tied it to his belt. He absently wondered why it didn't feel any heavier than it would when empty. The pouch itself was black leather, with a golden inlay of a G inside a circle to identify it as a Gringotts pouch.

As they got to the bottom of the steps, McGonagall let out a tired sigh before turning to him with a frown.

"What did I tell you about being polite, ?" she scolded. "You almost gave me a heart attack, speaking to a Goblin in such a manner."

Harry merely shrugged without looking at her, finding more interest in the many shops lining the street. "He was wasting both of our time by ignoring us, I merely called him out on it. Besides, it worked didn't it?" Harry asked without looking at the older witch.

"It was still very reckless; I expect better from you," McGonagall said sternly.

This made Harry stop and look at her with a blank expression, an eyebrow raised slightly.

"Based on the fact I have only known you since last night, you have no reason or right to expect anything from me," Harry stated flatly before turning away again.

That seemed to shut her up, for the moment at least. Harry honestly just wanted to get on with his shopping, because as soon as McGonagall left he'd be able to get some of his own done without her looking over his shoulder.

The next hour was spent moving from one shop to another, collecting his school supplies one at a time. The first stop had been to get a trunk, though Harry intended to return after McGonagall left to have a look at some of the more heavily charmed ones. Having a whole room fit inside a box would be very useful, surely.

Then they bought his Potions supplies from a rather…unpleasant smelling shop. Again, he would need to return and buy more, though he wasn't looking forward to it. He resolved to find something to block his nose before going near it again.

There had been a slight issue getting his robes, mostly because Harry couldn't understand the appeal of wearing them and had tried to talk his way out of getting any. But in the end, it was the school uniform and he wasn't given a choice. It was just another shop for him to come back to later in the hopes of finding something more to his taste. He also made a mental note to read up on the school rules so he could find a loophole regarding the uniform.

By the end of the hour they only had two more stops to make.

The first was for Harry to see if any of the animals in the pet store caught his eye, and the other was to get his wand. Harry decided to look at the animals first.

The shop selling the different animals smelled almost as bad as the apothecary and was a lot darker inside to accommodate its nocturnal occupants. McGonagall had decided to stay outside while he looked around with his shopping, muttering something under her breath that Harry didn't catch.

For such a small shop on the outside, a lot had been packed inside. Hanging from the roof were what looked like hundreds of bird cages of different sizes, with just about every species of owl inside them. There were tanks running along the ground holding large toads, many Harry recognised as definitely not being native to England. Then there were other cages stacked on top of each other with cats inside, all different sizes and colours.

There were other animals too: a tank with several snakes, a hawk mixed in with the owls hanging from the roof, and others that Harry could not identify that he could only assume were magical in nature. One tank was full of large slugs that seemed to be glowing slightly, the label on the tank proclaiming them as 'Fire Slugs' with a warning for customers not to touch them with their bare hands.

He walked slowly through the shop, being careful not to hit his head on any of the hanging cages. At one point, a Snowy Owl caught his eyes, but Harry shook his head after a moment of thought and carried on.


It was then his attention was brought to a loud sound at the very back of the store, where a single cage was sitting on a table. Inside the cage was a raven, though it was bigger than the average for its species. Its feathers were a pure inky black with a touch of dark purple at the ends, and its beady black eyes seemed to shine with an intelligence that was missing in most of the owls he had seen in the store.

Moving closer to get a better look, Harry tilted his head to the left slightly, the Raven following the movement. He leaned closer until his nose was only an inch from the cage.

"I wouldn't get too close to that one if I was you lad. She's got a wicked temper and a sharp beak to match. Had a piece out of everyone that's got too close, that one has," said a voice from behind him.

Frowning slightly, Harry backed away and turned to see a young woman with brown hair and pale blue eyes standing behind him. She wore simple, close fitting clothes with a thick leather apron over them, along with thick gloves to match it. He could also see several cuts on her face and exposed parts of her arm. She was clearly someone that worked at the shop.

"Can I see her outside of the cage?" Harry asked.

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly at him and seemed to size him up with a glance, something that had been happening to him a lot today. After staying silent for a moment, she shrugged and pulled a wand out from behind her apron, waving it at the cage and opening the lock without taking a step closer.

"It's on your head if she bites you. Honestly, if I can't sell her soon I'll have to-"

Whatever the woman was going to say trailed off when Harry opened the cage door and the raven jumped out and landed on his wrist. Her eyes widened slightly when the raven didn't attack him.

"Well I'll be…" she murmured.

Harry slowly brought the bird up so she was in front of his face, carefully running a finger down the back of her neck. Moving a little closer, the shop owner flinched back when the raven turned to her and tried to bite her hand when she got too close.


"Bloody bird! Don't know what you're doing, but if you want her she's yours for 3 Galleon and 8 Sickles with the cage thrown in," the woman said.

Moving his hand so the raven could hop to his shoulder, Harry turned to the woman but made no move for the cage.

"2 Galleons, but without the cage. You already said you haven't been able to sell her and I don't need a cage. Though I will take some feed for her if you sell it here."

The woman frowned, but after a moment she nodded her agreement and moved to grab a bag he assumed was the food.

"Fine. At this point I'll be glad to see the back of the little terror," she said over her shoulder as she moved to the counter.

After paying for both the raven and the bag of food, Harry left the store. He ignored the look McGonagall sent to both him and the bird still on his shoulder as they came into view.

"A very odd choice, Mr. Potter; most prefer owls. Do you have a name for it?" asked McGonagall as she eyed the raven, keeping far back and out of reach.

"She, Professor, not it…and I was thinking of naming her Poe. After one of my favourite poets.".

The name got a quiet caw and an affectionate rub against his head from the bird, which Harry took to mean she liked it. McGonagall didn't comment, though Harry saw the look in her eyes when she saw them interacting.

They quickly made their way to get the last item on his list needed before McGonagall left, his wand from Ollivander's.


Hope you like the chapter, let me know what you think :)

There is a reason I stopped it here, but don't want to spoil the next chapter ;)