HP/LOTM: Hogwart's Mind Dragon

The happy, chaotic days at The Burrow quickly came to an end. As the final days of the holiday approached, Harry felt a growing reluctance to leave. Outside, the Weasley twins were taking turns soaring through the sky on Harry's Nimbus 2000, their joyful shouts drifting through the open window.

"Life here is like a dream," Harry sighed contentedly. "Except that Mr. Weasley pulls me aside every day to ask about Muggle things."

Aiden, sitting listlessly on a brand-new sofa, let out a massive yawn. "If you like it, come more often. Aunty is quite fond of you, anyway."

"But I have to go back to the Dursleys. They're my guardians," Harry said. Then, a flash of inspiration hit him. "Unless... Aiden, you could adopt me?"

Aiden rolled his eyes. "Do you hear yourself? You actually expect a minor to adopt another minor."

[Ding. The host already has one at home.]

'Temporarily,' Aiden shot back at the System. 'Oliver is only staying with me temporarily. Besides, you of all people know what's going on with Potter. How could I possibly bring him to my house?'

"You could always ask Hermione to adopt you," Aiden suggested aloud.

"Hermione? Why?" Ron asked, completely baffled.

Aiden just smiled and didn't answer.

Suddenly, a loud hooting sound came from outside, followed by a dull thud as an old, balding owl crashed directly into the windowpane.

"It's Errol," Ron sighed. "He's always doing that."

Aiden lazily hooked a finger, and the letters tied to Errol's leg flew into his hand. "It's the Hogwarts acceptance letters," he announced after opening one. "They sent Harry's here, too."

He distributed the letters. The twins, having had their fill of flying, came back inside and flopped down to read theirs.

"Must be Dumbledore's doing," Arthur commented over his teacup. "He's always so resourceful."

Aiden unfolded the book list. In addition to the standard texts, it was filled with the works of a certain celebrity author. "'Breaking Up with a Banshee,' 'Holidays with Hags'... seven books in total," Aiden complained. "Is this Gilderoy Lockhart fellow trying to sell books or teach a class?"

"Those books are going to be very expensive," Percy noted grimly.

"It's alright," Molly said, her jaw set with determination. "We'll find a way."

"Then I'll buy them," Aiden said, raising his hand with a smile.

"Aiden, you don't have to—" Molly began, but Aiden cut her off.

"It's okay, Aunt Molly. I'm not short on money." He shot Arthur a meaningful look.

"Ahem, indeed," Arthur coughed, playing along. "I've heard a new line of defensive alchemy products recently launched in Diagon Alley has been receiving rave reviews." He and Aiden shared a secret smile.

Molly gave Arthur a light punch on the arm, a look of understanding dawning on her face, and she said no more.

"Well then," Molly announced, "we should head to Diagon Alley to buy all these things." She herded the family toward the fireplace. "Come on, Harry. Just say the place name clearly and sprinkle the powder." She enthusiastically handed him a pot of Floo Powder.

"But Mum," Ron interrupted, "Harry's never used the Floo Network before."

"That makes sense," Molly said without missing a beat. "You give him a demonstration first."

Ron grabbed a handful of powder, stepped into the fireplace, and shouted, "Diagon Alley!" In a roar of green flames, he was gone.

"See? It's very simple," Molly encouraged. "Your turn, Harry."

Harry tried to keep her advice in mind. He took a small pinch of powder and stepped into the grate. The flames felt strangely warm, like a gentle breeze. He opened his mouth to speak and immediately got a mouthful of hot ash.

"Knockturn Alley!" he coughed.

The world dissolved into a sickening green vortex, and he was spun away at an incredible speed.

"Oh, my goodness, he's gone to Knockturn Alley!" Molly shrieked.

"Aiden," Arthur said, his voice calm and steady. "You're skilled with spatial magic. Can you track his whereabouts?"

"I'll try." Aiden took out his staff, connected his magic to the sprawling Floo Network, and began to follow the trace. "Let's see... he passed the Ministry of Magic... the Leaky Cauldron... Madam Malkin's... ah, found it. Borgin and Burkes. I'll go on ahead."

With a soft flash, Aiden vanished.

In the grimy depths of Knockturn Alley, Harry stumbled out of a fireplace and into a dark, dusty shop. Looking out the window, he saw two people he least wanted to see: Draco Malfoy and his father. Harry quickly ducked into a large, black cabinet, leaving a small crack to peer through.

Draco was looking around the shop with interest, reaching out to touch the various cursed artifacts.

"Don't touch anything, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said sharply, tapping a nearby sculpture with his silver-headed cane.

"Yes, Father," Draco replied, his eyes darting around. "I just thought you were going to buy me a gift."

"I promised to buy you a racing broom to get on the team, and I have not forgotten," Lucius said, his voice a low drawl as he walked deeper into the shop.

"What's the point of being on the team? Potter made it last year," Draco complained. "Everyone is always praising him. All he has is a stupid scar on his forehead and that broken-down old broom."

"Draco," Lucius said, his voice dangerously soft. "I have told you before, even if you dislike Harry Potter, you must at least pretend that you do not. To show your hand so openly shows a lack of cunning. Of course," he added, a hint of approval in his tone, "joining that dueling association of his was a good move."

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," a hunched, greasy-haired man said, emerging from the back. "Welcome to my shop. We've just received a new batch of goods I believe you will find most interesting."

"I'm not here to buy today, Borgin," Lucius interrupted smoothly. "I'm here to sell." He gestured vaguely at the items in the shop. "That damn Weasley has pushed a new Muggle Protection Act through the Ministry. These are just a few… poisonous items… that might bring us trouble."

At that moment, the air shimmered, and a young wizard in a large, pointed hat appeared in the shop.

"Well, well," Aiden's voice drawled, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The stench of stinginess mixed with malice... one can smell a Borgin from ten kilometers away." This, according to the notes of a Prewett ancestor, was the traditional greeting for any member of the Borgin family.

Somewhere, in the Prewett family cemetery, rows of ancient skeletons gave a collective thumbs-up.

"You damn Prewett!" Borgin shrieked, his composure shattering instantly. "Why aren't you all dead yet?!"

"Oh, good morning, Uncle Lucius," Aiden said, giving a polite nod to the elder Malfoy while pointedly ignoring Borgin. "Fancy seeing you in a shop filled with so much poison and so many curses."

"Aiden," Lucius replied smoothly. "I have some business to attend to. Why don't you keep Draco company for a while?" He gave his son a subtle look.

"Hmph! Little brats should stick to their milk," Borgin sneered. "How could a Prewett possibly understand the importance of these treasures?"

"Yes, they're so important they've landed you in a hovel in Knockturn Alley," Aiden retorted with a roll of his eyes.

"Damn you! If it weren't for you Prewetts—" Borgin began, about to lunge over the counter.

Lucius quickly stopped him. "Ahem. Mr. Borgin, our business is more important." He gave Draco another meaningful look, and Draco quickly pulled Aiden away from the counter.

***********

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