As they stepped out of the heavy, oppressive atmosphere of Borgin and Burkes, the street behind them seemed to exhale. Harry stole a quick glance over his shoulder and saw the shop door click shut with a finality that suggested Mr. Borgin was currently bolting every lock in the building.
Even the dusty, grime-streaked windows were being obscured by thick, velvet curtains drawn from within. It was as if the shop was trying to erase the fact that it had ever been open today.
"What a bizarre place," Harry muttered, adjusting the bulky package in his arms.
His mind was already racing. Sebastian had purchased two distinct items: the Hand of Glory and the Vanishing Cabinet. Logic dictated that the cabinet—the larger, more expensive item—should be the birthday gift. But a single Vanishing Cabinet was about as useful as a single walkie-talkie. Without its twin, it was just a very tall, very dark wardrobe.
He looked up at the tall, thin man walking beside him. "Mr. Jack? Just to be clear... is the cabinet the gift? Because Borgin mentioned they only work in pairs. Is there a second one hidden somewhere, or am I just getting a very sturdy place to hide from the Dursleys?"
Sebastian chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in his "Jack" form. "The cabinet? Good heavens, no. Why would I give you a massive piece of furniture that you'd have to lug back to Hogwarts? No, the Vanishing Cabinet is for me. A little research project, if you will."
Harry's face fell. He looked down at the smaller, separate package tucked under his arm. "So... the hand? The withered, creepy, thief-hand is my birthday present? I'm not exactly planning a career in home invasion, you know."
Sebastian stopped near the mouth of the alley, where the shadows of Knockturn met the golden light of Diagon. "Don't let that old vulture's sales pitch cloud your judgment, Harry. Borgin sees a tool for a robber because that's the world he lives in. I see an alchemical masterpiece of strategic defense."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Think about the mechanics of magic. Most wizards need to see their target to hit it. If you can't see, you can't aim. Now, imagine you're surrounded by enemies. You drop a cloud of darkness—real, magical darkness—that no Light spell can pierce. Everyone is blind. Except you."
Sebastian tapped the package. "You light a candle in the Hand of Glory. Suddenly, you're the only person in the room with vision. You can walk through a battlefield like a ghost, picking your targets or making a clean escape while your enemies are stumbling over their own feet. It's not a thief's tool, Harry. It's a tactical advantage that turns a fair fight into a slaughter."
Harry's eyes widened. The revulsion he'd felt for the shriveled hand vanished instantly, replaced by a buzzing excitement. He remembered his desperate scramble against Quirrell in the underground chambers. He had used Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder then—smoke bombs that cost a fortune and only lasted a few seconds.
"I used smoke bombs against Quirrell," Harry said eagerly. "But they ran out so fast. If I'd had this..."
"Exactly," Sebastian nodded. "In school, they teach you about 'noble' duels. But in the real world, the winners are usually the 'Galleon Warriors'—the ones who have invested in the best gear and the most clever tricks. Each of those smoke bombs was a Galleon spent on your survival. This hand? It's a permanent investment in your safety."
Harry looked at the package with genuine affection now. It wasn't a creepy relic anymore; it was a legendary artifact. He imagined himself at Hogwarts, draped in darkness, moving unseen through the corridors or outmaneuvering a superior opponent.
"And the cabinet?" Harry asked as they crossed the invisible line back into Diagon Alley. "If you aren't giving it to me, why buy a broken one?"
Sebastian's expression turned thoughtful. "The Vanishing Cabinet is a lost art, Harry. It's a masterpiece of space-folding magic. During Voldemort's first rise, they were everywhere—rich families kept them as emergency exits. But Voldemort hated things he couldn't control. He killed the alchemists who knew the secret and burned their blueprints. He wanted the world trapped in the room with him."
Sebastian sighed, a rare touch of nostalgia in his voice. "My family used to have a set. When I was younger—and far more arrogant than I am now—I took them apart, convinced I could build a better version from scratch. I ended up with a pile of useless wood and a very long lecture from my grandfather. Now that I have the resources, I want to finish what I started. I want to bring that magic back."
As they moved deeper into Diagon Alley, the transition was jarring. The gloom of Knockturn was replaced by the smell of hot parchment, fresh ice cream, and the cheerful chatter of families. Harry felt a bit self-conscious about the five frozen wizards still floating behind them, but Sebastian didn't seem to care.
"Mr. Jack," Harry whispered, "won't people freak out? We're basically dragging a human centipede through the shopping district."
"Don't be dramatic, Leo. Look over there." Sebastian pointed toward the white marble facade of Gringotts. A group of Aurors in scarlet robes were patrolling the plaza.
Sebastian led the way over, and after a brief, professional exchange—and the presentation of a few official-looking documents—the Aurors took custody of the floating thugs. One of the officers, a stern woman with a monocle, did a double-take when she saw the old witch.
"Wait... is that Muriel the Mauler?" the Auror asked, checking a wanted poster. "She's been jumping travelers in the Alley for three years. There's a forty-Galleon bounty on her head."
Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his "Leo" head. Forty Galleons? He looked at the witch as she was carted away. He'd just inadvertently made more money in ten minutes than most wizards made in a month.
"See?" Sebastian teased as they walked away. "You're already a bounty hunter. If you ever run out of gold, you know where to go."
With the "baggage" gone and two hours left on their Polyjuice Potion, the pair turned their attention to the mundane. Sebastian pulled out a scroll—the Hogwarts shopping list for Harry's second year.
"Professor McGonagall sent this over yesterday. Let's get the boring stuff out of the way so we can focus on the fun," Sebastian said.
They spent the next hour navigating the shops. Harry felt a strange thrill buying his school supplies in an adult body. At Flourish and Blotts, the shop assistant didn't treat him like a kid; she discussed the merits of the new Gilderoy Lockhart books with him as if he were a peer (though Harry found the books' covers to be suspiciously shiny). They bought dragon-hide gloves, a new set of brass scales, and enough parchment to wrap the Great Hall.
Finally, Harry made a stop at Sugarplum's Sweet Shop. He bought a massive bag of acid pops, chocolate frogs, and licorice snaps. "For Dudley," Harry explained with a grin. "I promised him a taste of the 'good stuff' if he stayed out of my room this summer."
As they headed toward the Leaky Cauldron to use the Floo network back to the Manor, Sebastian looked at Harry. The boy's face—currently the plump, friendly face of 'Leo'—was glowing with a level of happiness Harry rarely allowed himself to show.
"Harry," Sebastian said, using his real name for the first time since they'd left the house, "your birthday is in three weeks. We've got the artifacts, we've got the supplies, and we've got the Manor."
He paused at the fireplace, his hand resting on the mantle. "What do you think? Should we go all out this year? Invite the Weasleys, Hermione, maybe even that young Neville fellow? A real party, with magic that would make the Ministry's hair stand on end?"