When Harry decided to leave Britain and move to America, his mind was set on one simple goal—take a step back from the Wizarding World. Not forever, of course. Magic was in his blood, in every breath and every instinct. But after everything—the battles, the losses, the weight of fame—he craved a quiet life. A normal life. Something that didn't involve wars, dark lords, or whispered names in shadowed hallways.
His plan had been to lay low for a few years. Let Teddy grow up far from the expectations of Wizarding world, the Prophet headlines, and the burden of legacies. When the time was right, he would return. He would raise Teddy to understand their world—but on their own terms.
That was the plan.
But plans rarely survived contact with reality. And Harry now found himself needing magical supplies for an entirely different reason: to create protective wards for Camp Half-Blood. Powerful, ancient wards strong enough to keep monsters at bay. He needed magical resources, and that meant reconnecting with the very world he had intended to step away from.
There was just one problem—he had no idea where to find the American wizarding communities.
He considered writing to Hermione. She'd no doubt respond with a three-page letter, complete with an annotated map and a list of trusted wizarding market places. But Harry wanted to do this himself. For once, he wanted to be the one with the answers.
So he devised a risky but simple plan. One he'd used before, though under different circumstances.
He drove out to a quiet, half-abandoned neighborhood on the outskirts of town—no security cameras, no foot traffic, just crumbling warehouses and overgrown parking lots. Perfect for drawing magical attention without endangering anyone.
He stepped out of the car, looked around the broken lot, and raised his hand.
"Incendio." he whispered.
A blazing column of fire shot into the sky, twisting and crackling before Harry extinguished it with a twist of his fingers. He waited. Five minutes passed. Then ten.
"Maybe they're slower here," he muttered.
Then—CRACK. Two loud pops broke the silence, and Harry turned to see two figures materialize from thin air. Both wore jeans and jackets, but their badges gleamed faintly against their belts, marked with the American Magical Authority's seal. Aurors.
"Hands where we can see them," barked the taller one, stepping forward with his wand raised.
"I'm not a threat," Harry said calmly, raising his hands. "I just needed to get your attention."
The second Auror stepped around, scanning the area with practiced eyes. "You cast a Class-B magical signal in a No-Maj zone. You better have a damn good reason."
Harry gave them a half-smile. "My name is Harry Potter. I just moved here from Britain. I'm looking for a magical community. Figured the quickest way to get help was to flag someone down."
Both Aurors froze.
"Harry... Potter?" the taller one repeated, glancing to his partner.
"Yeah," Harry said. "That Harry Potter."
The second Auror's brows drew together. "Wait—the Harry Potter? Aren't you some sort of celebrity over there?"
Harry shrugged. "Depends who you ask."
The taller Auror eyed him with growing curiosity. "So… what's new in Wizarding Britain? Last we heard, there was some kind of civil war going on. Something about a dark wizard?"
"Right," Harry said. "The war's over now. Voldemort's dead."
The second Auror tilted his head. "Voldemort?"
Harry blinked. "You've never heard of him?"
They exchanged glances.
"Doesn't ring a bell," the taller one said. "We deal with our own problems here. Our last dark wizard was way back in the sixties—and we dealt with him quietly."
"You Brits love your drama," the second one added.
Harry let out a breath of surprise. "He was the most feared dark wizard in a century. Killed thousands, started a blood-purity war, almost took over the Ministry. And you've never even heard of him?"
"Not really," the first Auror admitted. "Our department's got a file on international threats, but Voldemort never did anything in the States, so he was low-priority."
"Wow," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "Guess I'm not as famous here."
The Auror smirked. "In America, we don't really care who saved the world, unless they saved our world."
Harry chuckled. "Fair enough."
The second Auror scribbled something into a floating notepad that followed them. "There's a wizarding community in Newark—hidden near the Ironbound District. Ask for Doce Encanto."
Harry nodded. " Thanks."
"Next time," the taller Auror said, "send an owl. Flashing magic like that in No-Maj zones gets you fined."
"Understood," Harry said with a smile. "Appreciate the help."
With a final glance between them, the Aurors vanished with two sharp cracks, leaving Harry alone in the cracked parking lot, the sky above turning pink with the coming dusk.
He stood in silence for a few moments, thinking.
Back home, he was the Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. The Man Who Won. The one who faced down death and walked away.
Here?
He was just another normal wizard.
And somehow... he liked that.
With the coordinates from the Aurors still fresh in his memory, Harry drove eastward, the skyline shifting slowly from suburban quiet to the bustling density of Newark. The hum of the city grew louder with each passing block, but Harry paid it little mind. His fingers gripped the steering wheel with calm control, the silver Mercedes gliding smoothly between lanes as the car's navigation system guided him into the heart of the Ironbound District.
It was a vibrant neighborhood, full of street food vendors, painted walls, and a mixture of Portuguese and Spanish signs hanging from buildings. But Harry wasn't here for the cuisine or culture. He was searching for something far more elusive: Doce Encanto.
He parked momentarily beside a corner café and rolled down his window to ask a young man wiping tables outside.
"Excuse me," Harry called. "Do you know where I can find a place called Doce Encanto?"
The man gave him a quizzical look. "That old building? Thought they stopped building it years ago. Something about lawsuits and city inspectors. It's been abandoned since I was a kid. You'll find it near the freight rail lines, by the old warehouses. Not much to look at though."
"Thanks," Harry said, nodding.
He followed the directions, taking a left past a chain-link fence and driving toward the edge of the neighborhood. Eventually, the city's polished brick buildings gave way to concrete lots and rusted scaffolding. In the distance, he saw it—a six-story structure that looked forgotten by time. The windows were boarded up, and vines crawled up its sides like nature itself had tried to swallow it whole. A weathered sign hung from a broken metal frame, its faded paint barely legible.
"Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted."
Harry pulled into a near-empty gravel lot, parked his car under the shadow of a lamppost, and stepped out. At first glance, the building was everything he was told: abandoned, gray, lifeless.
But then he walked forward.
With each step, a strange shift in the air tickled his skin. Magic.
The dull gray of the building's exterior seemed to shimmer. Boarded windows gave way to warm light shining behind stained glass panes. Cracks in the walls smoothed over. The overgrown vines receded into perfect topiary. Within a few feet, the entire structure had transformed before Harry's eyes.
"Clever," he muttered, stepping closer.
Wide crystal doors rotated on their own as if welcoming him.
"Wow," Harry muttered. "It's like the Ministry and Diagon Alley had a child—and sent it to charm school."
Inside, the space stretched impossibly wide and high, well beyond what the outer structure could ever contain. Magic had clearly expanded the building in every dimension. A golden chandelier floated above the central atrium, casting warm light over polished marble floors and a massive central fountain shaped like a phoenix. Witches and wizards in sharply tailored suits—some with modern business bags, others pushing carts filled with potion ingredients—moved about casually, chatting or window-shopping. Children squealed near a glowing carousel shaped like various magical creatures.
Harry blinked in disbelief. This wasn't the cloaked and creaky world of Wizarding Britain. There were no crooked hats, no ancient cobblestone alleys, no flocks of owls or towering cauldrons in the street. This was sleek, polished, elegant. Modern.
His eyes darted to a directory board floating mid-air. It listed:
Floor 1: Potions & Ingredients, Apothecaries, Wand-Crafters
Floor 2: Books, Stationery, Magical Education Supplies
Floor 3: Fashion & Clothing – Enchanted and Mundane
Floor 4: Toys, Sweet Shops, Creature Daycare
Floor 5: Restaurants, Cafés, and Food Courts
Floor 6: Gringotts Branch, Doce Encanto Hotel, Wizard Apartments
Harry took a deep breath. "Alright then."
He first made his way to the Gringotts branch on the sixth floor. Unlike the ancient, dragon-guarded marble edifice in London, this Gringotts had a clean, modern charm. The goblins wore business coats and monocles, and there was even a wizard receptionist who greeted visitors with a polite nod.
The goblin who greeted Harry eyed his identification card and then straightened up with a look of faint recognition. "Ah, Mr. Potter. Your British credentials are valid here, and your international account has already been activated by our central system."
"Right," Harry said. "I'd like to access some funds and exchange part into American currency."
"Dollars?" the goblin said, arching a wiry brow.
The goblin guided him to a private counter, and within minutes, Harry had several pouches of galleons and stacks of dollars.
"Now we're in business," Harry murmured, securing the pouch inside his coat pocket.
With the weight of galleons resting heavily in his enchanted pouch, Harry finally turned toward the task that had brought him to Doce Encanto in the first place—fortifying Camp Half-Blood. The warm, radiant light of the magical mall gleamed across polished marble floors as Harry made his way through enchanted corridors, finally stopping in front of a narrow glass-paneled shop nestled between a wand repair booth and a café where levitating teacups danced across tables.
The signage above the shop read in elegant gold letters: "Warding & Arcane Protection – Est. 1731."
From the outside, it looked no bigger than a supply closet, barely wide enough for two people to walk in side by side. But Harry had long since learned never to trust a magical store's outer dimensions. As he pushed the glass door open, a soft chime rang out, and the world seemed to expand around him.
Inside, the shop stretched wide like a grand hall, its walls covered in shelves holding all kinds of warding artifacts, runestones, etched talismans, powdered crystals, and carefully bottled sigils glowing faintly under containment spells. Floating lanterns cast warm golden light through the room, and on the far end stood a circular desk where an old wizard with neat silver hair and half-moon spectacles smiled kindly.
"Welcome, young man," the wizard said with a gentle bow. "You seem like someone who knows what he's looking for."
"I'm here for ward stones," Harry replied. "Big ones. Not the usual kind for small homes—I need something that can cover large grounds. Do you have any?"
The wizard's smile tightened thoughtfully. "Ah. A serious request. You're not talking about perimeter beads or standard shielding stones. You're asking for High Density Ward Stones—the kind quarried at leyline convergence points. Very rare. Very expensive."
Harry nodded. "I'm willing to pay."
The wizard gestured for him to follow and led Harry through aisles filled with protective charms and sigil-embedded crystals. "Most customers buy small sets. Enough to protect a flat, perhaps a small shop. What you're asking for… well, we don't keep those in stock. Too volatile. Too rare. But," he added quickly, "if you're ready to pay upfront, I can place an order directly with our leyline quarrymen. It'll take about a week, maybe two, to deliver. We'll owl you when they arrive."
"I need eight. Large radius. Dense with stored magical current," Harry said firmly.
The wizard raised a brow but didn't question further. "Eight High Density Warding Stones… that's 2,250 galleons each. Total comes to 18,000 galleons."
Harry didn't even flinch. He reached into his pouch, murmured a command, and drew out a handful of golden pouches, placing them one by one into the counting dish that clicked with each clink. When the final pouch slid into place, the dish glowed green.
"Perfectly balanced," the wizard said, beaming. "You'll have your stones soon. And just in case you didn't already know, these stones come from Mount Shasta—one of the most powerful leyline hubs in North America. You chose wisely."
"Thanks," Harry said, offering a small smile. "Send me an owl when they're ready."
"Absolutely, Mr…?"
"Potter."
"Very well, Mr Potter," the wizard said with a twinkle in his eyes.
As Harry stepped out of the warding shop and back into the vibrant pulse of Doce Encanto, he allowed himself to relax. The hard part was over—for now. But he had time, and a long list of people to shop for. He passed a floating directional sign that shimmered and bent to his will, guiding him toward the clothing section.
The clothing store resembled a luxurious muggle department store, but every item shimmered faintly with embedded enchantments. Tailored suits made from Acromentula silk. Winter jackets woven with thunderbird down. Robes that adjusted for temperature, dust, and mood. Harry selected a set of stylish but practical outfits for Andromeda—earthy dresses, enchanted scarves, and self-pressing aprons. Then a full set of baby clothes charmed to resist stains and adjust to Teddy's ever-changing size—and hair color. For Dudley, he grabbed a few magically reinforced leather jackets and jeans. Practical, enchanted, but styled like any Muggle brand.
He stopped next at the food emporium—an open-plan market filled with stalls selling floating fruit, self-chilling butterbeer, and enchanted candy. He picked up an entire box of candied niffler nuts and an assortment of enchanted fruits for Andromeda. She loved sweet things. The memory of Fred and George tricking Dudley into eating a tongue-ton candy made him chuckle quietly as he selected a tray of prank-safe sweets just in case.
Then came the toy store, which was nothing short of magical chaos.
Children ran laughing between aisles, pursued by stuffed griffins, animated broomsticks, and color-changing serpents. One toy, in particular, caught Harry's eye: a fiery phoenix that flew in slow, graceful loops around a small glowing ward-stone. The shopkeeper explained it was meant for infants—a hovering guardian that would sing lullabies and provide protection.
Harry bought it without hesitation. Then added a collection of magical plush creatures—stuffed hippogriffs, winged lions, and even a tiny animated Hungarian Horntail—to complete Teddy's crib set.
Afterward, Harry made a final stop at the bookstore. He browsed through volumes on magical theory, ritual crafting, and arcane history, his fingers running over crisp new bindings. He had left Britain to lay low, but that didn't mean he intended to stop learning. He selected a heavy stack of books, potions manuals, alchemy kits, and rare magical ingredients to restock what he'd lost over the years.
By the time he stepped out of Doce Encanto and back into the cool Newark night, his trunk was nearly overflowing with enchanted goods. Everything was packed away carefully using shrinking charms, and with a final nod to the glowing shopping mall behind him, Harry slipped into his car and drove toward home.
His thoughts drifted as he drove—about the demigods back at Camp Half-Blood, the things he'd learned, the creatures he'd fought, and the warding stones he would soon place.
He came to America looking for peace. But fate, as always, had different plans.
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