The Untouchable

C13: Thy kingdom Come

It was a soft morning, filled with dreary rain and little light. Harry looked up from his book after a slight chill washed over his forearms, feeling an odd emotion brush his chest.

It had been nearly two weeks since The Incident at Hermione's little apartment in Arniston Alley. He had spent the time pouring over ancient tombs and texts at Grimmauld Place's extensive library, absorbing every scrap of information he could about the legend and lore of Death. So far, he had found very little. Strangely enough, the most compelling information matching his own experience he had found had been tucked away in poetry and literature based in mythology. Harry would be surprised had he been a strong believer in research or fact (or, read: had he been Hermione). Yet Harry knew from personal experience that often reality could be stranger than fiction, so the existence of Rose seemed more solid with every passing moment.

Harry cracked his neck and put down the elaborate if slightly mad musing of Nessarita's Crypt Readings of Ancient Romanian Adventures, wondering if a walk would do him some good.

Harry felt oddly compelled to visit Diagon Alley; it had been years since he visited the bustling nook of Wizarding culture. He tended to avoid it since burning down his old psychiatrist's office, though he doubted the long-gone man would miss it (and wondered, passively, if Voldemort kept up the sessions with other patients – if only to entertain himself).

Harry floo-ed himself into the aptly named Leaky Cauldron, barely needing to wish himself to be Unseen. Though the muggle world loomed near as ever, the wizarding world seemed less interested in visiting the magic-less culture. The wizards instead now interested themselves by diving head deep into Wizard-Lore once more, focusing on strengthening their own culture. It seemed being Old Fashioned was once more making a comeback in the society.

Harry wandered around the semi-quiet streets of Diagon Alley, passing the furniture store he first heard the words "galleon" and smiling softly to himself. He trailed the old path to Gringott's, stopping briefly outside their doors before deciding against entering. While Harry had amassed a simply enormous amount of gold (being declared Heir of Potter, Black and the lessor known Lupin tribe had monetary gains indeed), he has little interest in dealing with the goblins. Their kind still holds somewhat of a grudge against him from their first meeting, despite since clearing his name. Harry knows that whatever magjicks he holds frightens the goblins (rumour has it they have a dragon of their own that they would rather Harry doesn't meet nor tame) and has little interest in exciting the solemn creatures.

So Harry passes onward, feeling drawn to an old shop. At last, Harry stands before Puddington's Peculiar Pets. It's been a long time since Harry last stood here. In fact, he's certain he hasn't been here since before he attended Hogwarts.

Harry peered through the lead-glass of the storefront window, admiring the sight of enchanted wooden figurines dancing delicately in the window display, showcasing the type of species the shop had to offer its clientele.

"Looking for a pet?" An older woman enquired politely from the open doorway.

Harry turned to the older woman, an autumn breeze swishing by and nostalgia gripping his bones.

"I don't see why not," Harry replied, following the woman into the store.

Before Harry, not three feet away, perched a most beautiful snowy owl. She was ruffled looking, worn and the occasional feather astray in her proud, downy coat. Bright, intimidating yellow eyes watched Harry's movements with sharp intelligence, as if looking inside his very head and plucking the thought from his mind.

"And who is this?" Harry enquired politely, nodding at the vicious-looking creature.

"An old lady who has been returned by a customer," the store-woman replied, frowning. "She has very little patience, you see, and her previous owner purchased her for mailing but the biddy refuses to fly multiple days in a row. High maintenance, she is. And awfully familiar with using her sharp beak to drive the point home. She was passed around for a few years but finally found her way back here. Most no one wants her, as an owl is meant to deliver the mail, you see."