Chapter 8: Vacation? Not Really

*I will be changing the POV to first person from now on. I hope that does not bother you guys.*

Back at my grandparents' mansion after the school year at Hogwarts, my routine settled into a familiar pattern. I maintained a strict schedule of exercising and reading more about magic, even though I couldn't actually practice spells here. The restrictions were frustrating, but I had to make do.

My grandparents, pulling some strings, managed to get me registered as a private candidate for The General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) exams despite my age. With their resources, they arranged for intensive tutoring and access to all the necessary study materials. I focused on my studies with a rigorous self-discipline that paid off when I easily passed the exams.

Settling into my routine at the mansion during my first month of vacation was easy. I'd wake up early, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, and start my day with a rigorous workout. Running laps around the vast estate, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and some basic combat drills. I needed to stay in top physical shape, even if I was now living in a world of magic. Old habits die hard.

After exercising, I'd head inside for breakfast with my grandparents. They were always so proper, so traditional. I found it amusing sometimes, how different their world was from the one I knew before. They'd ask about my studies, my plans for the day, and I'd always have an answer ready, polished and polite.

After a few days, I approached my grandparents with a request.

I entered the living room where my grandparents were seated. Grandfather was reading the newspaper, and Grandmother was drinking some tea while enjoying the view from the window.

"Vincent, dear, how are your studies going?" Grandmother asked.

"Quite well, Grandmother. Actually, I wanted to talk to you both about something important," I replied, taking a seat across from them.

Grandfather lowered his newspaper and looked at me over his spectacles. "Go on, Vincent."

"I need to stay in Diagon Alley for at three weeks at best," I said, trying to sound as earnest as possible.

Grandmother stopped drinking her tea. "Three weeks? Whatever for, Vincent?"

"Magic requires practice," I explained. "I can't perform spells here at the mansion without breaking the law and possibly causing exposure or damage. In Diagon Alley, I can rent a room and practice freely."

"I know it's a lot to ask," I admitted. "But I promise I'll be careful. I'll check in regularly, and I'll focus solely on my studies. This is important for my future."

Grandfather, folding his newspaper, said, "Vincent, if this is truly important for your magical education, I suppose we can make arrangements."

Grandmother nodded slowly. "We'll allow it, but you must promise to stay in touch and be cautious."

"I promise," I said, feeling a surge of relief. "Thank you, both of you."

As I left the room, I felt a mix of excitement and anticipation. This was a crucial step in my plan, and now, with my grandparents' permission, I could move forward without any hindrances.

Once they agreed, I packed my things and headed to Diagon Alley. I rented a room at one of the inns, a quaint place that offered enough privacy. My days were split between reading and practicing spells.

One day, while reading about Polyjuice Potion, an idea struck me. The potion allowed one to take on another's form. It was complex and required a lot of ingredients, but it was worth the effort. I needed a disguise for my next plan.

I managed to gather all the necessary ingredients from various shops in Diagon Alley. The brewing process was long and meticulous, but after a few days, I had a vial of Polyjuice Potion ready. I plucked a hair from Mr. Turner, my grandparents' butler. He did not even notice when I stole one of the few hairs left on his head and added it to the potion. A shiver ran down my spine as I drank it, feeling my body morph and shift. Looking in the mirror, I saw Mr. Turner staring back at me.

With the disguise in place, I headed to a part of town I hadn't visited in a long time. The seedy underbelly of London was a place I knew well from my past life. I moved through the shadows, avoiding eye contact and sticking to the less-traveled paths.

The gun dealer's location was just as I remembered, and I thanked my luck. A pretty fancy bar that sold very expensive bottles of wine and other drinks was a nice front for the gun-dealing business. Only people in the "business" knew what to say to get the guns.

The dimly lit bar exuded an air of exclusivity, its elegant décor and subdued lighting lending an aura of sophistication. I approached the bartender, a middle-aged man with a sharp gaze and a quiet demeanor.

"Evening, sir. What can I pour for you tonight?" he inquired in a low, measured tone, his eyes subtly scanning me.

"I would like to see the manager," I replied calmly, leaning in slightly to convey confidentiality.

The bartender's expression remained neutral, but a glimmer of acknowledgment flickered in his eyes. He paused for a moment, then nodded imperceptibly. "Follow me."

We navigated through the bustling bar, past the murmurs of conversations and the clinking of glasses. At the back, concealed by a tastefully adorned tapestry depicting a serene landscape, he halted. With practiced precision, he tapped a hidden latch, and the tapestry swung open to reveal a concealed corridor.

I followed him down the narrow passageway, lined with vintage artwork and soft, ambient lighting. At the end of the corridor, we arrived at an unassuming door guarded by a keypad. The bartender typed the password into the keypad, and I heard some locks start to move. The bartender said goodbye and went back to the front of the bar.

The door finally opened, and inside was another man, this time in a black suit, who asked me, "How can I help you, sir?"

I entered the room, closed the door behind me, and said, "Perhaps you have something for a 'particular occasion' that requires a touch of elegance, action, and precision. Maybe a tasting is required?"

The man recognized the code and nodded at me. He got up from his desk, moved to the bookcase behind him, and shifted some books to reveal another keypad. He typed the password, and the bookcase moved to reveal a door hiding some stairs that led to the underground. The "manager" asked me to follow him downstairs.

We went down at least two floors, and another door awaited us, this time with armed guards. They saw us approach and asked me to raise my hands.

"Hands, please," one requested calmly.

Understanding the procedure, I complied, holding up my hands. The guards used some handheld metal detectors to check me. After not finding anything, they nodded and keyed in a sequence. The door clicked open, revealing a hidden armory bathed in dim, focused lighting.

Inside, an array of firearms lay meticulously displayed. Among them, a polished Smith and Wesson 5906 and an SR-25 caught my attention with their sleek designs and robust builds. "I'll take this one."

The 'manager' nodded approvingly. We conducted the transaction swiftly. It had cost me some serious pounds that I had acquired from the bank before I had gone to Diagon Alley.

I put the pistol under my coat, and the rifle they handed me in a leather bag. It was disassembled to make sure it would fit in that bag and not draw attention.

As I exited the concealed armory, the weight of the pistol beneath my coat and the bag that I was holding gave me subtle reassurance. The manager closed the hidden door behind us and escorted me back to the bar.

Back in the main lounge, the soft jazz continued its melodic backdrop, oblivious to the clandestine transaction that had just taken place moments ago. With the firearm secured, I now felt prepared for the challenge that awaited me.

Back at Diagon Alley, I felt a surge of triumph. The pistol and the rifle had passed through without detection. I sneaked back into my rented room so as to not draw suspicion. On my way there, I bought a backpack where I cast an Extension Charm so I could put the pistol and the rifle and some other stuff I would need.

The rest of my time was spent studying and practicing spells…a lot of spells, honing my skills to perfection.

As the end of the vacation approached, I returned to the mansion and filled my grandparents in on my progress, conveniently omitting the details about the gun. They seemed pleased with my dedication.

The final week flew by, and soon I found myself back at the train station, waiting for the Hogwarts Express. Sitting in a cabin, I felt more prepared than ever. Hogwarts held many challenges, but I was ready to face them head-on.