AN:

This chapter contains several lines from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

Disclaimer: The majority of the characters in this story are taken from Harry Potter, and belong to the amazing JK Rowling. The OC character's are mine.

Harry Potter picked at a small bowl of grapes. His stomach rumbled as the mouth watering aroma of freshly cooked bacon filled the air. He ignored the smug look his cousin, Dudley, sent him as he bit into a spoonful of scrambled eggs. Dudley's blue eyes sparkled with superiority and loathing as he took another bite. Harry didn't react. For as long as he could remember, every morning had been the same. He would cook a large breakfast for his family, and his aunt would plop down a bowl in front of him consisting of whatever fruit had been left over from his family's dinner the night before.

Harry looked up when he heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat. He frowned, the mail never came in the morning.

"Go get the mail, boy," Uncle Vernon snapped. He was a large, beefy man, with hardly any neck, whose clothes, although they fit, appeared two sizes too small. His bushy mustache quivered as he looked at Harry over the newspaper.

Harry stood up and walked into the small entryway. He stopped in front of a large oval mirror and emerald eyes looked back at him. His glasses looked worse than usual. Last night, Dudley, had ripped them off of his face and stomped on them. Harry's aunt had only taped them back together because Harry wouldn't have been able to cook them dinner otherwise. His short black hair stood up in all directions, and he attempted in vain to quell the unruly mess. He pushed hair off his forehead and his finger lingered on the lightning bolt scar that stood out in stark contrast to his creamy skin.

A flash of green light flashed in his mind, and Harry pulled his gaze away from the mirror. He looked down and three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and a letter addressed to Harry Potter.

Harry frowned. He had never received a letter before. Every moment he wasn't doing chores he spent reading, so he had no friends. Even if he hadn't spent his time reading no one would have wanted to associate with him regardless. Dudley had all but ensured that by threatening to beat up anyone who so much as uttered a kind word to Harry. Yet here was a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. An image floated unbidden into his mind — the same one on the envelope. Almost as soon as it had come it was gone. He had seen that crest somewhere before, but he couldn't place where.

Curiosity bubbled up inside of him. He had read enough books on Greek mythology to know that the downfall of most heroes was hubris. Harry wouldn't be surprised if one day his would be brought about due to his insatiable curiosity.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke, but Harry ignored him.

He knew that if he took the letter into the kitchen his uncle would rip it from his hand and he would never know what it said. Harry glanced towards the kitchen, and shoved the letter into his pocket.

Harry pressed his ear up against the door of his cupboard. He heard the sound of a car engine roar to life, and he could hear the Dursley's car pull out of the driveway. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality only five minutes, before he pushed the door open.

He walked into the living room and peered out of the front window. He could see nothing but the Dursley's manicured front yard. Roses of all colors sprouted from the ground, and he spotted several plump garden gnomes, odd smiles painted across their plastic faces.

Finally alone, Harry pulled out the thick envelope. His hand hovered above the wax seal momentarily before he peeled it off. He pulled out a piece of what he realized was parchment and unfolded it quickly.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme

Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts

School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all

necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

'Hogwarts? Witchcraft and Wizardry?' Harry's mind felt like it would explode from all of the questions that came crashing into his mind like fireworks. 'This has to be a joke. Dudley and his friends playing a prank on me.' Harry reread the letter before slowly lowering it to his side. He knew that Dudley didn't half enough brain power to come up with an idiotic prank, let alone one of this caliber.

He heard the sound of crinkling paper and looked down to see that another letter had fallen out of the envelope.

Dear Mr. Potter,

It has come to our attention that you are living in the home of muggles. Although you are aware of our world, you will not be aware on how to find Diagon Alley.

"Muggles?" Harry murmured, confused.

As such, a representative of Hogwarts School and Wizardry will arrive at your house today promptly at noon to escort you.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

'Aware of our world?' A knock on the door startled Harry. He looked at the clock above the mantle and saw that it was noon. He didn't know what to do. The letter said he was accepted into a school of witchcraft and wizardry, but magic wasn't real. It was something that existed in the world of fiction, not the world of reality. Airplanes? Real. Magic carpets? Fiction.

'But what if it is real?' The thought came unbidden into his mind. Another knock sounded, this time louder. He looked around the living room at all of the pictures that hung on the walls. His cousins large head filled every frame, his pink cheeks reminded Harry of a chipmunk. This wasn't his home. It never was. He didn't have anything to lose.

He walked towards the front door and his stomach knotted at the thought of this being an elaborate prank. He opened the door and thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. A diminutive man stood on the porch. A shock of white hair poked out from underneath a pointed blue hat, and a long beard reached halfway down his chest. His clothes were very strange; he wore dark green robes with a blue trim. He reminded Harry of a pint sized Santa Clause.

"Hello there," the man said. He had a jovial voice, and his blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and kindness. He projected an aura of calm that helped to lesson the knots in Harry's stomach. "My name is Professor Flitwick." He reached out his hand, and Harry shook it absentmindedly. "I am the Charms professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry shook himself out of his shock. "Hello, I'm Harry Potter."

"Of course you are!" Professor Flitwick said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "May I come in?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. If his aunt and uncle found out that he let a stranger in he would be in trouble. The small man stared at Harry as if he could read his mind.

"Yes," Harry said. He stepped back and allowed the man to walk in.

Professor Flitwick smiled and it seemed as if he was slightly bouncing on his feet. "I would hate to waste your time, Harry, so how about I get straight to it, yes? Now, I'm sure you know all about Hogwarts—"

"I don't know anything about Hogwarts," Harry interjected.

Professor Flitwick looked at Harry in confusion. "What do you mean you don't know anything about Hogwarts? Surely your aunt and uncle told you about the school your mum and dad attended?"

The knots returned to Harry's stomach. His aunt and uncle never talked about his mum and dad except to tell him how horrible they were. His uncle took great pleasure in telling Harry that his father had been a drunk, and his mother had been a trouble maker who had been forced into reform school. Harry never believed them. Deep down Harry knew that his parents had been good people, but he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he would never know anything about them. Yet, this man said that his parents had gone to Hogwarts.

"Did you know my mum and dad?" Harry asked the question before he could stop himself.

A sadness entered Professor Flitwick's eyes as he studied Harry intently. "Yes, I did. Your mother was one of the best students I ever had." The sadness in his eyes was replaced by a look of suspicion. "Tell me, Harry, what have your aunt and uncle told you about your parents?"

Harry thanked his excellent self-control, otherwise he knew his face would've turned red.

"I know that they died in a car crash—"

Harry took a step back as the diminutive professor seemed to grow ten feet before his eyes. Professor Flitwick's eyes turned as hard as ice, and his cheeks turned red. Harry wouldn't have thought it was possible for the kind man in front of him to look terrifying.

"A car crash?" Professor Flitwick said through gritted teeth. "James and Lily, die in a car crash? They were two of the most powerful people I knew, as if a car crash could end either of their lives." He must have noticed the shocked looked on Harry's face, because the professor's countenance immediately went from furious to contained.

"Excuse me, Harry," Professor Flitwick apologized. "I was not only a former professor of your parents, but a friend as well. To hear that their child spent a decade believing that they died in a car accident instead of knowing the truth." He shook his head. "Sit down, Harry. It's time someone told you what really transpired on the night of your parents death."

Harry didn't know what to think as he walked into the living room and sat down.

"Harry, how much do you know about our world?" Professor Flitwick asked. Harry looked at him, and he didn't bother to attempt to hide his confusion.

"I don't know what world you're talking about," Harry said. "Until today I had never heard of Hogwarts or witchcraft and wizardry." Harry swallowed thickly. "Am I a…a…"

"A wizard?" Professor Flitwick finished gently. Harry could see a storm brewing in his eyes, but he knew that it wasn't directed towards him. "Yes, Harry. You're parents were as well. They attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it was their hope that you would one day as well."

Harry's mind was racing. Him? A wizard. It was laughable. Suddenly, memories floated to the forefront of his mind. The time he was running from Dudley and his gang when suddenly he was on a roof across campus. Or the time when he got so mad at his teacher and the next minute her hair was bubblegum pink. Or yesterday when his cousin pushed him and the next thing he knew the glass of a snake enclosure had disappeared. He felt something that he hadn't felt in a long time — hope. Everything about his entire life now made sense. He had always had good instincts, and he felt that Professor Flitwick was telling him the truth.

He had always known that he was different. After all, weird things always happened around him. He loved to read, but one of the reasons why he had started reading was because then he was alone. When he was alone nothing odd or bad would happen. Nothing exploded because he was angry. It was peaceful.

"They knew," Harry stated. He felt anger boil inside of him. "My aunt and uncle knew that I was a wizard, didn't they?" He looked imploringly at Professor Flitwick.

"Yes," Professor Flitwick said. He looked pityingly at Harry and he tore his gaze away from the professor. If there was one thing above all that he hated it was pity.

"Please don't look at me like that," Harry said. He hadn't meant for it to come out. He closed his eyes. "You said my parents didn't die in a car crash?"

Professor Flitwick was silent for a minute. "I won't lie to you Harry. Once you rejoin the wizarding world it will be impossible for you to not find out." Harry looked back at the professor and Professor Flitwick seemed to age a decade.

"It begins, a long time ago. The beginning is not important just now, but he called himself Lord Voldemort." Professor Flitwick began.

"Why did you look as if you didn't want to say his name?" Harry interrupted.

"Very observant," Professor Flitwick said with a rueful smile. "No one likes to say his name, in fact, few dare to speak it. For in our world, names have power."

"Names have power?" Harry asked confused.

"That's a lesson for another time," Professor Flitwick said. He cleared his throat and continued. "Voldemort went to Hogwarts, and grew up to be a powerful wizard. Unfortunately, he went as bad as it's possible for a wizard to go. He was cruel, sadistic, and he took pleasure in torturing and killing others. About twenty years ago, he started gathering followers. Some joined him because they believed in his cause, or they wanted power and he promised him that they would get it, and others because they feared his reprisals if they refused. It was dark times. No one knew who they could trust, and people began to doubt even their closest friends." A haunted look filled Professor Flitwick's eyes.

"He was gathering more and more power, and killing more and more people. It was a terror that I can not even begin to describe. Some people stood up to him, and most who did died. Nowhere was safe — nowhere except for Hogwarts. You see, Voldemort feared Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. He knew he couldn't take Hogwarts as long as Dumbledore was alive to defend it." Harry felt a shiver run up his spine.

"Your mum and dad were both powerful in their own right, and as pure of heart as they come. They were head boy and girl during their final year at Hogwarts. There is speculation that is the reason why Voldemort never tried to get them to join his Death Eaters — that's what his followers were called. He knew that they were too close to Dumbledore to want anything to do with joining his ranks. Your mum and dad fought against the Death Eaters. They were both very brave." Harry felt a surge of pride swell inside of him.

"No one knows why, but ten years ago on Halloween, Voldemort turned up at the village where you were living with your parents. He—" Professor Flitwick's eyes watered before they seemed to dry up instantly. "He murdered your parents, and then he turned his wand onto you."

"He tried to kill me?" Harry asked. He felt the air rush out of his lungs.

"I don't know why, no one does. Maybe he just liked killing by that point, but yes, he tried to kill you," Professor Flitwick said. "But he couldn't do it. Have you never wondered how you got that scar on your forehead? That is no ordinary scar. That's what you get when a powerful, evil curse, touches you. The curse killed your parents, and obliterated your house, but it left you with nothing more than a scar. No one ever lived after he decided to kill them — no one except you. He'd killed some of the best witches and wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts."

Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Professor Flitwick's story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before, and he felt a sting of pain in his forehead where his scar was. His parents had been murdered? The same madman had tried to murder him?

"Yet, you were only a baby, and you lived," Professor Flitwick continued. "You were found by a man named Hagrid, and he brought you to Dumbledore who left you with the only family you had left, the Dursley's. From that moment on your name became famous, the Boy Who Lived."

This man, Hagrid, brought him to Dumbledore? Why would he bring him to the headmaster of a school? Harry knew that he was missing something, but he knew there would be time to ask about Dumbledore later. A far more perplexing question was bothering him.

"What?" Harry asked. "I'm famous? I can't be."

"But you are," Professor Flitwick said. "There isn't a boy or girl in the wizarding world who doesn't know your name." Harry always knew what to say, but today he was at a loss for words. He was famous? He wore hand me down clothes, and lived under the stairs. He found it hard to believe that people everywhere knew his name. However, something more important was bothering him —

"What happened to Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Most people believe that he died. There are some that believe he survived that night. That he was weakened by whatever it was that stopped him from killing you. That he's out there biding his time until he is once more strong enough to fight. That's an even bigger mystery. He was growing in strength and numbers. I am loathe to admit that he was on the verge of winning the war when—"

Harry jumped out of his seat as the front door opened. He spun around in time to see his aunt and uncle turn the corner — Dudley trailing behind them, licking an orange ice cream cone. His aunt's round bug eyes popped out of her head, and her already long neck stretched to giraffe like proportions.

"What is going on here?" Uncle Vernon screeched. A vein in his neck visibly pulsed.

Harry didn't say anything. While he was good at talking his way out of trouble with most adults, his aunt and uncle were a completely different story. Harry knew that saying anything would only make them more angry.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," Professor Flitwick said kindly. "I am Professor Flitwick, I teach Charms at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Aunt Petunia turned the color of old porridge and she took a step backwards while clutching at her throat. Uncle Vernon's face turned purple with rage.

"You're one of those freaks! I told the other one that I want nothing to do with you people! Get out of my house!" Uncle Vernon yelled, spit flying out of his mouth. Uncle Vernon walked forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He stopped a foot in front of Professor Flitwick. "I told you freak, get out of my house!"

Professor Flitwick once more seemed to grow before Harry's eyes. "I am here to escort Harry to Diagon Alley so that he can purchase his supplies for school—"

"School? Harry isn't going to your freak of a school. He will be going to Stonewall High, and you will be leaving!" Uncle Vernon roared. "Those freak parents of his went to that freaky school, and look at all of the trouble that caused!" Fury boiled inside of Harry. "They got themselves blown up, and we ended up with their equally freaky son! They —" Vernon's words died in his throat when the clock above the mantle exploded, sending shards on woods across the room.

Petunia screeched and threw herself in front of a pale Dudley.

"My parents weren't freaks!" Harry snapped.

Harry felt a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder, and immediately his fury turned from a boil to a simmer.

"Harry will be going to Hogwarts, and you will not stop him," Professor Flitwick said. His voice held an aura of power.

"I will not be commanded by the likes of you!" Uncle Vernon yelled. His bravery, or stupidity, seemed to return.

"Harry's name has been down to attend since his birth," Professor Flitwick said. "Must I have Albus Dumbledore come speak with you?"

Harry saw his Aunt Petunia pale to a point where a ghost would look tan compared to her. He wondered why she seemed so frightened of the headmaster of a school.

"Vernon, let the boy go," Aunt Petunia said faintly.

Uncle Vernon puffed out his chest. "I will not pay for the boy to attend some—"

"There is no need for you to pay for anything," Professor Flitwick interrupted. "His school fees have been taken care of."

Uncle Vernon spluttered. Aunt Petunia put a bony hand on his shoulder. Harry could see the fear in his aunt's eyes, and apparently his uncle could too.

"Fine!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "Boy, when you get back I don't want to hear a peep from you! Now both of you, out!"

Professor Flitwick was stiff. "Good day Mr. and Mrs. Dursley."

xxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxx

Harry was thankful that Professor Flitwick didn't say anything as they took a taxi to a street in downtown London. He wanted to ask a million questions — he had never been so curious before in his entire life — but he couldn't look at the professor without feeling a pang of embarrassment about what his uncle had said.

"I've never been in one of those before," Professor Flitwick said as they got out of the taxi. "I much prefer it to the Night Bus, but I didn't want to overwhelm you."

"What's the Knight Bus?" Harry asked. He was thankful that the professor didn't bring up what his uncle had said. Although he had the feeling he would mention it later.

"It's a mode of transportation for wizards and witches," Professor Flitwick said. "All one needs to do in order to call the Knight Bus is stand on the side of the street and hold out their wand. The bus will come and take you anywhere you need to go." He smiled and Harry followed his gaze. "The Leaky Cauldron."

Harry had no idea why the professor was smiling. They were standing in front of a grubby-looking pub. The black paint was peeling, and the gold doorknob was faded. It was the sort of place his aunt and uncle would never have let their precious Dudley go. No one else seemed to notice it was even there. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.

"Professor, can any of those people see it?" Harry asked.

"No, the muggles don't know it's there," Professor Flitwick said.

"What's a muggle? I saw that word in one of the letters I received."

"A muggle is what we call non-magic folks."

Harry followed Professor Flitwick inside and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Round wooden tables filled the pub, and Harry's eyes widened when he saw a broom sweeping by itself. A fire roared in the fireplace, and he thought his eyes would bulge out of their sockets when he saw the flickering flames take the shape of bats and what he would've sworn were pigeons with wings.

A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe, and smoke floated out shaped like stars. A little man in a green top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut.

Professor Flitwick was leading Harry to a large back door until the bar tender seemed to notice they had entered. The man did a double take and he let out a loud breath.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this — can this be —?" The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. "Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an honor." He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

Harry knew that first impressions were important, so he smiled. Professor Flitwick had been right — he was famous. He internally grimaced at the thought.

"Hello," Harry said. "It's nice to meet you all."

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Professor Flitwick.

"Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

Harry tried not to show the incredulousness he felt. That man taught students how to protect themselves from the Dark Arts? Harry didn't know anything about the Dark Arts, but he knew whatever it was, there was no way that man would be able to teach it properly.

"It was nice to meet you professor," Harry said, forcing another smile onto his face.

It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Professor Flitwick managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"We must be going," Professor Flitwick said.

Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, and Professor Flitwick led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

"I am famous," Harry said. The words tasted sour in his mouth. He had never been the type of person who relished receiving attention — positive or negative. All he ever wanted to do was his best, and if he was praised for it then so be it. Yet, he couldn't help but feel dirty that people were excited to meet him because he supposedly defeated a Dark Lord. He was a baby — he hadn't done anything.

Professor Flitwick pulled out a stick, and Harry had read enough fantasy novels to know that it was a wand. He tapped the wall three times with the point of his wand. The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for a giant, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Professor Flitwick, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at Harry's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Large golden cauldrons shimmered brightly next to smaller silver ones. Bronze cauldrons were stacked up almost as high as the building itself.

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen sickles an ounce, they're mad."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. A large black owl eyed Harry intently as it leaned its head from side to side. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever—"

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.

"Here's our first stop," Professor Flitwick said. "Gringotts, the wizarding bank."

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a small creature with a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Harry had an ominous feeling as he read the poem, but he pushed that feeling aside.

"Professor Flitwick," Harry said, "what was that?"

Professor Flitwick glanced sideways at Harry. "That was a goblin, Harry."

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Professor Flitwick and Harry made for the counter.

"Good morning," Professor Flitwick said. He bowed at the waist, and the goblin bowed back, surprising Harry. "We have come to take money from Mr. Potter's vault."

The goblin's eyebrows rose. "Mr. Potter?" He opened up a small black leather book and flipped towards the back. "Mr. Potter cannot take money from his vault until he speaks with his account manager."

"I was sent here by Albus Dumbledore," Professor Flitwick said patiently.

If goblin's could purse their lips, Harry was sure this goblin would have. "It matters not who sent Mr. Potter, what matters is that he cannot take money from his vault without first speaking with his account manager."

Harry couldn't describe it, but he felt as if the air was being electrified. He looked around to see if anyone else could feel the sparks, but everyone else was going about their business.

"Of course," Professor Flitwick said, bowing once more. "No disrespect meant."

"Griphook!" The goblin called. "Escort Mr. Potter to Ragnok's office."

A small goblin walked out from behind the counter. He bared sharp teeth.

"Mr. Potter follow me," Griphook said. "Master Flitwick, you may wait here."

Harry glanced at the professor who nodded and gave him an encouraging smile.

"You'll be alright Harry," Professor Flitwick said. "I'll be waiting out here when you're done." There was something in the professor's eyes that told Harry he wasn't one hundred percent sure he wanted him to go. However, Harry couldn't help but trust Professor Flitwick, so he followed Griphook.

He was led through a door and into a long hallway. It seemed to go down forever, and high black doors lined the walls. Portraits of goblins holding swords and axes covered the walls. A few of the goblins bared sharp teeth at Harry as he followed Griphook down the hall.

Griphook stopped, and Harry saw Ragnok written in gold curvy script on the door. Griphook clapped once and the door opened. Harry glanced at the goblin who merely grinned and gestured for Harry to go inside. Harry steeled himself and walked through the door.

The room was an one-eighty from the hallway. The floors and walls were made of smooth gray stones, and brown torches lined the walls. A desk that looked much too big for a goblin sat in the middle of the room, and behind it a goblin wearing a black suit was staring intently at him.

"Welcome Mr. Potter. My name is Ragnok," he said. "I am the Potter account manager. Please, take a seat."

Harry took a seat in a short brown chair. It was much more comfortable than it looked. "Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Like his associate, Ragnok bared his sharp teeth. Harry had the feeling that if they wanted to, they could tear him apart with their teeth.

"I am sure, Mr. Potter, that you are curious as to the reason behind your being summoned here," Ragnok said. Harry didn't consider himself summoned, but he remained silent. Something told him that it was best to have goblins on his side than against him. "I am aware that you did not spend the last ten years in the wizarding world, so I will explain it to you." Harry was going to ask how he had known that, but the goblin had continued to speak. "As the only living member of a Noble and Most Ancient House, you are the sole heir to all properties, vaults, and titles. As you are not yet of age, you cannot claim any titles until such a time that you reach your majority."

When the goblin didn't continue Harry asked, "What titles?"

"There are twenty Noble and Most Ancient House's in Britain. These are the first wizarding families that came to Britain, and together they created the government. If you would like to learn more about it there are books you can purchase."

Harry made a mental note to buy as many books on the subject as he could.

"The head of each of these families is referred to as Lord or Lady, and their spouse receives a title as well. As the last surviving Potter, when you reach your majority, the age of seventeen, you will become Lord Potter. This title comes with a seat on the Wizengamot, and allows you to exert your power as a member of the House of Lords."

'House of Lords? Lord Potter?' Harry's mind was spinning. First he found out that he was a wizard, and then he learned that he'll one day be a Lord. Harry was finding it hard to wrap his mind around everything that he had learned.

"This is why I have summoned you here today," Ragnok said. "A blood test must be performed in order to prove your claim as the surviving Potter heir. You may not claim your title until you reach your majority, however all vaults and properties will be yours to do as you wish upon your identity confirmation." He pushed a piece of parchment forward along with a long thin needle.

"Prick your finger with the needle and allow a drop of blood to fall onto the parchment," Ragnok said. Harry eyed the needle warily. The goblin stared at him expectantly.

Harry grabbed the needle and pricked his finger. He held it out over the parchment and watched as his blood dribbled down — landing on the paper and then disappearing. After everything he had seen today, he found it hard to be shocked. Slowly words began to form on the paper, and Ragnok picked it up.

"Interesting," Ragnok said. Once more his teeth were bared, and an indiscernible look entered his eyes. "It appears as if you are not merely the heir to the Potter family." Harry frowned, and Ragnok handed him the parchment.

Name: Harry James Potter

Father: James Charlus Potter

Mother: Lily Anastasia Potter nee Evans

Titles

Lord Potter (blood heir) — unable to claim until 31, July 1997

Lord Peverell (blood heir) — unable to claim until 31, July 1997

Lord Black (magical heir) — unable to claim until 31, July 1997

Vaults

Potter Vault — 107

Peverell Vault — 101

Black Vault — 103

"Who are the Blacks and the Peverells?" Harry asked. "What's a magical heir?"

"If you are a magical heir it means that the previous head of that family made you their heir although you aren't related," Ragnok explained. "However, if the Head of House had a biological child or a sibling than that person would become the Head of House instead of the magical heir. As to your other question, the Peverell family is the oldest wizarding family in Europe, and it is reputed that they produced the most powerful witches and wizards. The Blacks are one of the wealthiest families in Britain, if not the most. However, the only person alive with the last name Black, currently resides in Azkaban, the wizarding prison."

"So, those three vaults are mine?" Harry asked incredulously. "I'll be the Lord of three families? How is that possible?"

"It is a rarity," Ragnok said. "Only once before was someone the head of three Noble and Most Ancient Houses." He stared intently at Harry. "It is a great honor for your kind, and much responsibility." Harry felt uneasy. "Goblins tend not to get involved in the affairs of wizards, but there is something about you Harry Potter. I will advise you to learn your place. You are young, and there will be those who will wish to possess what you have."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but he didn't know what to say. His mind, the only thing he had ever had, had turned to mush. There was so much he had to think about that he didn't even know where to begin.

Ragnok pulled a black leather pouch from his desk. "This is a mokeskin pouch, it has been passed down in the Potter family for generations. When the owner of the pouch dies, the pouch will disappear from their possession and arrive in the office of their account manager, so it can be passed on to the next owner."

Harry took the pouch. It felt hot in his hand for a second before merely feeling like cool leather.

"The pouch is now linked to your magical signature," Ragnok said. Harry wanted to ask what that was, although he had a guess, but he made a mental note to read up on them. "Only you will be able to remove anything from the pouch. If you put something in the pouch, all you have to do is think about it and put your hand in it. When you pull your hand out you'll have it." The goblin paused. "The only item currently inside is a ledger that contains the list of properties you now own."

Harry ran his hand over the pouch. His father had owned this pouch, as had his father before him. That in itself was invaluable to him, but add that he could put whatever he wanted to it and no one could take it out, and that was beyond invaluable.

"Thank you," Harry said. Ragnok looked at him and laughed, a deep, booming sound. Once the goblin had stopped laughing Harry asked the question that he had been meaning to ask since he had arrived in the office. "If my parents left me their vault, that must mean that they had a will."

"Yes, there is a will," Ragnok said. "Your parents also left you these." Ragnok opened a drawer and pulled out two envelopes." Harry's hands were shaking as he accepted the two letters. "If you would like to read the will I can have a copy sent to you via owl; it merely states the contents of your vault." Harry's hands continued to shake as he placed the envelopes in his pouch. He didn't want to read the letters until he got back to the Dursley's.

"I would like that very much," Harry told him.

"Very well. Griphook!" Ragnok called. Harry watched in confusion as Griphook walked into the office. "Take Mr. Potter down to his vaults. I am sure he will want to have a look inside."

"Excuse me," Harry asked. Ragnok looked at him inquiringly. "You said that I had properties. Can I - Can I live there?"

Ragnok looked at Harry suspiciously and he masked his face. "In the wizarding world it is against the law for those not of age to live by themselves."

"Oh," Harry said. He felt a twinge in his stomach. He should have known that even with a fortune he would be forced to live with the Dursleys.

xxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxx

Harry kept his eyes wide open even as they stung from the cold air. He let all of his thoughts leave him as he hurtled down the dark corridors in a rattling cart. He passed glowing torches, and he could feel the dampness in the air. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late — they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

Harry's eyes widened as a giant water fall came into view, as they hurtled closer he thought they would turn but they kept getting closer. A foot before they reached the waterfall he clamped his eyes shut expecting to get drenched, but when he didn't feel anything he opened his eyes. They had passed through the waterfall without getting so much as damp. A second later the cart came to a screeching halt.

"Potter Vault, number 107," Griphook said. He got out of the cart and stood in front of a stretch of blank gray stone.

Harry stared incredulously at the wall. "There's nothing there."

"Place your hand on the wall," Griphook said. He spoke slowly as if talking to a child. Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something.

Harry placed his hand on the wall and felt a sting, as if he had been pricked by a needle. He pulled his hand away and watched in amazement as the stone wall melted away. It formed an archway fifteen by fifteen feet, but Harry couldn't see inside. He looked at Griphook who gestured for him to step through.

"Might as well," Harry murmured. He stepped through and froze.

The floor was covered in piles of gold — some twice Harry's height. Silver and bronze coins were dotted throughout the piles here and there. Long oak tables were covered in silver goblets, and rubies and emeralds the size of Harry's fists shone prettily from bronze bowls. Animal hides, robes, and jewelry hung from mannequins. Daggers, swords, and shields covered the walls, and Harry could see more paintings and portraits than he could count. He smiled when he saw dozens of book shelves.

Harry couldn't believe the sight before him. It was as if he stepped inside a fantasy novel and had stumbled upon a dragon's hidden lair. He had never had money in his entire life. The most he had even held in his hands before had been a few pounds. To see so much gold was mind blowing. 'I can't believe this is all mine.'

Harry pulled his eyes away from a giant purple stone that seemed to be glowing slightly. He pulled out the pouch and began filling it with gold, silver, and bronze coins.

"I love magic," Harry said. He was amazed that the bag didn't weigh a thing, even though he knew there had to be ten pounds worth of coins inside.

Harry was conflicted — he wanted to look around more, but he knew that Professor Flitwick was waiting for him. He shoved the pouch inside of his pocket and turned to leave the vault when his eyes landed on a small wooden box. He was drawn to it because unlike the other items in the vault this one was simple.

Harry froze when he say the name engraved in gold curly writing — Lily. Beautiful white flowers were carved on the lid surrounding her name. An old fashioned key was protruding from the lock. He ran his hand over the box — it was shiny, as if it had just been polished. Slowly, he lifted the lid and felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

Two people smiled from an old-fashioned photograph. A gorgeous woman with bright red hair, creamy skin, and emerald eyes — his eyes. Next to her, with his arm wrapped around her waist, was a man with unruly black hair — his unruly black hair — and a pair of modern glasses.

"Mum," Harry whispered. "Dad." He didn't know how he felt — a part of him was ecstatic, he had never seen his parents before, and another part of him was angry that he felt that way. He should know what his parents looked like. He should have thousands of pictures of them. He should know them. "I love you," Harry whispered, as he tried to push the anger away. Harry closed the lid to the box. He couldn't change the past — he knew that. He once more ran his hand over the box.

"Would you like to see your other vaults?"

Harry looked up and hesitated before saying, "Very quickly, please." He picked up the box and put it in his pouch — he wasn't even surprised when the pouch seemed to grow to allow its entry.

The goblin eyed Harry before they got back in the cart and it drove about a mile down.

"Peverell vault, number 101," Griphook said.

Harry got out, and again he put his hand against a solid gray wall. The wall dissolved the same way as it had before and he stepped inside. In a stark contrast to the Potter vault, the Peverell vault didn't contain piles of gold and jewels. Instead, book shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Harry didn't think it was possible for one place to have so many books — there had to be a million. He wanted nothing more than to grab a book and spend the next three hours devour every word.

Harry ran his hand over the spines of several books, and he pulled his hand away when one appeared to pulsate at his touch. He wanted to take all of the books with him, but he knew that it would take years to go through them all. He walked over to the next shelf and pulled a few books off and put them into his pouch without looking at the titles. He used to love picking out books at random from the school library — he saw no reason why he couldn't pick them at random now.

xxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxx

Harry wore a grimace as he walked into the marble hall of Gringotts. In the Black vault he had seen what he was positive was a real human skull wearing a golden crown — huge black diamonds had been shoved into the eye sockets. He shivered as he thought about the dagger sheath he would have bet the entire Potter vault was human skin. Harry wanted to come back so that he could explore his vaults, but he would make sure to be extra careful in the Black Vault.

"Harry," Professor Flitwick said. "Are you well?"

Harry looked up quickly. Professor Flitwick was staring at him worriedly. He managed a small smile.

"I'm ok professor, thank you," Harry assured him.

xxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxx

Harry smiled as he gently stroked his owl's head. Hedwig was gorgeous — she was pure white and had glowing gold eyes. He had spent half an hour thanking Professor Flitwick for buying her for him — he had claimed it was a late birthday present.

Harry's smile slid from his face when the words the wand-maker, Ollivander, had said to him echoed in his head. 'It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar.' He tried to push the image of the man's silvery eyes staring at him so intently he thought that Ollivander's eyes would come popping out of their sockets.

He forced the image and voice of the wand-maker out of his head. He glanced up at Professor Flitwick and he felt grateful for the man. Professor Flitwick had been patient as he answered every one of Harry's questions and he explained to Harry the basics of the wizarding world — the monetary system, the Hogwarts houses, and even how to get onto the Hogwarts Express. Professor Flitwick even told him stories about his mum and dad — how his mum would turn his fathers hair pink when he was mean to someone, and how his father played pranks on the entire school.

He was still in awe of the day he had just had. He was a wizard. Him? It was mind-blowing. He wanted to learn all that he could about the wizarding world. He planned on spending his entire evening reading the books he had taken from his vault, and the ones he had purchased from Flourish and Blotts. Harry's mind still drifted on occasion back to the letters Ragnok had given him. Every few minutes he would reach into his pocket just to make sure that his pouch was there.

"Harry," Professor Flitwick said.

"Yes, professor?" Harry said.

"I don't make a habit of prying into the personal lives of my students unless they're sorted into my house, but I feel as if we should speak about what transpired at your home this afternoon," Professor Flitwick said gently.

Harry knew this was coming, but it wasn't a welcome topic. He had learned at an early age how to take care of himself. He had given up on telling teachers what was going on at his home a long time ago — because it never helped — and it only made things worse. He knew that he couldn't take away what Professor Flitwick had seen, but he didn't want to talk about it. He had come to the conclusion a long time ago that he lived with the Dursley's and complaining about it wouldn't change that. He couldn't live on his own, and until he looked into it there were no other options. He wasn't going to risk getting into trouble, and possibly being banned from school, just so he could attempt to live on his own. He could put up with the Dursley's for one more month before he went to Hogwarts.

"My uncle doesn't like anything strange," Harry shrugged. "It isn't a big deal. He's never hit me if that's what you're worried about." He could see the relief in Professor Flitwick's face.

"Harry, if living with your aunt and uncle isn't working out I can speak with the headmaster," Professor Flitwick said.

"I'm sorry, but what does the headmaster have to do with where I live?" Harry asked, and then he remembered what Professor Flitwick had told him earlier. "You said that Dumbledore, sorry, Headmaster Dumbledore had sent me to live with the Dursley's." Harry felt a surge of anger. This whole day had been an emotional roller coaster — he was usually much better at controlling his emotions.

"Dumbledore is a very smart wizard," Professor Flitwick said. "I am not saying that he is infallible, and I am sensing that he made a mistake in regards to the Dursleys. I cannot speak for his reasoning behind every move he makes, but I know that he thought that by placing you with the Dursley's that you would be safe."

Harry held back a snort. Safe? Sure he was safe, physically. He would like to know how safe Professor Flitwick thought he had been when he was only eight and forced to cook his so-called family breakfast and dinner every night. But he didn't want to yell at Professor Flitwick — he wasn't Dumbledore. He didn't even know if he wanted to yell at Dumbledore.

Harry was angry to find out that he had been placed with the Dursley's as though they had been a good option, but he knew he had to think logically. He didn't want to be angry with Dumbledore before he met him — before he knew why he had been placed with the Dursley's. Jumping to conclusions was never a good thing. He pushed down his anger and cleared his mind.

"Can I talk to him?" Harry asked.

"Headmaster Dumbledore is a very busy man, however, I will be happy to tell him that you would like to speak with him once you've settled in at school."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, professor."

AN:

Please review and let me know what you think! If you don't like the story that's ok, but there's no need to be rude! However, I love constructive criticism as I would like to improve my writing and story telling abilities! I would like to work on more than one story at a time (I'll update the same either way), and there is a poll up for what that other story should be since I'm having trouble picking which one I want to write the most — If any of you are interested in voting.

Harry did NOT MEET Draco at Madam Malkins.

I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter! Next chapter it will begin to deviate more from canon, until school begins when it will be completely different. I used some passages from canon because there are certain parts I thought would fit well into the chapter, and by changing those small tidbits it would not add to the story.

There will be many elements to this story (including House of Lords, types of magic, ect) that aren't in canon. No one is making you read this story, so if you don't like it, DON'T read it.

I'm sure than many of you will be wondering why I didn't show him getting his wand, Madam Malkin's, ect. I personally don't think showing him getting his wand will add anything to this story, as he receives the same wand he did in canon. & I did not want him to meet any of his fellow students yet.

Yes, Harry is very intelligent, but he is still ONLY 11.

The story WILL get DARKER as he gets older.

Every chapter will be at least 3,000 words, and I don't think longer than 10,000. I have the next several chapters planned, and I know the ending, but I don't know all of the in-between.