In Which One Comes, And One Goes.

Harry savoured every detail of it. How thick and crisp the paper was, how the green ink swirled and swooped so beautifully in perfectly level lines, how it tingled against his fingertips- well, that last part might be his imagination, but he liked it, so he went on pretending he could feel the magic in it.

'This is my first post,' he said, and looked up with a smile that felt like it stretched ear to ear.

Lupin returned his smile with a small, but warm, upturn of his lips. 'It's a good one to be first, then. Your Hogwarts invitation is special.'

Special. Yes. It was a very special letter, this, and all Harry's. Mr Harry James Potter, that was his name written on the envelope, and the hard red sticker sealing it was wax, Professor Lupin said, and pressed into the wax was a picture Lupin called a seal, the seal of Hogwarts, a little too smooshy and blurred to make out entirely, but special nonetheless. Professor Lupin had showed him how to use the flat edge of a knife to pop the seal whole from the parchment, to preserve it if he wanted, and then there had been the letter. Oh, the letter- Harry had the entirety of it memorised already, but he read it again for the sheer delight of it.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

'What's a Mugwump?' Harry asked.

Professor Lupin slowed for the sliproad and turned their car to the right. It was a bright warm day, and they drove with the windows down to enjoy the sun and the breeze. They had left the city far behind and then the motorways too and now they were in the country, on a lot of two or one-way roads that seemed maze-like to Harry, leading them ever further without ever seeming to go anywhere but further again. Lupin had a map folded up on the backseat, but never looked at it. He did reach back there now, only to retrieve the bag with their packed lunches. He fished out a can of Vimto and trapped the can between his knees to pop the top. 'A Mugwump,' he said, 'well, that's the title of whoever leads the International Confederation of Wizards. Most wizarding nations have a representative, and the British represenative isn't always the Supreme Mugwump, but it's been Dumbledore for about fifteen years.'

Harry wasn't entirely sure that answered his question, but in the past few days he had learnt that very few things about the Wizarding World, as Lupin called it, were in fact straightforward.

'Are warlocks different than wizards?' he asked next.

'Yes, that's insightful of you. A warlock is a warrior wizard. Most wizards pursue other occupations.'

'How many wizards and warlocks are there?'

'And witches,' Lupin said. 'About three hundred thousand. In Britain, it's about six thousand.' He braked for the yield at the roundabout, though they were the only car Harry had seen in an hour at least. 'There are other schools than Hogwarts, of course, even in Britain. We could consider those, if you like.'

'But my mum and dad went to Hogwarts?'

Lupin glanced sideways at him. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, they did.'

'Then I want to go there.' Harry tore himself away from contemplating his letter to rifle the lunch bag. Cook had packed them baked chicken and boiled veg; Harry made a face at the sight, and took an apple instead. 'Tell me more about it?'

Though he'd already asked that exact question a dozen times at least, Professor Lupin only chuckled. 'Right, where were we,' he said, as they put Chester at their backs and headed toward a place called Mold. 'Let's see, have I told you about Quidditch yet?'

'No, sir. Is that a class?' His letter had detailed all the books first years would need, and they were impressively exotic. Harry couldn't even imagine what he would be learning, but it was bound to be loads better than Geography and- though he felt disloyal to think it- Maths.

'Quidditch is a sport. A wizarding sport, played on broom-back. It's rather like football, but there's several extra balls. A Quaffle, which players try to get through the goal-posts, and Bludgers, which are a sort of offencive ball that Beaters use to try and unseat the opposing team, and the Golden Snitch. A player called a Seeker spends the entire game looking for the Snitch, which flies everywhere and tries to hide from them. Each team has a Seeker, and the game can't end til one of them finds the Snitch. The longest game I ever saw ran four continuous days, and in rain, sleet, and snow, no less.'

'That's mad,' Harry scoffed, but what he really meant by that was thrilling, and Lupin took another look at him and laughed again, and Harry grinned.

'You would think so,' Lupin said. 'So did your father. James was a Chaser. The ones who try to get the Quaffle through the goals.'

Harry could never tire of hearing about his parents. He was carefully hoarding every fact Lupin gave him. So far he knew his mother's name was Lily, that she'd had long ginger hair, that she was clever, cleverer than all the boys and all the other girls for that matter, and that it was her sister who had been his Aunt, Aunt Petunia, who had decided not to keep Harry even though he was her nephew. His father was James, which was how Harry had got his middle name- he'd never known that before- and James had had messy hair like Harry's, though rather lighter, and had been a war hero. Harry still didn't entirely know which war, and so far there had been other things to ask every time it came up. Like-

'Do I have grandparents?'

Lupin let out a long breath, like a sigh stretched over several seconds. His hands flexed on the wheel. 'James's parents were Fleamont and Euphemia.'

Harry couldn't help a snicker. 'Fleamont?'

Lupin cocked an eyebrow at him. 'Yes, well, you see why Lily liked the name "Harry" so much.'

'But they're dead now, aren't they? Or they'd have taken me?'

'Or they'd have taken you in a heartbeat,' Lupin said, confirming the small seed of hope Harry hadn't been able to stop himself feeling. But that meant his grandparents were dead, and even though he supposed he'd known that in the back of his mind, it put a lump of sadness in his throat where the hope had been a moment earlier. 'I know Mr and Mrs Evans would have, too, but they died before Lily was out of school. Your dad's parents died of dragon pox the year you were born.'

'Dragon pox?'

'It's like the mumps. There's a cure, now, but there wasn't in the '80s.' Lupin reached out to tap the letter in Harry's hand. 'Headmaster Dumbledore is the one who invented it. He worked with a young Potions Master at Hogwarts. He'll be one of your teachers. Severus Snape.'

That diverted Harry from his sadness for a moment. 'Potions?'

'I've seen you on kitchen duty. I don't imagine you'll be brilliant at it, but it's an exceedingly useful skill.' Lupin smiled at him. 'Potions is in the dungeons- the deepest, dankest dungeon in Hogwarts, so when your cauldrons explode they don't take half the castle with them. The worst Potions disaster of all time was in 1437, and it cratered the entire North Tower. One of the Hogwarts ghosts, the Fat Friar, he was the instructor that day. He's been wandering the school ever since.'

'A ghost?' Harry breathed. 'Ghosts are real?'

'Very real.'

'Do you think...' Harry ran his fingers down the folds of the envelope. 'Never mind.'

This time he was sure it was a sigh. 'Your parents aren't ghosts. I'm sorry.'

'Do you miss them?'

'Yes.' The word came out on the tail end of that exhale, almost without any breath behind it. 'Very much.'

Harry sighed, this time. He had never really done it before, not on purpose, but it was very satisfying, sucking up a big gulp of air and blowing it out so hard from way down in his gut that it tossed his hair over his glasses. It felt like it took all the weird jumble of hurts in his whole body and gusted them away.

Once they passed Mold they were in Wales proper, Professor Lupin said, and though it didn't look much different from England at first it gradually began to. Their road wound up and down hills, hills that became taller and taller until Harry thought they might be mountains. He stared out his window, awed, as they drove through a valley with huge sheer sides shooting up jaggedly, grey rock that Professor Lupin said was slate tumbling down in huge flat boulders all about and so high it almost blocked the sun. Professor Lupin said the mountains where Hogwarts was in Scotland were higher, but not so dramatic as Snowdonia. To Harry, who had never been farther than Crowhill in flat Berkshire, it was as much a fantasy as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And warlocks, he reminded himself.

Harry woke from an unintended nap feeling groggy. They were parked. Lupin had left the car- Harry twisted about and saw the boot was popped, and a moment later Lupin came to tap on Harry's window. Harry scrambled to get loose of his safety belt, and hurriedly exited the car. Lupin had their bags, and Harry tripped after him as they walked through rows of other vehicles to the edge of a car park. Lupin walked right past the metre, though, and Harry tugged at his sleeve, wondering if he hadn't seen it.

'Don't worry about it,' Lupin said. He looked both ways up the street, and discreetly slid a long stick from his sleeve. Harry watched him flick it once, and a bright blue spark flew from the tip to the metre. A moment later, a ticket popped out.

Harry gaped. It was, he realised suddenly, the first magic he'd actually seen. It was one thing to hear about it, and he supposed he'd believed it without question, but to actually see it!

He turned wide eyes to Professor Lupin. 'More?' he asked.

Lupin let out a startled laugh. 'Well, I was going to take the bus,' he said, 'but I suppose Apparition is quicker. Very well, but we need a bit of privacy. Let's cross to that alley there.'

'What's Appa- applifition?' Harry stammered. He glanced about as they crossed the street. The street sign was a weird jumble of letters- oh, that wasn't English. 'Where are we?'

'We're in Beddgelert. It's a mixed Muggle and Magic village, as many places are. We're only here overnight, but if we have time I'll make sure you get to Glaslyn Ices. Gold medal winning ice cream, you won't have better outside of Diagon Alley- though as a Glaslyn loyalist, I should say that while Glaslyn hasn't quite the long history that Florean Fortescue's does, that's to say nothing of serving both Muggles and magic folk which Glaslyn does quite handily. The Banoffee Butterbeer Glaze- no, the Turkish Moonflower Delight- well, maybe we'll have to get one of each to test the quality.' Lupin ruffled Harry's hair. 'You'll make that sacrifice for me, eh?'

'I'll do my best, sir.'

'Take my arm, please.' Lupin held it low for him and positioned them against the wall at the back of the alley, behind a fall of ivy. 'This is going to be rather peculiar, and you'll want to have a tight grip, yes? Wait- here.' He produced a stick of chewing gum from his coat pocket. 'Pop that in. First time Apparation can be a bit of a shocker. Ready?'

Harry followed Lupin's wand avidly with his eyes as it swished up, carved the air in a graceful circle, and came down with firm alacrity. He had time to wonder if he'd be learning Apple-ation at Hogwarts when the magic took him and-

Ooph. And squeezed him horrid tight all over, like toothpaste in a tube, squishing him down a long tunnel and tumbling crazily through the air all at once. Harry yelled, he was fairly sure, and only Lupin's arm under his hands anchored him at all, and he was upside down, no, rightside up but inside out-

And then they landed, and Harry would have fallen but for Lupin steadying him, and he panted bent over his knees.

'Chew the gum,' Lupin advised him, and Harry mashed it furiously between his jaws. It did ease the nausea, at least. Harry wiped sweaty palms on his trousers. 'Well done, Harry. Most people sick up their first trip.'

'I can see why.' Harry removed his glasses to rub his eyes. When he hooked them back over his ears, he stared. They weren't in the alley anymore! They were someplace else entirely, a cottage in the woods, and they stood under a thick canopy of twisty old trees that scented the air with living green. 'Oh,' Harry said, turning in place to look everywhere. He could just see the outline of the mountains through the trees, and they weren't so far off the road, and on the other side of the road was a river, a big burbling river that sounded like a running faucet only happier somehow, freerer. And there were birds chirping everywhere even though he couldn't see them, and insects buzzing so fiercely he thought at first it was static on a radio. There was a vegetable patch in front of the cottage, and flowers growing riotous out of their pots and ivy all up the stone walls of the little house, and the chimney puffed a thin trail of white smoke to wisp away in the breeze. 'This is the most wonderful place I've ever seen,' Harry said, deeply impressed.

'I'm glad to hear that,' Lupin replied, and his hand on Harry's shoulder tightened, but just for a moment, and Harry forgot about it as Lupin started walking up the path. Harry jumped to follow. They climbed three wooden steps onto a small portico- they creaked a bit, and now that he was closer Harry could see the cottage was in some disrepair, a bit of peeling paint and one window pane at least patched with cardboard where it had broken, but then Lupin was opening the door with a key and holding it wide for Harry, and he stepped through to gape anew.

The inside was larger than the ouside! It absolutely had to be, because everywhere Harry looked there were more doors, and stairs- stairs to where? It was only a single-level cottage, but those were clearly stairs going up to a first storey, and when Harry poked his head up he saw another flight of stairs above those. Lupin set their bags in a sitting room with wallpaper of eye-popping chintz and a prim set of couch and chairs in matching pattern, and beyond the sitting room was a room with a full dining table, six chairs facing each other over an expanse of white linen and gold candlesticks and a blue china bowl of dried flowers. There was a big hutch with lots of plates and teacups that looked very old, much nicer than what they ate on at Crowhill, and on every wall there was a portrait or three, some of them clearly very old and some photographs and- Harry stopped dead.

'Professor?' he asked. 'Is it- is the picture moving?'

Lupin came to stand beside him. 'Hullo, Mam,' he said, and the woman in the picture turned her head from profile to smile down at them. She waved brightly, and went back to her knitting.

'Is that your mother?' Harry touched the frame gingerly. It was a real photograph, a bit faded with age, but how did it move? 'She's not... she's not in there?'

'No. She died just before I graduated Hogwarts.' Lupin gazed at the photograph with an odd expression, one that made Harry put his hands in his pockets and stand very still until Lupin noticed him again. Lupin put on a smile. 'Why don't you make us some tea, Harry? There should be fresh milk on the back porch, if the delivery was timely, and I believe the kettle will be on the stove.'

Harry ran to do as he was told. The porch was off the kitchen, and he wasted only a moment or two- no more than a minute- gazing out at the sight before him. He could see the village from here, a scattering of white houses amid neatly tended fields, and the meandering valley with the green and purple mountains to either side, and that silver glister was a big lake, and there were white puffy clouds and the sun falling in bright yellow beams on the wrinkly folds of the mountaintops. But eventually he minded his task, and found a crate of old-fashioned glass bottles of milk, ice cold as if they'd just been dropped off, though no-one had been near when they'd Amplified to the cottage. More magic? Was it safe to drink magic milk? Maybe it would make him grow like Alice in Wonderland's biscuits and mushrooms. He felt a bit like Alice, falling down the rabbit hole to a place where everything was wonderful and strange all at once.

The stove was very old-fashioned, mint-coloured enamel on spindly legs with a small range and knobs of cracked bakelite. Harry filled the kettle in the sink and set it to boil over a gas flame. There were mugs in a drying rack beside the sink, and Harry chose two, but the tin of tea confounded him. It was loose, and he didn't know what to do with tea that didn't come in bags.

He didn't have to wonder long. Lupin came in from a door Harry was almost certain hadn't been there, or had been a pantry only a moment before, and he shed his coat onto the back of a stool that tucked into the little table under the window. 'Never made a proper tea before?' he guessed, seeing Harry with the tin. He beckoned. 'Bring that, then, and would you please fetch another cup?'

'Is he here?' Harry asked, startled. 'Only I didn't think anyone else was home.'

'He's in bed. He doesn't leave his bed, much, these days.' Lupin found utensils in a drawer, and measured out several spoonfuls of tea leaves into a pot. 'I don't suppose there's anything in the cold cupboard? Ah- pork pie, that should hit the spot.' He found a tray laid with a lace doiley, and set it with small plates, forks, and the tea pot. 'Your water's boiling. To the fill line, there we are.' He capped the steaming pot as Harry returned the kettle to the stove. 'Missing anything? Ah, milk and sugar.' The fresh milk went into a small china crock, and a bowl of sugar cubes joined it on the tray. Then Lupin tapped the tray with his wand, and it rose all on its own, without either Lupin or Harry touching it, and floated after Lupin as he left the kitchen. Harry shook his head. Magic was dead useful.

They climbed two flights of stairs and walked a corridor that should have put them, if Harry's guess about the architecture of the outside of the cottage was correct, knocking over the back shed. At the end of the hall was a door, already open, and Harry thought Lupin must have already been here, because he walked in without knocking to announce himself. Harry slowed his steps, biting his lip, and finally stepped through. Best face it; he didn't want Lupin to think him a coward.

And it wasn't so bad as he'd been imagining, not really. An old man lay in a bed beneath a window propped open for the breeze, lace curtains blowing gently, and Lupin was settling the tea tray on the table next to him. The only thing that marked this as a sick room was the dozens of bottles already on that table, and an underlying smell of decay. Lupin was bent over the old man, fluffing his pillows and tucking the thin summer quilt over his lap. 'Better, Da?' he was asking.

'Stop fussing,' the old man croaked, but he had spied Harry lingering uncertainly in the door, and lifted a hand with thick fingers crooked like claws to gesture him sharply. Harry, long used to being ordered about and catching a thwack to the ear if he were slow at it, moved promptly to the foot of the bed, but once there he couldn't stop himself fidgeting. The old man was staring, and not precisely at Harry, but rather at Harry's forehead. Harry reached up to brush his hair flat over his old scar.

'It is him, then,' the old man said.

Lupin was pouring brewed tea through a strainer into one of the cups. 'Yes. It's him.'

'Knew your father,' the old man said abruptly. Harry jumped. 'Met him when he was about your age. You look just like him.'

Lupin smiled at Harry as he set the cup on absolutely nothing, mid-air, where it remained floating serenely over the old man's sunken chest. 'He does, doesn't he. Come to think of it, I believe I have an old picture. We'll look for it- you'd like to have that, I'm sure.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said shyly.

'Speak up, boy,' the old man barked. 'No mumbling.'

'No shouting,' Lupin told him just as sternly, and poured a cup of tea for Harry. 'This rude fellow is, unfortunately, my father, Harry. Harry Potter, Lyall Lupin.'

'Looking forward to Diagon Alley, Potter?'

'Diagonally?' Harry repeated, glancing at Lupin for confirmation.

'Diagon Alley,' Lupin said, enunciating it clearly as two words. 'It's the Wizarding part of London. It's where we'll buy your school supplies and books.'

'Oh,' Harry said, suddenly feeling very foolish. He'd been so enchanted with his letter, a stiff square in his pocket even now, that he hadn't actually thought about events pertaining to it. 'I... I haven't any money, Professor Lupin.'

'Haven't any money?' the elder Lupin scoffed, spilling tea all over his quilt as he waved the cup about. The younger Lupin daubed him with a napkin and murmured something censorious. 'Haven't any money? RJ, haven't you told the boy anything?'

'No, as a matter of fact,' Lupin replied. 'And I'll continue to do it in my own time, thank you kindly.'

'You,' his father dismissed him, and turned those watery eyes back to Harry. 'Come sit here, boy bach. I don't bite. Now. Since my son has told me you've been raised amongst Muggles, and he's done nothing to alleviate your ignorance, I can at least ease this fear. Do you know anything of the Potters?'

'I know my grandfather's name was Fleamont,' Harry said. 'And my gran's was You-you-'

'Euphemia,' the old man nodded. 'She was a great beauty in her day. That rascal Fleamont certainly thought so. Nearly forty years younger than her, but he had an eye for her handsome face and she had an eye for his handsome fortune. An excellent match. And when her brother, your great-uncle Aluminous, died without heirs, his fortune went to Euphemia, and so between them your father James was born with a silver spoon, and a silver knife and fork besides, and that's to say nothing of the silver platters he ate on.'

'He's waxing eloquent,' Professor Lupin said, with a little eyeroll. 'Heaven help us.'

'Hush,' Lyall Lupin informed him. 'Now, Mr Potter, my son teaches at your school, yes?'

'At Crowhill? Yes, sir. Maths.'

'Is he a good teacher?'

'Yes,' Harry said truthfully, but Lupin was sitting right there sipping his tea, and Harry hastily added, 'One of the best. The best at Crowhill.'

'Thank you, Harry. Stop tormenting the boy, Da.'

'I told you to hush, young man.' Mr Lupin put a hand over Harry's. His skin was papery and warm, soft and bird-boned. Harry held it gently. 'Now. Did your Professor here teach you how to put one and one together?'

'Sums? Yes...'

'Then what do you make of a wealthy father and your need to purchase school supplies, Mr Potter?'

'I-' Harry looked quickly at his professor. 'I have money?'

'Your parents left you a considerable inheritance, yes,' Lupin said. He rotated his mug between his hands twice, and set it on his knee without quite meeting Harry's eyes. 'Much of it will be held in trust til you come of age, with provisions of funds for your schooling. But... some of it... some was designated as a stipend for your guardians, and I believe that, given the circumstances of your- your transfer to Crowhill Boys' Home, that stipend is likely still being paid to your relatives.'

No-one spoke in the little while that followed. Harry didn't, certainly, and neither Mr Lupin interrupted him thinking, and what he was thinking went around in ever-tighter circles. He had money. A good lot of money. Except for what went to pay for his upkeep, which was not being paid to Crowhill Boys' Home, but to the people who had assured Harry was dumped there seven years ago. His Aunt and Uncle who had decided not to keep him, and had got rid of him before he was old enough to find his way back to them, or even know their full names and address to lead the police back to them. They were stealing. That was stealing, wasn't it? To take money they weren't earning, all these years?

'Are they poorly?' he asked at last, past the odd scratchy catch in his throat. 'Do they need it for my cousin?'

'This is why I was going gently,' Lupin told the old man, and put his cup down decisively on the tray. 'No, Harry, I won't pretend they need it. They might never have lived a lavish life, without it, but it would have ensured you never wanted for anything. And if you would like to decide they can no longer have it, that's the first thing we'll do in Diagon Alley. But there are reasons not to, just yet, if you can stand the idea of them taking it from you dishonestly.'

Harry forced a swallow with the aid of sugary tea. His head felt very hot and the rest of him very cold. 'Reasons?'

'For all intents and purposes, the money has hidden the fact that you're no longer there. So long as that money is dispensed regularly, there is no reason to question the transaction. No reason to wonder whether your care is, as such, managed by the Dursleys as part of that exchange.'

'Well... who would care if it weren't?'

'RJ,' old Mr Lupin said, sounding absolutely aghast at something. Harry raised his head curiously, and saw the old man glaring at his son. 'Have you not even told the child who he is?'

'Da-'

'He's Harry bloody Potter!'

'Language, Da!' Lupin stood. 'Harry, please help me wash these things in the kitchen. Father, take your nap. Now.'

'I'd druther take you over my knee, you stubborn goat-'

'The next time I bring you tea it's going to be dosed with Draught of Sleep,' Lupin threatened. 'I have my reasons for doing it this way, and you're-' Lupin heaved his deepest sigh yet, and grabbed the tea tray by hand. 'Kitchen, Harry, please. We'll not do this shouting over one another.'

And that was how Harry heard the whole story. It took a long time to tell it; the sun outside the windows went a deep orange and the wind died down to make everything very still, then bit by bit woke up again, and with it the buzz of insects and chirp of birds and all the night sounds of the country, which Harry had never heard before, but was only peripherally aware of now. At some point Lupin went to the cold cupboard and fetched him a cola, and another cup of tea for himself, but other than that they just sat at the small table in the kitchen beneath the window, and Lupin talked.

Harry Potter was famous.

Harry Potter was famous for the same reason Harry Potter was an orphan.

There was a man- a man who was both more and less than a man- who called himself a Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord had killed a good many people, and two of those people had been Harry's parents. He had come to their house in the dark of night when Harry was just a baby, and he had killed Harry's parents, and tried to kill Harry, too, but the magic had gone wrong. And that had been the end of the Dark Lord, except that Lupin knew- certain people knew, Lupin said, clever people studied in the ways of dark magic, who knew that no-one as twisted as a Lord of dark magic, a man who had twisted dark magic to such ends to serve himself- they knew the Lord was not truly dead, only wounded, and that one day he might come back.

'Come back,' Harry said, speaking for the first time in hours. 'For me, do you mean?'

Lupin met his eyes. 'Yes, Harry, I do mean that.'

Harry drew a deep breath and held it. 'And the whole world knows who I am? Who my parents were?'

'Heroes,' Lupin said. 'Martyrs.'

'I thought they died in a car crash,' Harry said. Lupin only shook his head, and Harry clenched his hands about his empty bottle. 'I have a... I have a dream, sometimes. About a bright light, and a lady screaming. I thought it was the car crash, but it's not.'

'No,' Lupin agreed quietly. 'I'm sorry you remember that.'

'I'm not. Not now.' It was more to think about than Harry had had in all his life, and he didn't know how he'd ever think about all of it as much as it needed thinking about, deserved thinking about. 'So... when I go to Hogwarts...'

'The whole Wizarding World will know, yes.'

'And Voldemort.'

'And the people who used to support Voldemort.'

'They're not all in jail?'

As soon as he said it, he was aware it was naive. He knew- who better?- that the world was not fair, and that bad deeds didn't get punished, not always, anyway. Or his Aunt and Uncle would be in jail for giving him away the way they had, leaving him alone in the middle of the night with nothing but a name and ten pounds. Harry's ten pounds.

But Lupin didn't chide him. He just said, 'Some are. Some were, and aren't now. And, Harry, they will be watching the calendar very closely. Your name went down in the Hogwarts rolls as soon as you were born, and anyone paying the least amount of attention will be counting down the days to your eleventh birthday. They expect you to come out of hiding, now. It would be foolish to believe anything other than that some of Voldemort's supporters are waiting for you, and for the opportunity to do something about you.'

'About me?'

'To you.' Lupin looked at him for a long time, then. He said, softly, 'I don't want to frighten you, Harry. I believe you will be safe at Hogwarts, I do. As safe as you can be anywhere.'

'Even at Crowhill? I mean- I mean, if it's so dangerous, maybe I shouldn't leave?' His heart sank even suggesting it, at even the thought of losing out on all the wondrous things he would see at Hogwarts- staircases that moved, ghosts that talked to you, people flying on brooms, to say nothing of the single wish he had now, to do magic of his own. But he made himself say it nonetheless. 'If it's safer not to be Harry Potter, maybe I shouldn't be.'

'I don't think there's a force on Earth that could stop you being Harry Potter,' Professor Lupin answered solemnly. 'To hide your magic and your heritage would be a terrible thing, even if it could be done. All this means is that we should be careful, Harry, and keep our eyes open.' He covered Harry's hand briefly with his own. 'All right?'

'All right, sir.'

'Then let's think of something else entirely for a while, and let all that settle. Let's go wake that horrid old man who calls himself my father. If he's strong enough for all that rot earlier, he's strong enough for a trip to town for dinner. And to Glaslyn Ices, I didn't forget I promised that. And then a good night's sleep, so you can have a proper good time in Diagon Alley tomorrow.'

Harry was willing enough to put aside his thousand questions, if only because his stomach rumbled then. It was nearly six, and he was quite hungry, his appetite all undeterred by thoughts of dark wizards hunting for him. 'Sir?' he asked, taking his bottle to the sink. 'I meant to ask. Diagon Alley, it's in London? Why didn't we go there first?'

'Ah, for a bit of magical transportation you'll like better than Apparation, I wager. My father's on the Floo network.'

'The what?' Harry turned about, and saw Lupin looking at him with a peculiar half-smile. 'What?'

'Harry Potter, there's so much to show you.' Lupin's half-smile became a whole grin. 'I can hardly wait.'

Harry almost bounced out of his bed in the morning, waked by the yellow spear of sunlight through the curtains. The room Lupin had given him for the night was all his own, but that excitement paled at the thought of what awaited him on the other side of sleep. By the time Lupin fetched him for breakfast, Harry had showered in the en suite and dressed himself and even attempted to tame his hair- not quite successfully. Harry clattered down the stairs, remembering only after he'd raised enough racket for a jungle of monkeys that the professor's father was probably still abed, but Lupin allayed that concern as he seated Harry at the small table in the kitchen.

'His medicine puts him well under,' Lupin said, when Harry tried to apologise. 'I shouldn't worry. I hope you'll forgive him not seeing us away.'

'Of course.' Harry seized the glass of orange squash Lupin set before him, gulping it. 'Sir? What's wrong with him?'

'An untreated rheumatic jinx. My father was a dueller when he was young, and it's not uncommon for duellers to suffer long-term affects.' Lupin set a toast rack on the table, and a pot of redcurrant preserve. 'Duelling is an excessively risky past-time, and as such boys fall all over themselves trying to out-do each other showing off. Your father duelled Siri- a boy at school, once, over the grand prize of a handkerchief that didn't even turn out to belong to your mum.'

'There's duelling at Hogwarts?' Harry asked, deeply impressed for all the eyebrows Lupin raised at him.

'Let a professor catch you at it and it's worth a month's detention,' Lupin said primly, and set Harry a plate of eggs, soggy tomatoes, and beans. 'I trust you can read between the lines, Mr Potter.'

'Don't get caught, sir?' Harry inhaled a massive forkful of egg. 'Shouldn't you be telling me not to duel?'

'I thought I'd save that breath for something you'll actually listen to.' Lupin took a bite of his toast. 'To wit: chew, Harry. It will all still be there whenever we arrive.'

That didn't stop Harry jiggling with impatience as Lupin took forever getting ready. He was bouncing in place when Lupin (finally!) took him by the shoulders and walked him through the cottage to a room empty but for a massive fireplace and a lot of old sooty footprints on the bare wood floor. Lupin took down a dusty old pot from the mantel and tipped it toward Harry. 'Floo powder,' he said. 'Take a good fistful and hold tight.' Harry did, scooping up a palmful of sandy grains and trying not to lose any. Lupin took a handful of his own and replaced the pot. He pointed his wand at the grate, and pronounced a brisk, 'Incendio!'

Harry bounced harder. Now that was a proper spell! Flames burst out of the empty grate and surged head-high in the big stone chimney, washing heat in their direction. 'Now what?' he asked eagerly.

'We'll throw in our Floo powder, say the name of where we're going, and step into the fire.'

Harry cast his professor a dubious glance. Magic was one thing, but that was barmy.

'I'll go first, so you can work from my example. The Floo won't be as unsettling as Apparation, but you may find it disorientating. Watch for me- I'll wait at our stop. Ready?'

'Er,' Harry said.

Lupin flung in his handful of powder, and the flames turned green with a whoosh. Lupin said clearly, 'Diagon Alley.' Then, calm and collected as ever, he put one foot into the fire, and then he vanished.

Harry let out a trembling breath. Right.

'Diagon Alley,' he said, or sort of shouted, just in case, and threw his powder all over the fire, and closed his eyes just in case it hurt, and stuck out a foot, wobbled, and fell in.

It wasn't as bad as Apportioning, but only just. He tumbled and tumbled, maybe because he'd already been tumbling when he started, and everything was green and fiery but moving, like being in the car watching signposts fly past at speed. But there! That was Professor Lupin, waving at him from a big bright hole ahead, and Harry put out a hand to grab at him as he went whooshing past, and felt Lupin grasp his wrist. There was an almighty tug, and Harry was out, finishing his pratfall face-first into a hard stone floor.

'Oh, Harry.' Lupin righted him. 'Oh, I'm sorry. I tried to catch you-'

'That,' Harry gasped, 'was brilliant.'

Lupin stifled a laugh. He helped Harry to his feet, and removed his wand from his sleeve. 'Let's fix those glasses, at least. Reparo.' The crack in the left lense vanished with a little clink, and got maybe a smidge clearer than it had ever been before. Harry beamed at the professor.

'First thing's first,' Lupin announced. 'Gringott's.'

Everything was wonderful. In fact, everything was more wonderful than the thing before it. Lupin kept them moving, though not so fast that Harry couldn't stare around him, agog with sights out of the most fantastic of dreams. The fireplace they'd let out at was in a smoky old pub, but the dishes were cleaning themselves from the booths and the drinks pouring themselves and Harry was sure he heard something roar overhead like a lion, following by a thunderous belch. Outside the Leaky Cauldron they were in, well, an alley, he supposed he'd expected that, but never an alley like this, where all the buildings seemed to lean on each other crookedly and tower straight up like the mountains in Wales. There were horses in the street pulling carriages, and some carriages pulling themselves, and everywhere there were people wearing the most outlandish clothes, big long robes in every imaginable colour and some Harry thought had probably been better off unimagined. And there were birds everywhere- no- owls, owls everywhere, hooting and flying and no-one seemed to think it at all odd, and he swore the owls were carrying things in their beaks and claws that looked like post, wrapped in old-fashioned brown paper and string or written on parchment like his letter from Hogwarts. And then they were at Gringott's, the Wizarding bank, but it wasn't a bank like the one Harry had seen at home, a squat little office in a dirty beige building. This was made all of white marble and gold, and there were banners flapping in the breeze, and they climbed up big broad steps that made Harry think maybe this wasn't a bank at all, but a palace for the most fabulous King of Magic, and then he stopped thinking at all, because when they stepped inside the big black doors, Harry met his first goblin.

And a hush fell.

Harry wasn't aware of it at first, occupied with trying to stare as politely as he could. When he felt Lupin's hand close on his shoulder, though, he realised that the goblin was looking at him in exactly the same way, and so were all the other goblins, a double row of them seated at desks high on platforms to either side of a long red carpeted queue. And the one who was standing in front of Harry had evidently been waiting for them, because it didn't look surprised at all. Well, it didn't look much of anything other than menacing, with pointed teeth protruding from blackened lips, and straggly hair hanging over its sloping forehead and pinpoint dark eyes and big hooked nose, shorter even than Harry and dressed in a very proper pinstripe suit, all the more peculiar for the way it stood absolutely statue-still.

'And who have we here?'

Harry jumped. The goblin's voice emerged as if through a throat full of broken glass, and it seemed to have difficulty speaking past all those teeth. But he didn't need Lupin's squeeze to his shoulder to remind him of his manners. Harry put out his hand, and said, 'Hullo, sir. I'm Harry Potter.'

The goblin's beady eyes darted to Harry's hand. Very slowly, it raised its own hand- well, the four thick fingers capped with talon-like fingernails- and shook with Harry. 'Welcome, young Mr Potter,' the goblin grated. 'A... pleasure, to meet you at last.'

'And a pleasure,' Lupin said softly, 'to meet with you discreetly.'

The goblin glanced up at Lupin. Harry thought it curled its lip, just a little, but it was a little hard to tell for certain. 'If you would please follow me, Mr Potter, and your- companion.'

'Professor Lupin?'

'It's all right, Harry.'

Activity slowly resumed as they walked down the long queue. Chatter rose again, and big ledger books went zooming by overhead, summoned to the various desks they passed. To a one, every goblin stared at Harry til he and Lupin had passed, and Harry hunched his shoulders, stepping a little closer to Lupin. He wasn't terribly used to being seen. At Crowhill, he was only visible when he was in trouble, and though he didn't know what he could have done to goblins, Lupin's warnings from last night were fresh in his mind, his excitement momentarily washed away with unease. They made a sharp left at the head of the queue, and the goblin waddled awkwardly in his shined shoes to an office. The latch was goblin-height, not human-height, but the desk was sized to the customers expected to sit in the chairs facing the goblin, and Harry felt a bit of delight sneaking back in when he saw the short ramp of stairs the goblin climbed to its elegant seat behind the desk. Once there, it took up a long eagle-feather quill with a silver nib, dipped it in a pot of ink, and opened the heavy ledger on the desk.

'Potter,' it said in its harsh bark, and the pages flipped themselves rapidly, fanning to somewhat past halfway and settling smoothly. 'Ah, yes,' the goblin said, making a small tick in one of a dozen columns on the page. 'Harry James, only son of James and Lily Potter, died-'

'The boy is not yet eleven,' Lupin interrupted. 'Please be kind with your words.'

The goblin looked up. Its lip was definitely curled, when it looked at Lupin, but that look- angry? Harry didn't know quite what it was, or why- faded when it turned its eyes to Harry.

'Of course,' it said. 'My apologies. Mr Potter, I see you have not taken possession of your key.'

'My key?' Harry asked.

'Every vault has a key. Yours has been checked out, but not yet delivered.'

Lupin tapped his fingers on his knee. 'I thought this might happen. To whom was the key checked out?'

'That information is private.'

'Private?' Lupin pressed, his voice oddly thin. 'Like the contents of Mr Potter's vaults?'

The goblin blinked first. 'Albus Dumbledore provided a written request.'

'Albus Dumbledore is not the boy's guardian, nor did he have Mr Potter's permission.'

'He had the permission of the guardian.'

'I do not believe the Dursleys would have provided permission willingly.'

'Black,' the goblin said.

Harry observed with interest and alarm that Lupin took the goblin's statement with a look like a man receiving a body blow. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his shirt, his lips pressed together so tightly they whitened from the pressure. In an even tighter voice, Lupin said, 'I do not believe that would have been provided willingly, either.'

'It was recorded in 1980 as part of the official will and testimony of James and Lily Potter, in the event of their-' The goblin looked at Harry. 'Inability to escort their son to his vault at the proper time.'

Lupin rallied, though he was still pale. 'And Headmaster Dumbledore has had Mr Potter's key since that time?'

'Yes.'

'Well. Headmaster Dumbledore is not here, and the boy is. I trust accommodation can be made, given the circumstances.'

'The word "willing" has been spoken twice.' The goblin turned fully to face Harry, stroking the feather of the quill between its claws. 'I should like a statement from Mr Potter as to his willingness to retrieve funds with this... person... at his side.'

'It's for school things,' Harry said, unsure why it mattered. 'I'm very willing.'

'Satisfied?' Lupin asked coolly. 'Or would you prefer a blood oath?'

'A signature will do. I have no use for blood like yours.'

'We could just go,' Harry whispered, uncomfortable. 'Or come back another day.'

The goblin bent its head to the ledger, and wrote a long sentence in ink that flashed like the spark from Lupin's wand had. 'That is not necessary, Mr Potter. Access can be granted. I cannot revoke the key, as it was rightfully provided, but I can provide you with statements of your accounts and the promise to alert you of any withdrawals other than your own.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'My name, Mr Potter, is Griphook.' The goblin blew across the page, and closed the ledge with a thump. 'If you'll come with me, I will show you to your vault.'

Harry had seen pictures of Alton Towers, from Jeremy who'd been there before his mum had died, but the roller coasters there had nothing on the tilt-a-whirl miners' carts that flew off into the dark caves. What was it with magic and all the flying about? Harry didn't know and didn't care- it was wonderful. He hollered when they swooped and fell upside down long enough for his bum to actually leave his seat. Lupin looked a little green by the time they braked to a screeching halt, but Harry was exhilirated and laughing. Lupin's hand brushed fondly at Harry's hair.

'You look like you've been in a whirlwind,' he said. 'Here you are. It will hold as much as you like to take with you.'

Harry poked a finger into the depths of the bag Lupin gave him. He couldn't feel the bottom, even when he put his entire fist inside, and then his entire arm. He peeked, but it was too dark to tell if he could see the bottom or not.

'There are greater wonders within the vault, Mr Potter,' said Griphook.

Harry clambered out of the cart. 'Professor? You coming?'

'No. Your vault is for you alone. I'll wait for you.'

'Oh.' Harry wavered. But he thought he understood, so he said, 'Thank you, sir. I'll only be a moment.'

'Take as long as you like,' Lupin answered, smiling.

Harry had thought a vault would be like, well, a cabinet with some money in it. The Potter vault was definitely bigger than a cabinet! It was more like Scrooge McDuck's tower of gold, bags and stacks of money everywhere he looked, and Harry goggled at it. He had never, ever, in his life imagined so much money, and this was just his? And there were things, too, a corner with frumpy antique chairs, and over there a collection of hatboxes and a glass-covered tray of hat pins and snuff boxes and cufflinks, and over there a crate of paintings- Harry leapt for that, first, but none of the paintings seemed to be very modern, like Lupin's portrait of his mum, and he fell back, disappointed. It would have been wonderful to have a painting of his parents. He turned, and giggled despite his dejection. Professor Lupin's father had been right- there was a whole mess hall's worth of silver spoons, and knives and forks besides, and an awful lot of heavy silver platters.

'Mr Potter's parents set aside a sum of five hundred galleons a year for school-related expenditures,' Griphook the goblin said from the door.

'Oh, er... what's a galleon?'

Silently Griphook pointed a talon at the gold. 'Gold for galleons,' the goblin said, 'silver for sickles, and bronze for knuts.'

'There's only three coins? No fifty-p, or ten-p or anything? Or paper money?' Griphook shook his head. 'Doesn't all this gold get, well, heavy?'

'That is why most wizards prefer goblins to manage it for them, Mr Potter.'

Harry picked up a gold coin. It was rather large, much bigger than a pound coin. He put several into his bag, and then stopped. Five hundred for a whole year? 'Mr Griphook? How much do you think I'll need for school supplies? What's, what's normal costs?'

'I'm afraid I don't know the particulars, never having attended British wizarding school myself.' Griphook gazed unblinking at him, but he seemed thoughtful, insofar as Harry could distinguish expression on his grim face and in the dark of the vault besides. 'For a first year student, purchasing many particulars for the first time to last the full seven years, I believe a common range is forty to fifty galleons.'

'Only that much? What would I spend all the rest on? Or is it all for paying to go to Hogwarts?'

'Your tuition is already paid, Mr Potter. The rest is for personal expenses. Or to save. If it is not spent, it will continue to earn interest.'

'Interest?'

'Three percent, Mr Potter. Very competitive.' Griphook's eyes gleamed a little. 'We could, if you were so inclined, set up investments...'

'Harry,' Lupin called from outside, and Harry jumped. Griphook shot a nasty look out the door. Harry reckoned the goblin thought Lupin was eavesdropping on them, and maybe the Professor was, but it reminded Harry of his business. He counted out fifty of the big gold coins for his bag, and then fifty more, and then twenty again, just because the notion of having money was still so new and he thought he might like to look at it sometimes, to remind himself he could never want for anything again, not with treasure like this.

'Mr Griphook,' he asked, 'the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he's the one who has my key?'

'He is.'

'Did he ever take out any of the money?'

'It was he who directed the monthly stipend for your care to your Muggle relatives.'

Harry counted out coins up to another hundred. Lupin had said the bag would hold as much as he liked, and Harry thought maybe he would like to put all five hundred in there, just to stop the Dursleys getting it, but he could see how many coins littered his vault, far more than five hundred times seven years, and so he drew the string tight and hung the bag from his wrist. 'I'm finished,' he said, and Griphook nodded and stood aside, but as Harry walked to the door his attention was caught- truly caught, snared as if he had no choice about it, something tugging at his mind- and he realised he'd stopped dead staring down at a small cardboard box labelled, simply, 'Godric's Hollow'.

'Ah,' Griphook said, taking a step toward him, to stand at his elbow. 'The final deposit to this account, Christmas of 1981. These, Mr Potter, are certain effects from your parents, from their home in Godric's Hollow.'

'Theirs?' Harry knelt before the box. The tugging in his mind was terribly insistent, now, and he watched his hands reach as if of their own accord for the lid of the box. 'But they were dead by then, weren't they? Who sent it?'

'It was sent anonymously, Mr Potter.'

There was a bit of peeling old tape binding down the lid. Harry thought he could just pluck it off and then he could see what was inside. Things from his parents, things from their house, maybe things he would remember even if he had just been a baby-

'Harry.'

Harry jerked his head up. Griphook was back at the door, scowling now, and Lupin was crouched beside Harry, gripping his hands tightly just an inch away from the box lid. 'You let an object under a geas in here?' Lupin was snarling at Griphook. 'Knowing this boy's enemies? I'll be making a formal complaint.'

'Many of the Old Blood have enchanted possessions in their vaults,' the goblin said sullenly. 'And thousands of those for thousands of wizards. We cannot personally inspect every-'

'Cannot but when you choose to,' Lupin snapped. 'Harry, stay back.' He had his wand in his hand, and swirled it in a circled over the box, encompassing the whole outer circumference, and his eyes were narrowed in concentration. 'It seems to be a simple compulsion,' he muttered, absently stopping Harry from reaching for it again, though Harry blushed when he realised his hands had gone grasping without his conscious direction. 'And aimed at Harry, or at least at a Potter. But not cursed, not Dark.' He tucked Harry's hands back into Harry's lap, and flicked his wand firmly over the box. 'Finite Incantatem.'

The box gave off a startled little glow of gold, and then it seemed to sag, just a little bit. Harry blinked, realising he no longer felt the need to open it, though his curiosity was stronger than ever. Still, he had no trouble letting Lupin be the one to strip the tape, and remove the lid.

Lupin's shoulders fell, and he looked both relieved, Harry thought, and oddly sad. 'Their wands,' he said. 'Of course. The wands would know you.'

It seemed safe to peer over Lupin's shoulder. Harry saw a jumble of things in the box, paper and scrolls and a small stuffed dragon- Harry's gut seized tight. It must have been his, as a baby. His parents had given it to him, and must have given him that blanket, too, that lay in the bottom of the box, a soft blue baby blanket that, yes, had his name, Harry, stitched in the hem. He was reaching, this time entirely of his own desire to feel that blanket in his hands and imagine his parents wrapping him tight in it, but his knuckle brushed over something wooden on the way, and a shock ran up his entire body to make his hair stand on end.

Lupin's eyes were overbright, and his voice was thick with old grief. 'Lily's wand,' he said. 'And maybe more than that, now. Go on. Take it.'

Harry had never held a wand before, but his fingers didn't know that. They found a sure grip, his forefinger sliding up to a little groove in the shaft, his small through middle fingers wrapping around the hilt. The shock ran through him again, through the entire vault, rattling all the coins with a crashing wave, a wave of tingling warmth like he'd felt when Lupin had given him his Hogwarts letter, but real, maybe the realest thing he'd ever felt. He felt like he could fly, he felt like he could blast down a mountain, he felt- he felt magic, and he felt love.

'And done,' Griphook said, with ringing satisfaction. 'Well come, Harry Potter. Well come.'

'And done,' Lupin echoed softly, and then put his arms about Harry and hugged him. It was the first time an adult had ever done that to Harry, and he was too abashed to return it, but it didn't last long, anyway. Lupin seemed embarrassed of himself when he pulled back, but he was smiling, and that Harry could return, a huge grin he couldn't help. He had a wand, a special wand, the most special wand he could possibly have had. His mother's wand.

'You're a proper wizard now,' Lupin said.

'I am,' Harry said, and believed it.