AN: Hullo everyone! I'm back, and I have a quick disclaimer that applies to the entire fic. I do not, nor have I ever, own, in part or in whole, the Harry Potter characters or settings. As a side note, neither do I have any claim on other cool series such as Halo, Fable, Legend of Zelda, etc. All new characters, ideas, or settings created by me are, however, owned by me; regardless of their use in the fiction.

Onward!

Note: As of May, 10, I have updated chapters 2 and 3. A more in depth note is in that next chapter.

Vernon Dursley sat in his dining room. On his right sat his son eating a hearty plate of eggs, bacon, waffles, and orange juice. Same as Vernon, actually. On his left was his wife, her plate being sans bacon and with a salad. In the adjoining kitchen was his nephew, Harry, cooking his own portion of the morning meal. The weirdo liked his bacon nearly burnt, and his waffles cooked with syrup in the batter, that was fine by Vernon. So long as it was made apart from his own helpings.

There was a knock from the door, and a faint metallic sound as the mail flap quickly opened and closed. The post had arrived, and with it the morning paper.

"Harry! Mail's here. Go and grab it when you're done doling your food out."

"Yes sir, Uncle Vernon."

Vernon smiled serenely, that was something he would never get tired of. Proper respect!

Harry quickly moved his food out of the cookware and onto his plate. The bacon was a little pale for his taste, but better to be quick about the mail.

Backing out of the kitchen he felt a sudden sensation, as if something was bearing down on his position. Training took over and he quickly rolled behind the couch as the kitchen door swung shut. Peering out from behind his cover he saw a rather thick yellowed envelope fall through the mail slot and onto the pile. The feeling that screamed "Intrusion! Be Alert!" dimmed, but was still present. Harry had no doubt it came from the letter, laying so innocently on the step.

Cautiously moving out of cover, Harry crept toward the door. As he moved closer, he saw that the topmost letter had no return address, only the recipient. Another half step closer and the words became clear.

To Mister Harry James Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Number Four Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

Panic gripped Harry, how had anyone found out he had lived under the stairs? It had been years since he had slept there, and he had never told anyone, so how did they know?

"I'm being observed. Long term too by any indication. They must've stopped a while back though. Why?" Harry thought, quickly scanning the room for cameras or listening devices. On his second week back he had personally cleaned the living room and the foyer; there had been nothing then. Glancing out of the window, he bent to pick up the letter.

As his fingers brushed the parchment, Harry's senses flew wide open. Something in him, his talent, his power, recognized the letter as something like itself. He could feel the power locked in the letter, he could feel the pulse it sent out when he touched it. And he was then aware of the power that surrounded him, that was tied to him, that felt as if it stretched over a wide area; not unlike his notice-me-not talent.

Slightly dazed, he pocketed the letter. There was no way Vernon was getting his hands on it. Quickly gathering up the rest of the messages, he double-timed it back to the kitchen. He had to act normally, he had to. The Dursleys would be gone in an hour, Vernon to work and his aunt and cousin to a clothing store. All three would be gone for several hours. Harry had all the time in the world.

The Dursleys had gone, now it was just Harry, the letter, and some answers. In his bedroom, Harry examined the seal on the back of the parchment. Red wax, with a lion, snake, badger, and some sort of bird. Maybe an eagle. All were surrounding a large letter "H."

Harry popped the seal and felt another wave of energy pulse through him. Now that he knew to expect it, he could "taste" a sort of flavor on that wave, the same flavor as on the first, and traces of which were incorporated into the fields surrounding Number Four. Whomever was responsible for the letter had a hand in all three incidences of power not Harry's own. It was just like his instructors said: "Once is luck, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action."

Brushing the envelope to the side of his desk Harry unfolded the letter and began to read, shifting slightly to gain batter light from the window.

Dear Mister 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 expect your owl no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Well, that brought up more questions than answers; and so thought Harry. No pulse of energy, no flare of power. "Huh. Wait, equipment list? This'll be more enlightening. Study the supply lines and deduce enemy purpose."

And so Harry pulled the second parchment to the fore.

UNIFORM:

First year students will require:

Three sets of plain works robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have one copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also being an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS, NOR MAY THEY USE THEIR MAGIC OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL. THE MINISTRY MONITORS UNDERGE MAGIC.

"Ah," thought Harry, "and here we acquire some information at last!"

And indeed the letter was most helpful. It revealed several aspects about these "Wizards" for lack of a better term. They possessed a government, they had a large enough population to create a school, they likely had a trade area or center of commerce, and most importantly: they could detect magic.

"How have I not been contacted about mine though? Have I hidden it well enough? No, no, they likely can't detect it; but why?" Harry's mind whirled as he searched for an answer. None came to him, not at that moment at any rate.

Well, first thing was first: he needed to gain access to their shopping areas. Harry would need to somehow track a wizard there, or convince one to divulge a location.

"Think. THINK. No one normal, non-magic rather, knows about magic. If children can use it there are bound to be accidents so there must be someone to clean up afterward. Someone to keep the secret."

Harry grinned. If a group of persons were in charge of cleaning up magical incidents, then he had the perfect bait. All he needed was a location… There was work to be done.

Today was a bad day to be Horace Watkins. He had just started his new job as an Obliviator for the Ministry of Magic (MoM), lost his badge after using the toilet, accidentally rammed the Minister head-on coming out of said loo, and now there was a report of an alternately white and red shrubbery in Surrey that repeatedly shouted "Nii!" at muggle passerby. Guess which crew was assigned to clean that up?

Horace sighed and apparated away from the gleaming entrance hall of the MoM. Bloody muggle-baiters…

Harry did his best to camouflage his presence in the park; spells, he knew now that he used magic, to ensure that he would not be noticed by passers-by. And for good measure he waited in the Grey. If anyone could find him there, he would eat his shoes. Not ten minutes after he cast his illusions on the shrubs there was a soft "pop," and a man in ridiculous clothes appeared out of thin air. Harry froze, not wanting to draw any attention to himself, Grey or not. He watched as the man muttered to himself on his way to the affected foliage.

"Stupid muggle-baiters. As if my day in London wasn't bad enough already, now I have to disenchant a plant? After this, I'm retiring to the Aurors. No serious crime in the last decade, cushy job that."

Harry made mental notes as the man spoke; obviously "muggles" were non-magic people and these "aurors" were some sort of police force. Their center of government may very well be in London. Very valuable intel, and not twenty seconds had passed. Harry crept closer, hoping to gain more from the chatty wizard.

"Then I get a note from the wife, 'Horace, you've got to go into Diagon Alley and pick up some herbs from the apothecary.' The hell do I look like, a bloody owl? Ah, here we are…"

The man pulled a rod of wood from his pocket and Harry's "magic sense" could feel the inherent power in it. Even more impressive was how that power meshed with whatever spell the man was casting, amplifying and shaping it into a far more coherent web of magic. It was… interesting, to say the least. The bushes returned to their previous existence.

"There now, that should hold. Better pop off to the alley, 'fore I forget."

With another loud "pop," the man had vanished. Within the Grey, Harry could see a tiny void where the man had been. A fist-sized chunk of black in the otherwise grey-toned world. Harry could feel a pull from the void. He had to make a decision fast: the hole was rapidly shrinking. With a quiet swear, Harry plunged his fist into the hole.

Immediately, Harry could feel that something was not right. He was being stretched far beyond the breaking point, and compressed so tightly he wondered how he was still alive. Pain burned along every nerve, and he couldn't breathe!

Suddenly, as quick as they began, the sensations of compression and elongation vanished. The shock of it caused Harry to fall out of the Grey, and into the most bizarre place he had ever imagined.

Bright colors and daylight assaulted his eyes, loud pops and bangs filled his ears, smells of a dozen sources and characters assailed him, and over it all was the feeling of magic. It was everywhere, pressing in on all sides and behaving in odd manners: spinning and whirling, drifting like a haze, and one even felt like a solid mass!

Harry reacted on instinct: he pulled his magic from within and surrounded himself in a tight field of energy, forcing away all of the foreign enchantments and spells. Finally, without his sixth sense being overwhelmed, Harry could inspect his surroundings. He appeared to have arrived very near the center of the alley: far to his right was a brick wall, equally distant to the left was an ornate white building. The apparent caps on the magical madness within.

Observing the locals, Harry quickly realized that he stood out in a big way. Every other person in his sight was wearing robes, of all things! In his denim pants, trainers, and tight T-shirt, Harry was as innocuous as a bee in an ant farm. He needed to find a way to blend in, the sooner the better. Harry began walking down the street, towards the white building, acting as though there were nothing out of place. A big part of invisibility was attitude. Of course that would only work for so long…

As he walked, Harry began to notice that wizards used different currency than did, well, "muggles" was easier to say. They, the wizards, used coins in three colors and sizes: large gold ones, small bronze ones, and silver coins that fit somewhere in between. Nowhere was there paper money. Harry began to feel uneasy.

"How am I to pay for all of this? I haven't any money like that, nor an idea of how to get hold of some."

Fortune smiled on Harry, for a rather regal looking blonde man strode by. The man was clearly agitated, if the snarl on his face and the grip on his cane were any indications. "Bloody house elf," he spat, "making me look like a fool. He neglected to refill my money pouch this morning. Now we must waste valuable time amongst those goblin bankers. Come Draco, keep up!"

Only then did Harry catch sight of the boy, Draco apparently, following close behind the man. The two were evidently father and son; their hair was the same color, eyes, cloaks, even their sneers were similar!

Well, if the two kindly gentlemen wanted to lead Harry to the nearest bank who was he to refuse? With a grin Harry began to tail the pair through the throng, always maintaining a safe distance.

Idle chit-chat from the two filled the next few minutes of Harry's tour de magique. Before long, the three stood at the foot of the white building; the bank, Harry now realized. The two blond males stepped briskly through the double doors and were lost in the interior, but Harry had caught sight of an engraving on the outside and lingered to read.

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.

If you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

As his eyes reached the bottom of the passage, Harry could feel a cloud of magic flow toward him. It ebbed and flowed, churning violently and spiraling around his shield. For no reason Harry could discern the magic sank back into the stone, no doubt waiting for the next reader. The only way he could have described the magic as it had retreated was… tired. After assuring himself that no alien magic had attached to him, Harry entered.

A great hall swept out from the doors, larger than the exterior should have allowed. Short, hewn looking creatures manned desks and delivered papers to others of their kind. They were possessed of long, sharp noses and ears, their hands ended in strong, thin fingers. With a start, Harry remembered the blonde man's words: "goblin bankers." The stout beings were goblins!

"By Helheim's Gate, look at the teeth on that one! Oh, balls. I hope that they value being polite. And don't want to eat me."

Harry made his way to an available teller. The goblin looked up from his sheaf of paper and asked, "Yes?"

His voice was craggly and low, like gravel on gravel.

"I am sorry to bother you, master goblin, but I seem to be new to the magical world. I was wondering whether you would be willing to render aid."

Harry had obviously done something right: the goblin puffed up proudly and set aside his parchment. Gazing down his long nose at Harry, he answered.

"I happen to be free at the moment. What may I do for you?"

Harry was about to ask whether he could exchange some small bills, when several overheard conversations filled his mind. Every instance of his aunt and uncle calling his parents "freaks," having "freakishness," or being otherwise similar to the old names for Harry and his magic.

He changed his question on impulse.

"I would like to know if my parents left me anything when they died."

The goblins eyes sparkled with mirth, as though the ideas of humans dying and orphans were quietly amusing. "Certainly. Your name, human?"

"Harry Potter."

The goblin's eyes widened, no mirth showed now. The beady eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead, as though searching for something. The goblin whispered, "The scar, he has the scar… Follow me, Mister Potter."

More quickly than blinking, the goblin had deserted his rather high chair and began walking briskly to a stone door flanked by armored members of his race. With a nod, the door opened, and Harry had to dash through to avoid being crushed. He followed the goblin through a maze of tunnels, eventually coming to a stop outside of a rather plain door. With a stroke of the goblin's finger the door unlocked and Harry was ushered through.

Harry stood on a stone platform near the entrance to what looked like a massive underground ravine. Great stalactites hung from the ceiling hundreds of feet above while their much thicker twins below rose up to create the illusion of a great set of teeth. A rickety little track seemed to dive into the stone maw, an uncomfortably small mining cart sitting astride it. The goblin trundled over to the cart, grabbing a nearby red lamp and motioning with his hand as he did so.

"If you please." Harry knew a polite order when he heard one, and so clambered into the cart after the short creature.

"Hold tight to the bars, please." No sooner had Harry done so then the mining cart had shot across the short length of track before plummeting into the ground. Harry's bile rose, but he kept it down by keeping his mouth occupied with his screams of terror. He could have sworn that the goblin was grinning, though Harry couldn't be sure without devoting more thought away from fear.

They sped along narrow cliff sides on the edges of massive caverns: hundreds, if not thousands, of feet were between them and the bottom. Enormous underground lakes and rivers flashed by, flanked by even more impressive sets of rocky fangs than the entrance boasted. After a few short minutes full of hairpin turns and sharp drops, the duo came to a halt near the middle of a long row of circular, numbered doors. The goblin exited first.

"Vault number six-hundred-eighty-seven. Do you have your key?"

Harry mumbled a quiet "No," still too shaken for proper speech.

"No matter. Prick you finger on the spike to the right of the door." Harry shambled over to comply. Once the blood stained the metal, several clicks were heard from the opposite side of the door. Harry peered around the frame. A small room lay beyond, with three large stone bowls placed in the middle. Each was filled with a different kind of coin, gold, silver and bronze. Harry turned to ask, "What're these-"

"Gold Galleons, Silver Sickles and Bronze Knuts. Tewnty-nine Knuts to the Sickle, seventeen Sickles to the Galleon."

Harry frowned. "And how many galleons to the Pound?"

"Five pounds to the Galleon." Harry frowned again, trying to estimate how many of the coins were in the vault.

"Do you have the balance?" The goblin nodded before pulling a sheaf of parchment from his jacket.

"The Potter Trust Vault, for use by one Henry James Potter, containing approximately seven-hundred galleons; "To be refilled to the sum of five-hundred galleons per year on July the thirty-first once the total sum of the vault has fallen below that amount. This vault is to merge with the main Potter Vault on July the thirty-first of the year 1528 M.M,"

Harry quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. "1528 M.M? What does that mean?"

"Fifteen-hundred years after the death of Merlin, as proscribed by wizard kind."

"What year is it now?" This time it was the goblin who looked askance.

"The year is 1522, I believe." Harry nodded his thanks, then used a leather bag to collect a decent amount of money. As the door was closing, and the duo were re-embarking the cart, Harry asked: "Who's keeping my vault for me?"

"I believe it is Albus Dumbledore. Now hold on, the ride up is a bit more rough than the ride down."

Harry Potter walked out of Gringott's Wizarding Bank with a bag full of galleons, the name of the goblin who had escorted him, and the name of the man overseeing his finances.

Harry frowned as he recalled Griphooks's reaction to his face. Apparently he was well known in the wizarding world, especially his scar. He grimaced, as he knew what he must do to stay inconspicuous. Harry focused on his face, willing it to change. His skin itched as it became slightly darker, his eyes throbbed as they adopted a deep blue hue, his nose burned as it reshaped itself. Where Harry once stood, there was now a Black-haired, blue-eyed, un-scarred, regal looking youth. Kurt, his once-commander.

Harry hated that particular power, it was always uncomfortable; even more so when he made larger changes. Adding six inches would border on torture, and he didn't want to think about the pain of shifting to a full adult.

The newly-reformed Harry decided that his first stop would be in a clothing shop, his disguise couldn't very well blend in as it was. Just as he was determining the best shop by their exterior, he spied the blondes from before exiting a candidate shop a little down the alley. The shop was a little out of the way, seeming to be near an entrance to a shaded side-alley, and slightly rough-looking. Figuring that the snobbish duo wouldn't settle for anything less than the best, Harry entered Twilfitt and Tattings.

Harry looked around the store, changing his appearance back to normalcy, still sans scar though. While it possessed a rather lackluster exterior, the decoration of the cloth emporium was quite elegant. Smooth hardwood flooring, rich tapestries on the walls, and private fitting and changing areas. The clothes aligned on the walls were in a multitude of subdued colors ranging from a navy blue to a dusky red. Yes indeed, the blonde snobs had excellent taste.

A man of middling height and brown hair approached Harry. The man wore the traditional tools of the clothing trade: a pincushion on the wrist, measuring tape around the neck, and rolled white sleeves.

"Well, well, let's see then. Hmm… No, it just won't do." Harry blinked confusedly.

"What won't do, sir?" The man frowned a bit at that.

"You can call me Mr. Twilfitt. As for what won't do," he flicked his hand at the wrist, indicating Harry's attire, "I mean everything."

The slightly effeminate man walked to the front of the shop, turning his sign to read "Closed: Fitting in Progress."

"Now, have you at least seventy galleons?" Harry nodded, dumbly. Twilfitt smiled.

"Then let us begin, my boy."

Harry walked out of Twilfitt and Tattings wearing a new set of wizarding clothes, a bit dazed. The robes had a certain shimmer about them, draped perfectly, and had been enchanted to stay cool even in the summer sun. His shirt was of linen, his pants were of the finest make, and both were tailored to his shape. His shoes were likewise extraordinary, guaranteed to stay shining and bright no matter the weather. The less to be said about the undergarment selection process the better; suffice it to say that Harry's were quite comfy. A set of fine cloth gloves covered his hands, they were a glossy grey and as smooth and cool as the silk that now lined his robes.

Maxwell, as he had requested to be called, had said that the rest would be ready to be picked up in a week; he had also invited Harry to come back should he ever need any sort of wear, "Be it formal or everyday fabulous."

As Harry re-metamorphosed his face, he admired the feel of the cloth.

"Say what you like about that man, I am never going anywhere else!"

So, having disguised himself properly, Harry set off to explore the alley and gain hold of the rest of his equipment. As he glanced around, the shop Smith's Trunks caught his eye. Figuring that he would need a place to store his purchases, Harry entered.

A low hum filled the air. This was a more traditional store; with trunks, suitcases, handbags, and all manner of other personal storage arrayed along the walls. Harry could see just past the counter into a workshop where the apparent shopkeeper was using a wand to shape a piece of wood; this was the source of the humming. The man looked up from his work as the door closed.

"Hullo lad, you're a mite early for Hogwarts shopping! The rush usually doesn't start for about another two weeks or so. I'm Horst Smith, pleased to meet you." The man offered a surprisingly calloused hand to Harry. They shook.

"Likewise. My name's Kurt Ambrose. Do you make all of these with magic?"

Horst grinned and took his hand back. "Well, most of them, yes I do. There are some special orders though that have to be hand-crafted."

Harry frowned. "Why ever so? If you could make them with magic, then why not?"

"The thing is," Horst explained jovially, gesturing to the trunks and cabinets around them, "All of these that you see are made for mass purchase, they don't need any special properties so I can just magic them into shape. But an unspoken fact of magic is that if an object is hand-made, it is all the more powerful for it. If I were to forge a sword and you to conjure or transfigure something similar, my sword would be the more resilient. I could un-transfigure your blade but you would have a hard time altering mine, you see?"

Harry nodded uncertainly. "I think so, your personal effort makes it stronger then? Your sweat and hard work make for something more?"

Horst smiled. "Exactly. Hah, you seem a bright enough lad, I'll give you a discount on anything in the shop. What do you have an eye for?"

Harry glanced around the shop, there were so many trunks! All different shapes and sizes, colors and textures, inlays and designs. Remembering what the carpenter had said about power from handcrafting, Harry lowered his barrier. Most of the trunks hummed with energy, the shopkeeper's energy. However, one heavily stained and inlayed trunk toward the back caught his attention. The unique magics within it practically sang with their strength, bands within bands within yet more bands of power were contained within its volume.

The trunk was more akin to an old-time chest, with a rounded top and deep rectangular bottom. Bands of iron formed complex patterns and whorls on the top and sides. There were two small keyholes. Harry laid a hand on it. The wood was cool and smooth.

"You've a good eye there lad." Harry looked up, startled out of his contemplations.

"It took me nearly three months to make that chest. Handcrafted, did most of the ironwork myself, had to hire a runer for some of it. That is one of my best though; setting aside the custom jobs of course!" Horst laughed.

Harry traced the inlays with a finger. Magic thrummed through the metal. "What do these symbols mean?"

"They're for protection and repair. Even I'd be hard pressed to damage this thing, and I crafted it! They also allow the insides to be larger than the outside.

Harry eyed the man suspiciously. "The insides? Insides, as in plural?"

Horst chuckled. "Watch boy."

And with that he keyed the first lock. The chest opened to a surprisingly spacious interior, more so than it should have been. It was deep too, deep enough to lay in if one wished.

Horst shut the lid, then keyed the second lock. The chest now opened onto a stone staircase. At Horst's motioning, Harry stepped down. The room, for undoubtedly it was no mere closet, was a respectable size; it was at most six meters by another six. The roof was at least four meters up. It was made completely of stone, plain and ready to be remodeled. Somewhat in awe, Harry clambered out of the trunk.

"That is amazing Mr. Smith. I've never seen anything like it before."

Horst laughed again, he seemed a right jolly fellow. "Well, I'm glad you like it. Took me bloody ages to make."

Harry liked the chest, he liked it very much indeed. Smiling, he said: "If I were to say that I wanted to buy this, how much would it cost me?"

Horst rubbed his hands together. "Well, Mr. Ambrose, I was thinking…"

Harry exited Smith's Trunks carrying an almost impossibly light trunk, or chest depending on your point of view, under his arm; and he was still reeling slightly over the blow struck to his money pouch. Only half of his withdrawal remained!

"By Odin's beard," Harry thought, "I hope these were the most expensive things out there. Otherwise I'm going to go bankrupt before long!"

Walking down the alley, with his barrier up and disguise in place, Harry reviewed his list. "I still need the books, the telescope, the potions supplies… and the wand."

Deciding to leave the wand for last Harry entered the nearest bookshop, Flourish and Blott's, to purchase the selected titles. While the clerk was rummaging around the back muttering "What a damn… Two weeks earlier than… Have to dig around the new shipm…" Harry perused the shelves, looking for interesting titles.

Spying nothing of worth, to his eyes at least, he was about to turn back when he saw a rather bizarre title. Harry leaned closer to read: The Adventures of Harry Potter. A pit formed in Harry's stomach as soon as the title pranced past his brain. Leafing through the thin book, it seemed to describe his early years: him as little more than an exceptionally precocious baby that got into a few harmless misadventures. His eyes began to sting.

Once Harry had rescued his mental faculties from the scenes within those pages, he paced the book on the counter with the rest of them. A sense of morbid curiosity, if you will. After placing them gently in his "normal" trunk space, Harry made his exit.

Taking a slow stride back toward the bank Harry spied a sign that said "Chang's Apothecary." Relishing the tendency of wizards to make everything so convenient, Harry invited himself in.

A short but beautiful black-haired oriental woman minded the counter, looking bored. She smiled as Harry approached. "Well, good afternoon there handsome. What can I do for you?"

Harry glanced around, admiring the wooden drawers, the hung spices, and the jars of liquid and powders. He relaxed his shields slightly and trickles of the ingredients' magic washed over him. Re-applying his personal field Harry answered.

"Ah, yes. I'm going to be leaving for Hogwarts soon and I need the-"

The witch cut him off. "The first-year's starter kit, yes I know. My little Cho had the same last year. I expect that you'll need the cauldron, the scales, and glassware too then?" She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Harry nodded hesitantly. "Yes ma'am. I was also wondering where I could get a telescope, for my astronomy class."

The woman giggled as she pulled down a compartmented box and began filling it with herbs and powders in jars. "It's funny, the first-years always ask me where they can buy their telescopes. You can get one just to the right of here, before Ollivander's wand shop."

Eyeing the now full and sealed box Harry asked: "May I have another of these please? I'm fairly prone to tripping and…" He trailed off.

The woman giggled again. "Of course dear, let me just pick another one down."

Now faced with two of the containers, Harry pulled out his pouch and asked how much it would cost.

The woman sucked on her cheek as she ran the figures in her head. "Thirty-nine, twelve, and seven then." She looked at Harry expectantly.

After a few seconds a visibly perplexed and slightly vexed Harry half-shouted: "What?"

The bemused witch doubled over her counter, laughing so hard she was shaking. Every time she would gather herself she would look up into Harry's confused face and burst into a new fit of giggles.

Eventually mustering some measure of self control, she said, "It's galleons, sickles, and knuts handsome. Didn't the other shopkeepers go through this already?"

Harry nodded as he handed over the coins. "Yea, but you looked like you needed a laugh, and that's what the first one did when I looked that confused as to his pricing."

She giggled again. "Well, that's sweet of you. Here you are then."

"Thanks, my name's Kurt. It was nice meeting you."

"I'm Lin Chang. Do come back net time you need supplies!"

Harry laughed his assent as he put away the boxes and left the shop.

With telescope firmly in case, and massive amounts of parchment and ink bought, Harry entered Ollivander's Wand Shop. It possessed a tranquil air, the noise from the outside was muffled and the lights were comfortably dim. Motes of dust could be seen drifting through the air. Suffused with a sense of security, Harry shifted back to his natural form scar and all. Immediately afterward a white-haired and eccentric looking man emerged from the rear of the shop.

"Ahh, I wondered when I would be seeing you, Mister Potter."

Harry became confused. "Pardon my asking sir, but how do you know my name?"

Ollivander let a small smile creep onto his face. "Your countenance is well known to us, Mr. Potter. Especially your scar. Oh, dear me, you'll be needing a wand. Yes, yes, but which one?"

The elderly man drifted to the side of the aisle from whence he came and Harry saw hundreds, perhaps thousands, of small rectangular boxes therin.

"Ah!" Ollivander exclaimed, "Here's one. Ebony and unicorn hair. Sturdy, and good for charms."

Harry held the proffered wand loosely. "Well go on boy, give it a wave!"

Harry did, and nothing happened. Remembering how the wizard's magic had felt on Privet Drive, Harry completely dropped his barrier. Instantly he could feel a power in the wand, but it did not intermesh with his own magic. Harry shook his head. "I don't think this is the one, Mr. Ollivander."

"No, no, I daresay it isn't. Well, how about Yew and dragon heartstring?"

Harry tried this one as well, still no reaction.

"Oho, tricky customer eh? Well perhaps…"

Harry tried tens of wands, perhaps a hundred or more, and none of them combined with his power like he felt in the other wizard. Harry was pulled from his ruminations by the whisper of: "I wonder…"

Mr. Ollivander had a queer expression on his face, a mixture of realization, excitation, and was that fear?

"One moment, Mr. Potter…"

The old man drifted to the back of the shop and pulled a single box from a stack of what looked like hundreds. Ollivander cradled it in his hands as he approached Harry, then opened it. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple, good for healing and great for charms."

Harry took hold of the wand, and the world exploded into a new spectrum. Through his wand, Harry's sixth sense could feel the definite edges of spells where they had been hazy before, he could feel the magic of the entire alley, he could even feel Ollivander's emotions colouring his inner magic as the wandmaker gazed expectantly upon the instrument. Slowly, deliberately, Harry raised his wand, flooding it with power. A great surge ran through the shop, and loose boxes and chairs began to float upwards; meanwhile a brightness and clarity emanated from the wand, painting everything in an odd, though not unpleasant, light.

Harry lowered the wand and cut the power. All of the loose items returned to the ground.

The old wand maker gaped at the wand. Regaining a grasp of the lower jaw he whispered, "Curious. Most curious."

Harry couldn't help but ask: "Sorry, but what's curious?"

Ollivander looked at Harry, with a solemn air. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every one. It just so happens that the phoenix that donated to that wand gave another feather. Just one other. It is curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."

Harry glanced at the wand in his hand. "And who, may I ask, owned that wand?"

The now reticent man sucked in a breath. "We do not generally speak his name. Lord Voldemort was an extremely powerful dark wizard. I am curious to see what you do with that wand Mr. Potter. For though he was a terror to behold, the Dark Lord did great things with his wand. Terrible, yes. But great."

Slightly disturbed, Harry paid for his wand and left the shop.