Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of... not me. I am not in any way profiting by this story, but merely taking the opportunity to play in JK's sandbox for a bit. Any resemblance to any living person, etc, is completely unintentional.

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"Welcome, Mr. Potter, to Diagon Alley."

Harry could say nothing in response. True, he had accepted the reality of magic quite a bit ago, but now, laying his eyes on the wonder of the wizarding shopping district, was the first time he truly, honestly believed. Dozens of robed men and women wandered from store to store, many of them with robed children in tow. A towering, monolithic structure featured prominently in the center of much of the activity, with rather vicious-looking, armored somethings standing guard at its doors. It was to that structure that his escort first led him.

"Gringotts, Mr. Potter," she said in response to his unasked question. "It's the wizard's bank. Mind you, do not show teeth to the goblins- they consider it a great insult," she added as they approached the great doors of the bank. Harry couldn't help but think that the goblins reminded him a bit of Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss- if Piers was heavily armored and armed to the teeth, at least. As they passed through the gateway, Harry noticed a sign nearby.

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

He couldn't help but wonder what sort of moron would try to steal from such an obviously well-protected location.

McGonagall led him in through the lobby to the bank teller, a rather fierce-looking goblin. Harry nervously (and toothlessly) smiled at the goblin, whose scowl only seemed to deepen upon glancing at the boy. Harry couldn't help but feel as though he'd been found wanting. "Key," the goblin demanded, haughtily turning away from Harry. McGonagall simply handed over the heavy-looking key to the goblin, who nodded and motioned another of his kind over. "Potter vault, number 687," the teller snarled at the new arrival, who bowed his head without comment.

Harry and McGonagall followed the goblin to a waiting cart. Harry thought he caught a glimpse of... anticipation... on the professor's face as the trio climbed into the cart. For a brief moment, he thought he could see a faint smile on her face, but all thoughts left his head as the cart abruptly rocketed forward. He clung to the cart with all his might, but Harry privately admitted that the too-short trip to his vault was probably the most fun he'd ever had. That thought in turn brought another question to mind.

"Professor, did the goblin say this vault was mine?" Harry asked as they neared the vault door.

McGonagall gave Harry a tight-lipped smile. "Of course, Mr. Potter. You didn't think your parents left you with nothing at all, did you? The Potters were quite well off," she said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Until the other day, I thought they were drunks killed in a car crash," he muttered under his breath. Not softly enough, it seemed.

Harry saw McGonagall's face pale, and her lips press so tightly together they nearly vanished altogether. "James and Lily Potter... killed in a muggle accident?" There was no mistaking the fury in her voice. Harry felt a moment of fear, that perhaps she might curse him as she had his uncle. Her features quickly softened. "Oh, Harry, I'm not mad at you. Those... those... muggles had no right. None at all! Your parents were two of the bravest, most wonderful people I have ever had the privilege to know, and they died true heroes, protecting you from the worst wizard to have ever lived. The Dursleys are accruing quite a debt," she added in a low voice, almost a growl.

Harry quickly shook his head. "Er, no, that's okay, Professor, really. I don't want there to be any trouble."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes, though Harry realized now that her anger was not directed towards him. "No, Mr. Potter, there won't be any trouble. At least, not for you. Rest assured, though, that things will not continue as they have at that house. You have my word on that." Harry found his throat tighten a bit at the unexpected defense and could not express his gratitude, but he could tell that McGonagall understood anyhow. She cleared her throat. "Now, Mr. Potter, for your vault." He turned and saw the goblin waiting with ill-concealed impatience, but his breath caught as he saw the sizable pile of gold coins.

"All of this... is mine?" he said in a voice of wonder.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, all of this is yours. However," she added as his face lit up, "you must be responsible, as this is all you'll have until you come of age." At his accepting nod, her face softened a bit. "That said, I do not think a bit extra for... frivolity, would go amiss." Harry grinned, and scooped a few extra coins into the bag the goblin had provided for him.

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The journey back was just as much fun as the journey down, and this time Harry was sure that his escort cracked a smile. Once they left the goblin bank, Harry found himself feeling a bit overwhelmed as he wondered where he should go first. Professor McGonagall made the decision easy.

"Now, Mr. Potter, I think it's time for you to get your wand." Harry eagerly nodded. He couldn't wait to start trying magic.

The pair walked briskly towards a tiny shop further down the alley. Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C., the sign read, and Harry could see a single wand on a dusty purple cushion by means of a window display. Harry followed directly behind McGonagall as they entered the shop. The store itself was as tiny as the front suggested, but behind the counter Harry could see row after row of long, narrow boxes piled atop one another.

"Harry Potter," a quiet voice came from the side of the shop. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He could have sworn there was no one there a moment ago, but now he could see a very old seeming man with wide, pale eyes staring at him, almost unblinking. "Yes, Harry Potter, I thought I'd be seeing you soon." He glanced then towards Harry's escort. "Minerva McGonagall. Mahogany with dragon heartstring, 16 ½ inches. Excellent with transfiguration." The professor nodded her head in agreement. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. The wand chooses with wizard. Or the witch," he added, with a respectful nod of his head towards McGonagall. "Now then!" he said with an abruptness that made Harry start yet again. "Let's see if we can find your wand, Mr. Potter."

With those words, the master wandmaker went to work. Wands were handed to Harry and plucked from his hands almost too fast for him to react. Some wands he was allowed to keep long enough to give a wave, but even those were invariably taken, too. Harry began to feel an inescapable dread in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps it was too good to be true? Would he be told there was a mistake, that he was not a wizard at all, and dropped back off at the Dursleys without so much as a 'good luck?' In contrast, Ollivander seemed to grow more and more animated as the pile of unmatched wands grew larger. He darted back and forth from shelf to shelf like a hummingbird, and hovered expectantly as each wand touched Harry's hand, before shaking his head and smiling all the more as he took the wand and went to seek out the next. After nearly an hour, though, Ollivander's face suddenly took on a solemn look. "I wonder," he murmured to himself. "I wonder..."

The aged wandmaker darted to the back of the shop, and returned at a more sedate pace, a wand held almost reverently in his open palms. He held it out towards Harry. "Go on, Mr. Potter, give it a try." Harry reached forward, hesitantly at first, but then, as he felt a tingle of warmth in his fingers, he confidently grasped the wand and gave it a wave. Unlike the few other wands he'd been allowed to hold for more than the briefest instant, this one did not cause anything to crash, break, or catch fire. A wondrous warmth filled his arm and suffused his body as a rainbow shower of lights issued forth.

"Curious, very curious," the wandmaker mused. "I think we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter." At Harry's questioning glance, he continued. "Like I said, Mr. Potter, I remember every wand I've ever sold. The phoenix that gave the feather used in your wand gave just one other. That wand is the brother of the one you hold in your hand," he added, pointing a finger at Harry's forehead, "and it was the wand that gave you that scar. You-Know-Who did many great things. Terrible, oh my yes, very terrible, but also great."

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A subdued Harry Potter followed his future professor out of the wandmaker's store. He was no longer interested in looking at the joke store, or trying out any of the wizard candy. His excitement dampened, he turned towards McGonagall, questions on his lips, but was forestalled by her holding her hand up. "I know you have questions, Mr. Potter. But, not here. Let's get your the rest of your things, first, and then I shall answer what questions I can." He nodded his acceptance.

The rest of the trip was a much quieter affair. McGonagall mentioned something about a glamour, but Harry was too distracted to notice. Harry passively allowed himself to be fitted for robes, which went by quite quickly as there was only one other customer, a slightly round boy with blond hair who seemed too afraid to speak to Harry. This was just as well, as Harry didn't think that he could carry on any meaningful conversations until his questions were answered.

His visit to Flourish and Blotts also went by quickly. They picked up the basics without issue, as the store had placed all of the necessary books for incoming Hogwarts students accessibly, but McGonagall convinced him to pick up a few other books as well. He had briefly stared in shock at a book titled 'The Early Adventures of Harry Potter," but a quelling look from McGonagall quieted him before he could say anything about it.

Before long, Harry found himself once more on Privet Drive, thankfully not overburdened with supplies courtesy of a shrinking charm cast by McGonagall. As they neared number four, she stopped, and drew her wand, waving it around the pair of them in an elaborate, sweeping gesture. "I believe you have questions, Mr. Potter," she said simply, the look on her face showing that she was preparing herself for a rather difficult conversation.

Harry nodded, and quickly went over what he already knew, and what he wanted to know, before settling on his first question. "You said that my parents were... were murdered by some sort of evil wizard. And, uh, Mr. Ollivander said that someone called You-Know-Who gave me my scar. I want to know what happened... what really happened."

McGonagall just nodded, somehow not surprised at Harry's first question. "Very well, Mr. Potter, you have a right to know." She took a deep breath. "Your parents were murdered, Harry, by the darkest wizard to have ever lived. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... even now, we do not speak the name. No one knows for sure why he came to your home that night, but I suspect that he wanted to make an end of your parents. I told you they were some of the bravest people I've ever known. They were among the very few to stand against him. They fought him and survived on several occasions." She looked past Harry, obviously lost in the memories. "He shouldn't have been able to find them at all. A charm hid their location from all but a select few, but your father's closest friend, Sirius Black-" she spat the name like a curse- "betrayed them. And yet..." she looked at Harry, now, a look of almost wonder on her face, "yet even though he killed your parents, his power broke when he tried to kill you."

"Why..." he began, but she cut him off.

"No one knows, Harry. It could be that there was some sort of magic that your parents placed upon you before they died, or perhaps your parents managed to injure him sufficiently that he lacked the strength to finish what he had started. Regardless, you are the only one to have ever survived Him in such a manner. It's why they call you the Boy-Who-Lived. And that's why I put the glamour on you when we were in the Alley. I did not think it would do for you to be mobbed on your first day back in our world." Harry felt another swell of gratitude towards the witch who had already done so much for him.

"Now," she continued, "do you have any other questions before we see to your... the Dursleys," she said with distaste. Harry shook his head, still absorbing all that she had told him about his parents. "Good. Now, before we go in, there are a few more things I wish to tell you. First, you must understand that being a wizard is not as simple as merely waving your wand and expecting things to happen. If you have even part of your parents' talent you may consider yourself to be greatly blessed, but talent without hard work will avail you little." Harry nodded as she continued. "Lily especially would never forgive me- or you- if you were anything less than a diligent student, so I expect you to work and study hard." Harry nodded again, and McGonagall seemed satisfied. "Good. Now, when we go into the house, you are to wait by the door while I deal with your relatives. Rest assured that their treatment of you will not continue." Harry couldn't help but smile a bit at that. It might not be the family coming to rescue him that he had dreamed of when he was little, but it was enough.

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Harry was never quite sure what transpired between McGonagall and the Dursleys, but before the day was through, he was moved to Dudley's second bedroom, and Dudley seemed to protest not a whit. Likewise, he found that his chores had been reduced to an almost reasonable level. This was especially good given that he had decided to take McGonagall's admonishment to heart, and spent all of his free time reading through his school books and trying to learn some of the spells. To his regret, he found that doing things like turning his small cot into a large bed or his cousin into a barnyard animal were feats that were years beyond him. However, he found that with a bit of hard work and practice he could make several of the beginner spells work properly. Through his reading he realized that after this summer, he wouldn't be allowed to use magic at home, and resolved to ensure the Dursleys never, ever found out. However, there seemed to be no such restriction on the time prior to starting Hogwarts, so he resolved to make the most of it.

He also read through his history book, trying to find out more about this You-Know-Who that had killed his parents. No where that he could find was the name printed, and he resolved to find out as soon as possible. Harry refused to give his parents' murderer the respect that being afraid to speak his name would imply, vanquished or no.

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Like Harry, Professor McGonagall was hard at work as soon as her chat with the Dursleys was over with. She felt quite sure that she had made her point very clear, but just to be sure, she'd spent several days watching over the Dursley residence from underneath a nearby brush to ensure that her mandates were obeyed. She doubted that anyone noticed the tabby, especially as she was being quite still. McGonagall also made sure to pay a visit to Dumbledore. He was, after all, responsible for placing Harry with the Dursleys- despite her advice that the Dursleys would not be an appropriate family for him. Sometimes, she hated being right.

As expected, Dumbledore was in his office, likely preparing for the coming year. And as always, he knew who was there and when, as they door opened before she could reach out and knock. "Come in, Minerva," he said kindly, smiling. "I trust that nothing was amiss with Mr. Potter? You seemed quite distressed when you left yesterday."

She shook her head. "No, Albus, it is more accurate to say that everything was amiss with Mr. Potter. Or, more specifically, with the Dursleys." Again, she spoke the word as if it were a curse.

"I see," he said, sounding severe. "I understand that they may not have been the most loving of guardians, but surely there was nothing too egregious?" His tone sounded hopeful, but McGonagall was in no mood to gently disabuse him. She simply placed his acceptance letter on Dumbledore's desk and motioned for him to read it.

"The cupboard under the stairs," he read aloud. "I see. There is no mistake... no, you would not be this upset if this address was in error." He sighed, sounding every bit his well-over a hundred years of age.

"He cannot stay in that place, Albus," she said, trusting that her point had been made. "There are many families who would gladly take in the Boy-Who-Lived."

But Dumbledore shook his head. "I wish it could be so, Minerva, more so now than ever. But what family could protect him? I have placed very powerful wards upon the Dursley home, wards that will only function so long as Harry can call that place home. If he were to go elsewhere, those wards would fail and Harry would be left vulnerable."

"And is it worth sacrificing his happiness? Albus, the boy lived in a cupboard for ten years. He did more work for those people than any three house elves. I put a stop to both, but who can say what other harm might befall him at their hands in the meantime?"

Dumbledore sighed yet again. "And what would you have me do, Minerva? I could ask the Weasleys to take him in- they would do so gladly, I am sure. And Lucius Malfoy would just as gladly use his support in the Wizengamot to have Harry wrested from them and placed with what he deems 'proper' wizards, and you and I both know what that would mean for young Harry."

"What of Augusta Longbottom?"
"She has her hands full with young Neville. And that unfortunate young man's own history should tell you of the importance of keeping Harry Potter safe. Voldemort," he paused as McGonagall shuddered at the name, "still has many active supporters who would gladly see Harry become the Boy-Who-Lived-No-More. Harry must stay where he is, at least for the time being."

McGonagall could only nod unhappily.

"That said," he continued, looking somewhat less like the kindly old headmaster that most everyone in the wizarding world knew, and somewhat more like the dangerous and powerful man who defeated Grindelwald, "I think I might pay my own visit to the Dursleys."