I awoke the next morning with a foul taste in my mouth and an urgent need to use the facilities. I didn't recognise my surroundings, and I panicked briefly before I remembered where I was. Right. Leaky Cauldron, Harry Potter's body, etc. Shit. I'd hoped the day before that I would return to real life after I went to sleep here, but no such luck. I rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, where I performed my ablutions with the hotel-granted toothpaste and whatnot. I had to hand it to them, wizards made a damn fine set of toiletries. The toothpaste left a minty taste, but it wasn't quite like the minty taste left by the mundane stuff. It was more natural, almost like I'd been chewing real mint leaves. Quite refreshing.

Returning to my room, I looked about for a clock,and found none. Right. Wizards had the Time-Keeping Charm for that. I checked the window, and it looked to be about mid-morning. I headed down the stairs for some breakfast, and greeted the barman affably as I took a seat at the counter. "Mornin' Tom. How're things?"

"Good enough young sir." He replied with a grin. His eyes flicked to my forehead, but he apparently felt the need to treat me like any other kid, as he asked, "Beggin' your pardon, but I never got your name the other night."

I grinned back, silently acknowledging his tactful avoidance of my celebrity, and continued the charade. "The name's Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." I held out my hand to shake, and he grasped it firmly. I took a moment to get the measure of the man, as he was likely one of the less visible movers and shakers of the wizarding world. After all, nearly every single Hogwarts student likely passed through here at one point or another, and I had no idea how long he'd been at his job. He was probably on friendly terms with nearly everyone in the wizarding world.

Tom was an elderly chap, slightly balding, with snow-white hair that curled slightly at the temples. His face was a mess of laugh lines, and sharp grey eyes peered out from underneath bushy white eyebrows. I compiled my customary mental dossier on him. White male, approximately sixty years old, white hair, balding, about five foot nine, erect posture, intelligent, no identifying marks. Wait. Wizards aged slower than mundane people, didn't they? I know Dumbledore, Marchbanks, and Bagshot were all over the century mark, and Dumbledore at least was portrayed as being around seventy years in appearance. I revised my estimate of Tom's age upward to around ninety.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Tom." He raised a solitary eyebrow. "You know my last name, but I don't know yours." His other eyebrow lifted in mild surprise.

"Dodderidge, Mister Potter. Although I'd prefer if you'd just call me Tom."

"Then I insist that you just call me Harry. After all, I'm probably going to be here for a while. I've never been to the wizarding world before, this is so exciting!" My enthusiasm was entirely unfeigned. I was a massive Harry Potter nerd, given the chance to live in wizarding Britain, go to mothafuckin' Hogwarts, and learn actual magic. I was literally bouncing up and down on the barstool.

Tom laughed, whisked a menu onto the counter in front of me from...somewhere, and said "Well, if you're going to be takin' our world by storm, best get some food in ya first, hm? Care for anything to drink before you order?"

I opened by mouth, black coffee on my lips, and closed my mouth before the request made it out. My real body might be a foot taller, twice as heavy, and resistant to caffeine, but Harry's definitely wasn't. I was liable to vibrate into a different dimension if I tried my normal morning routine (double-strength coffee, no cream, no sugar). I asked for orange juice and water instead. The requested beverages appeared in front of me with a small "pop," startling me badly.

"Sorry about that Harry, I should've warned you. Now, y'say that you've never been to our world before?" Tom waited for my nod, and then said "Flippy." I managed to wonder for a brief moment if that was like "froody" from The Hitchhiker's Guide before a house-elf "popped" onto the stool beside me and piped, "Yes Master Tom?"

Tom said to me, "Harry, this here is Flippy. She's a house-elf, and the reason I can serve food as well as booze. She cooks twice as well as I do, and I wouldn't be able to keep this place afloat without her. Flippy, this is Harry Potter."

I held out a hand to shake. "Pleased to meet you Flippy. I'm looking forward to eating your cooking!" I smiled gently. I didn't want to trigger a Dobby-esque freakout, but I wasn't about to treat a thinking being like some sort of kitchen appliance.

Flippy didn't take my hand, but she did an adorable little curtsey and squeaked, "Flippy is happy to meet Mr. Harry Potter Sir. What would Mr. Harry Potter Sir like for breakfast?" I got the impression that she wasn't the gregarious sort. I gave her my order, and let her go with a quest to just call me "Harry," or "Mr. Potter" at the most. After she was gone, I looked right at Tom. I really wanted to know the truth behind house-elves. After all, if they were unwilling slaves, I had to at least try to get them free. We had a short and not terribly informative discussion. Apparently everyone knew that house-elves had to serve a wizard or witch or they would die. Well, I was going to take that with a grain of salt. After all, everyone knew that Sirius Black was guilty too.

I was halfway through breakfast when Hagrid made his way downstairs, looking nearly the same as he had the day before. He tore through an absolutely massive meal, and we made our way out into the Alley. I started wondering how I was going to give Hagrid the slip, because I had some errands to take care of that he really should not be privy to. I decided that honesty was probably the best policy here.

"Hagrid, why don't you head back to Hogwarts? I can do my own shopping, but I wanted to make an all-day affair out of it. After all, this is the first time I've ever been in Diagon Alley, and I want to do everything!" There. Entirely honest, but not the whole story.

Hagrid looked doubtful, but I played it up a little more. "After all, I proved last night that I know what's going on, yeah? I'll be fine! I just need my school supplies list so I know for sure what to get."

"All righ', but you stay out of Knockturn Alley, y'hear? There ain't nuffin in there for a li'l sprat like you." I grinned at him. Man, that was easy. Dumbledore really hadn't made the best choice when he picked Hagrid as a minder. Hagrid was a great guy, but he didn't have a lot upstairs.

"Sure thing, Hagrid. I'll see you on the first of September, yeah?" We made our goodbyes, and I was let loose in Diagon Alley.

So, first things first: let's get Harry some decent fucking clothes. I made a beeline toward Madame Malkin's, and asked the proprietor for a standard Hogwarts set, three sets of casual robes in blue, green, and maroon, and a set of dress robes. I think I made her day when I told her to "surprise me" with the dress robe selection.

I took my place on the sizing pedestal and looked to my left, only to find the one and only Draco Malfoy looking back at me! Huh, he looks absolutely nothing like Tom Felton. "Hello." Draco said. "Hogwarts too?"

"Yep." I said, popping the p. "I've never been to wizarding Britain before, so I figured why not get a full set of robes while I was here? When in Rome, and all that." Draco gave me a confused look. Right, mundane idiom. "The full quote is, 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.' It refers to respecting the culture you're in, rather than trying to force the culture to conform to you."

Draco sneered. It was almost an adorable expression, like a baby lion trying to roar. Or more accurately in this case, a newly hatched snake trying to hiss. Shit, I was trying to make a good impression too.The last thing I needed was Draco Malfoy trying to be my nemesis or some such nonsense. "Well, at least you're not like every other mudblood out there, trampling over all of our traditions. My father always says they're bringing the entire nation down."

I frowned. "Really now, is the profanity necessary? We're in a public place. Besides, I never said I was Muggleborn. My parents were both magical, but they were murdered by the Dark Lord." I was making an important decision there. Like it or not, Voldemort was extraordinarily talented and powerful. He was Dark with a capital "D," and he was capable of gathering strong-willed people to his cause with little effort. The title of "Dark Lord" was entirely deserved. Conforming to societal pressures by avoiding his nom de guerre would likely smooth my path, socially speaking. Calling him by insulting, childish names was sloppy thinking, and could lead to complacency.

Besides, if I ever wanted to piss him off, I could always call him "Tom."

Draco lost his sneer, and looked for a moment like I expected an ashamed eleven-year-old to look. "Sorry." He said quietly.

"It's all right, you didn't know." I said calmly. "But you might want to watch out for that kind of sloppy thinking." He looked up in consternation. "Discounting someone's power and abilities solely because of their birth is a foolish mistake. Personally, I value capability above all other things. I don't care if someone who serves me was born in a gutter, so long as they're good at their job."

Draco's sneer was back. "That's nonsense. Everyone knows that purebloods are the most powerful wizards." I just smirked at him.

"Prove it." He looked at me blankly. "Prove to me that, all other factors being equal, purebloods are more magically powerful than half-bloods and Muggleborn." My smirk widened. "Even then, I won't change my mind. I doubt you'd be able to prove that purebloods are any smarter than than half-bloods and Muggleborn. In fact, I'd bet that there's absolutely no difference between the average pure-blood and the average muggleborn in terms of intellectual ability."

Draco was incensed. "Are you calling me stupid?" I sighed.

"Hey, I never said a thing about your intellectual prowess." Or lack thereof I added to myself. "I simply pointed out that you were taking certain facts for granted. I make it a point to question everything told to me.

"Historically speaking, the masses are sheep. They're willing to follow the loudest voice at the time, because they don't want to bother thinking for themselves. I refuse to be led around by the nose like some sort of cattle." I grinned, and I'm pretty sure my canines were showing. "If the rest of the population is content to be sheep, I'll be the wolf in sheep's clothing."

Draco was staring at me, his mouth open slightly. He remembered his decorum all of a sudden, and his mouth shut with a "click." He looked me right in the eye, and said quietly, "Well, I look forward to seeing you in Slytherin."

I smirked even more. "True Slytherins are never sorted into Slytherin." Draco's eyes widened in confusion, but before he could say more Madame Malkin interrupted.

"Mr. Potter, your fitting is finished. We'll have those robes ready for you at around four, if you'd like to come back for them." I smiled, asked to have them sent to my room at the Leaky Cauldron, and went on my merry way. I hope I gave Draco something to think about.

Next stop was Ollivander's. I was a little nervous about meeting the old man, because I didn't know how the wands were going to react. Was the wand going to react to Harry's magic, or my personality? Ollivander himself was another worry. I'd read all sorts of fics where he was some sort of savant, able to read a person's soul with little effort, or even a different species. I'd have put it off longer, but I needed that wand.

I walked into the dusty, poorly lit shop, and stopped immediately inside the door. As the peal of the bell died away, I looked about for the proprietor. I couldn't see him anywhere. "Hello?"

"Ah, Mr. Potter."

I goddamn near jumped out of my skin with a loud "FUCK!" I spun around, took two hasty steps back, and glared at the man. "Morgana's tits man, warn a guy when you're going to do that!" Morgana's tits? Since when did I swear like a wizard?

"My apologies, Mr. Potter." Yeah, he didn't look apologetic at all. "I am unusually light-footed, and I often forget how unnerving people find it." Suuuure. "I take it you are here to get your wand?" I nodded slowly. He flicked his own wand, and a measuring tape flew out from somewhere and began measuring every part of me.

"Actually" I began slowly, "I think I may have a fair idea of what wand may suit me." Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches. I may be off on the length." Ollivander's other eyebrow raised, and he regarded me for a moment before disappearing into the back without a word.

He returned shortly with a dusty box. "Holly and phoenix feather, as you mentioned Mr. Potter. Eleven inches. Nice and supple." He handed the wand inside to me, and I felt a wonderful feeling, like sinking into a hot bath through my entire body all at once. Blue and silver sparks shot from the end.

"Holly and phoenix feather, as you mentioned Mr. Potter. Eleven inches. Nice and supple." Ollivander was regarding me like I was a bug on a pin. "I have been in this business for nearly a century, Mr. Potter. I have never had a customer tell me which wand would choose them. Do you know what makes that wand special?"

I looked him right in the eyes. "Yes. And I would prefer that you do not disclose either what makes it special, or that I was chosen by this particular wand. I have enemies, Mr. Ollivander. There are very many people who wish to see me dead, and any little scrap of information you disseminate could mean my life." I took a deep breath, and decided to take the plunge. "On that matter, I would ask you to do something illegal for me. I would ask you to remove the Trace from me, so that I might better train myself with the aim of surviving until I reach adulthood."

Ollivander smiled sadly then. "As much as I would like to help you Mr. Potter, I cannot. When the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry was established, a large-scale ritual was enacted over the entirety of the British Isles, with the exception of Hogwarts. The ritual had the effect of monitoring the use of magic near every child under the age of seventeen. I take it you live in a Muggle neighborhood?" I nodded, seething inwardly. Damn the Ministry for their invasive policies. "I can only offer you this advice." He leaned forward and said quietly, "If you are in an area with a large concentration of witches and wizards, the Ministry will not be able to track your use of magic." He straightened up again, and continued "You make a good point, Mr. Potter. I will tell whomever asks that you received a white oak wand with a core of unicorn tail hair." He smiled suddenly. "I had a feeling that you would be an interesting customer Mr. Potter, but I did not have any idea just how interesting."

I munched contemplatively on a roast beef sandwich at the Leaky Cauldron. The day had been massively interesting. After Ollivander's I'd gone to purchase a trunk. I had enquired about the possibility of a trunk with an internal apartment, time dilation charms, potions labs, and so on, but I was told that it would be cheaper to make my own castle. Apparently with each additional enchantment added to an object, the difficulty rose exponentially. The price of a trunk like Mad-Eye Moody's was prohibitively expensive. The only reason Mad-Eye could afford his was because he inherited it. I left the shop with a relatively expensive trunk with only three charms on it: a featherweight charm, a space expanding charm, and a shrinking charm. I resolved to add my own enchantments to the locks.

Next had been the bookstore, since I had more storage space. I'll admit I went a little crazy there, as I purchased beginning guides to nearly every field of magic there was. I asked the shop assistant if she had any advice on what a Muggle-raised student should buy, but apparently the wizarding world didn't care about the Muggleborn at all. Disappointing, but not surprising.

After the bookstore I hit the apothecary, menagerie, and an odds-and-ends shop. I was keeping an eye out for other useful items like a pensieve or something, but nothing seemed terribly useful. The menagerie, on the other hand, ended up being an interesting visit.

I walked in, and had to stop to allow my eyes adjust. The shop was dark, and packed to the brim with animal enclosures of all kinds. There was hardly any room to walk. I couldn't see any shopkeepers, so I just took the time to wander. I was nearing the back when I heard hissing that gradually resolved itself into weird speech.

"Hallo snek. Am snek. Boop a snoot?"

"Hallo snek. Am also snek. Will boop snoot for snoot boops."

"Boop incoming'."

"Ah heck! Was not prepare!"

What. The. Fuck. I stopped dead, mouth agape. I knew Parseltongue was a different language, but I wasn't expecting this. The snakes kept yammering on, until I interrupted.

"Why u danger noodles talk like that?" Oh god no. "Oh heck, now am talkin' like nope rope. What do?" This was fucking absurd. No wonder people didn't advertise Parseltongue when it sounded like that.

"Sneks always speak snek. Humans not speak snek. Are you strange snek?" The one speaking was a little snake, black with yellow stripes. I think it wasn't venomous, but I wasn't sure.

"No, you dumb venom sausage, this a Snek Talker. It speak Snek Speech, but is not snek. Very rare." This one was larger, with alternating black, red, and yellow stripes. If I remembered my snakes, it was a King Snake. The snakes degenerated into a cacophonous jumble of horrific grammar until one spoke up from just behind me.

"Snek Talker." I turned, and saw a small, light grey snake looking right at me from a cage at head height. "Pls to take this wiggle stick with you. I am sneaky snek, will not be seen. Will protec. Will attac. But most important, will have your bac."

Nope. That was it. I was done. I walked away from the sneks goddamnit SNAKES that apparently, somehow, had access to the internet in 2017. I ended up taking home an adorable little ragdoll kneazle kitten that I named Murgatroyd (Murgie for short). He was a sassy little bastard, but he already seemed smarter than a lot of people I knew. As we made our way back to the Leaky Cauldron, I thought to myself that a hallucination was seeming more probable with every hour.

I spent the rest of the month of August in Diagon Alley, making myself known to all and sundry as "that nice Potter lad." I went out of my way to be polite, self-deprecating, and well-spoken. The more goodwill I managed to scrape up from the average witch and wizard, I figured, the less I'd have to deal with the sheep cursing Harry's name when the inevitable bad headlines came out. I did spend a day in Muggle London to get some mundane wear (Hm, maybe I should call them Mundanes, not Muggles), as I still wasn't terribly fond of robes. Too much loose fabric, with a tendency to get caught on things. As I began folding my robes and clothes on the 31st to put in the trunk, I went back over what I'd accomplished, and what I had yet to do.

I had managed to pack quite a few more pounds onto Harry's skinny frame, and made certain to spend most of the day walking about. The poor kid really was in atrocious shape, and probably malnourished to boot. I resolved to have a chat with Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts tout suite. She wasn't the only name on my "to contact" list either. I needed to contact Augusta Longbottom for advice on wizarding lawyers; the DMLE to get Sirius Black out of Azkaban; and the Daily Prophet to arrange a press release. First and most importantly, the DMLE.

I paused, a pair of socks forgotten in my hand. Maybe I could approach that from the side… I knew that the Ministry, with the exception of a notable few, were all out for self-aggrandizement and galleons alone. Anything that bucked the status quo would be shut down in a hurry, and a trial of a famous Death Eater everyone had forgotten about would definitely mess with the status quo. So, if I told just the ministry, it would simply be swept under the rug, and Sirius likely silenced for good.

But if I arranged to let it slip in the Prophet that I'd gone looking for Sirius's trial records and hadn't found them… I sat on the bed, deep in thought. Okay, I needed to arrange for Sirius to have a trial. No, I needed to arrange for Sirius to take Veritaserum, and be questioned publically. Anything past that would take care of itself. Hm.

I strode to the desk, grabbed a quill and paper, and began to write. My penmanship was still atrocious, but it was getting better. I was glad I shelled out for the Self-Inking variety, as I was sure that messing around with an inkwell would be a recipe for disaster. I listed what I needed to do to make it happen.

Article in the Prophet. Emphasize how I wanted to hear from Black's own lips why he betrayed my parents. Also, possible source of intel on DE activities.

Visit Fudge and grease the wheels. Flatter on how he'll see that Black finally makes himself useful to society, if only through testimony, unsolved murders, etc.

Hire lawyer anonymously, if possible. If not anonymous, just hint that Veritaserum would ensure that "all his crimes come to light."

3a. Talk to A. Longbottom about lawyers first, need a really good one.

3b. Maybe Ted Tonks? He's a lawyer, right? Or is he a healer?

Keep Black safe. Tip off DMLE about paper article, tell them he's innocent, request safe custody? Not sure.

I sat back and examined my thoughts writ out in ink. This was going to be tricky. I decided to owl Amelia Bones about a "hypothetical innocent in Azkaban" to test the waters. I made a quick trip down to the Owl Post office, and sent off a nigh-obsequious note with a postscript of "Thank you very much for your time and discretion. I am available at your convenience if you have any questions." I was certainly not expecting a knock half an hour later.

I opened the door and had to crane my neck back to make eye contact with the tall wizard standing there. About six feet tall, black, bald, wearing red robes and a maybe-African hat thing. No identifying marks. Shacklebolt, maybe? Before I could say anything, he asked, "Harry Potter?" When I nodded, he continued. "Your presence is requested in an investigation into a possible unlawful incarceration. Please accompany me to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for questioning. You are not under any suspicion at this time." He had a voice that Morgan Freeman would kill for.

"Wow, you guys work fast. Alright, let's go." I proceeded him downstairs, and to the floo. I tossed a knut in the little bowl, grabbed a pinch of powder, and paused. "Auror Shacklebolt, what's the floo address for the DMLE?"

I woke up tied to a chair, sitting across the table from a serious-looking redhead with a monocle, Shacklebolt standing behind her. My mouth once again worked faster than my brain as I blurted out, "Wow, that's really discombobulating. I've never been stunned before. Is it always like that?"

The redhead, who I only had to assume was Amelia Bones, spoke not to me, but to a hovering quill. "DMLE interrogation log for thirty-one eight ninety-one. Interrogator Amelia Bones, witness Kingsley Shacklebolt. Subject is wearing the likeness of Harry Potter, method unknown. Polyjuice potion, self-transfiguration, glamours, and enchantment have been ruled out. Subject, state your full name." Damn, she wasn't fucking around. Good. Now I just had to convince her that I wasn't completely insane.

"My full name is Donovan James Hock. I am twenty-seven years old, and a resident of California in the United States. On the stroke of midnight on July thirty-first, I woke up in the body of Harry James Potter."

That caused a long, awkward silence. I decided to speak up again. "I volunteer to take Veritaserum to verify my statements." That garnered a raised eyebrow from Madame Bones.

Bones studied me like I was a particularly interesting piece of dryer lint that she'd found stuck to her sleeve, and said "Shack?" Shacklebolt just murmured "Yup." and poked his head out of the door. The threshold was likely silenced, because I didn't hear anything. He closed the door, and they resumed studying me. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Uh, do you want me to keep talking, so you can get an idea of what to ask?" A nod. "Okay. Well first and foremost, Sirius Black never had a trial, and has therefore been held illegally for ten years. At the least, he should have been interrogated to find out the extent of Ministry corruption at the end of the first Blood War, but that was swept under the rug. I personally suspect bribery.

"However, questioning will reveal that he was never a follower of the Dark Lord, did not commit the murders he was incarcerated for, and was not the Potter's secret-keeper. The fault for all of those falls on Peter Pettigrew, who is currently the property of the Weasley family under the cover of his animagus form of Scabbers the rat.

"Additionally, the Dark Lord never truly died. He made a number of Horcruxes, several of which are immediately available for destruction. The Dark Lord himself is currently possessing or about to possess the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, Quirinus Quirrell. Wait, maybe not. I tipped off the goblins that he was going to try to steal something from Gringotts, so he may be dead already."

I paused, and added "Oh, and Barty Crouch Senior is holding his own son under the Imperius Curse at home, aided by his elf Winky. Crouch Junior and Barty's wife swapped places with the aid of Polyjuice before she died in Azkaban."

Silence ruled the room, broken only by a clatter as Bones' monocle hit the tabletop.

An hour and three drops of Veritaserum later, I was released from the bindings on the chair. Madame Bones was nearly vibrating with suppressed fury, and Shacklebolt looked no better. "Shack, I'm authorising the immediate relocation of Joe Bloggs to a Ministry holding cell. Keep it under wraps. Get Proudfoot and Savage to make a quiet visit to Arthur Weasley, and tell them to bring magic-suppressing cuffs. Rufus and Robards will collar Crouch quietly tomorrow morning when he comes into work. Tell Alastor to dig up that list of possible Death Eaters he compiled after the war, we'll probably need it." As Shacklebolt left, she got up and began to pace. While I rubbed some feeling back into my wrists, she turned to me. "Pott- er, Hock, are you willing to cooperate with the DMLE?"

I frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, but under some conditions. You'll need to keep Albus Dumbledore and his Order out of it. He's under some asinine impression that those animals are able to be rehabilitated. We both know that they need to be put down, and put down hard. Dumbledore will likely try to interfere. I'd also like an exemption from the underage wizardry laws, and some sort of protection from the law, but I think I can work around that if need be."

She raised an interrogative eyebrow. "Why would you need protection from the law?"

I grimaced. "I'm not a nice person, Madame Bones. My methods are likely going to be somewhat clumsy, and slightly bloody. I aim to make the prospect of opposing me more terrifying than opposing the Dark Lord, at least for the Death Eaters in training at Hogwarts. Some backup on your part would go a long way toward making that easier."

She considered my thoughtfully. She finally spoke. "I never heard you mention that. As far as I know, you have no plans to do anything but be an ordinary Muggle-raised Hogwarts student. I'll treat any claims of your supposed hostile action with suspicion."

I just nodded. A little help, but not a Auror deputization. "And the underage exemption? After all, followers of the ways of the Dark would love to have Harry Potter's head on a plate, and being able to practice at any time would go a long way to keeping said head attached. Even if the media got wind of that, treating the Boy-Who-Lived as a precious natural resource would hardly look bad."

She smiled a little. "Indeed. Very well, I'll file the paperwork today. Don't try to do any magic until the second."

I shrugged. "I'll be at Hogwarts by then anyway." I paused. "So, what was it that cottoned Shacklebolt on to the fact that I'm not Potter?"

She smiled more. "You knew his name, but he ever told you."

Another half-hour of conversation and the rest of the details had been ironed out. I would be granted an exemption for the underage magic laws, ostensibly for my own protection. The DMLE would regard any claims of Harry Potter's viciousness with incredulity. They would also "misplace" several Auror training guides.

I was escorted back to the Leaky Cauldron by John Dawlish, and collapsed into bed. That had been a helluva evening, but progress had been made. I requested a nine o'clock alarm from Flippy, and passed the hell out.