The letter in his hand seemed as dangerous as a snake. Harry stared at it numbly.

Wizards and witches? It would explain the sticks the men had used and it would explain the things they had done. It certainly didn't explain why they wanted to kill him or why they thought he'd want to go someplace where people wanted to kill him.

He felt a presence behind him, but before he could react Dudley grabbed the letter from him.

"Mum! Harry opened one of the letters!"

He was running before Harry could react, still stunned from what he'd read. Glancing up at the entryway, Harry winced. His aunt wouldn't react well. She was terrified of the men with sticks and this was only going to make the temporary truce they'd worked for evaporate.

Cautiously he stepped into the kitchen. Petunia's face was as white as a sheet as she stared down at the letter.

"It was addressed to me..." Harry said slowly.

He'd never had a letter addressed to him, and he'd opened it without thinking.

"I won't have this filth in the house," she said in a low, cold voice.

Harry nodded. "Thing is...you said they made you take me. Are they going to make this happen too?"

She looked up at him wordlessly and stared at him for a long moment.

"This place...it's a boarding school?"

His aunt nodded. "Your mother went...thought it was a lark. It killed her in the end."

Harry stared at her for a long moment. "What happens if we say no?"

"They'll come for you," she said. "They don't care what people want, not really, as long as they get what they need."

"So the more we fight it, the more likely they'll be to send someone here," Harry said. He hesitated. "If they do, what are the chances that someone will follow them?"

"They said we'd be protected as long as we stayed in this house," Petunia said. "Vernon's had to give up promotions because we'd have had to move."

So the family had even more reason to resent him. Harry scowled.

"All they need to know is the neighborhood we're in...they could look us up in the phone book or just wait at the local grocery store."

Petunia turned even whiter.

"Do you know why they want me dead?" Harry asked quietly.

"There was an accident when their leader murdered your parents, and he died instead of you."

"That's it?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "I was a baby! You can't blame a baby for something its parents probably did anyway."

His aunt had the grace to look away for a moment. "They do, and now both sides are obsessed with you. We were warned about letting you around either group."

Harry scowled. "So whatever happens, I'm going to end up going, and if we fight it they may send someone here."

Petunia scowled, but nodded.

"So maybe we shouldn't fight it. If I'm gone for nine months out of the year, you all should be safe. And maybe I can learn something to help keep us all safe."

"It'll be the death of you." Petunia said.

"Would that bother you that much?" Harry asked. "At least all this would be over and then you'd be able to go on with your lives."

She flushed. "You think that hasn't occurred to us?"

"And if I don't die, eventually I'll be able to leave and you'll all be safe again."

"Not until you're seventeen," she muttered. "We've got to keep you until then."

"That's only a year and a half that we have to live under the same roof," Harry said, "If I'm only here three months a year."

"Vernon won't like it," she said, but she was already wavering.

"Only, I don't know where to get all the stuff they're talking about, or where to catch the train."

"I know where to go," she admitted reluctantly. "There's a place where they sell...things. I won't go in with you though."

Harry froze. Going alone to a place like that, where everyone was a possible killer...it wouldn't be safe.

"Maybe we should wait for someone to take me then," he said uncertainly. Although he found the idea of depending on anyone from that world worrying, it would be better than going alone.

His aunt's face tightened. "We aren't allowing any of them to come here. I'll drive you."

No matter how he argued, she wouldn't change her mind.

"It's somewhere around here," his aunt said. She'd left Dudley at home and she was adamant in her refusal to come with her.

She'd grudgingly gone to the bank and withdrawn three hundred pounds. The expression on her face said more than anything that she'd find some way to make him pay her back. She'd seemed reluctant to hand him the money at all, but apparently the thought of avoiding having a wizard come to her house was worth the money.

"This is all you get," she said. "And they won't take proper money...they've got their own kind. You'll have to go the bank...it's run by horrid creatures. They'll exchange the money there. They'll try to cheat you...don't let them. Ask a human what the exchange rate is before you see them."

"You know a lot about this," Harry said.

"I went with your mother," Petunia said shortly. "I saw as much as I'm ever going to want to."

Harry nodded. "But you don't know where I'm supposed to go in?"

"Proper people can't see it," she said. "Only freaks."

Harry nodded. He looked around and he noticed the strange shimmer that he'd seen in other places all over town.

There was one building that looked different than the buildings around it. It looked older and more decrepit; there was a sign.

"The leaky cauldron?" he asked.

She nodded grimly. "There should be enough there for you to take a cab to the train station to get back. I'm not waiting on you."

Not as though he thought that she would. She looked nervous even being this close.

She'd lent him a knitted woolen longshoreman's cap that Vernon had been planning to throw it away. She informed him that Vernon wouldn't want it back after it had been on the freak's head.

He was grateful, though. He pulled it down so that it covered his scar, and he pulled his hoodie up. Reluctantly he stepped out of the car, and she was driving away almost before he could close the door.

He stood in the street for a moment watching the brake lights of her car. She never slowed down or looked back.

Grimacing, he slouched and headed for the Leaky Cauldron.

Stepping inside, he felt uneasy. As far as he knew, it was illegal for children to be in pubs by themselves, and he worried that he would draw attention to himself by doing so.

It was dark and shabby, and Harry had a sudden feeling that he'd stepped back into another time. The subtle wrongness he'd sensed in people was everywhere here. In the corner a man in a tall wizard's hat was drinking something green that bubbled and popped.

A group of old women were huddled in a corner; they glanced up at him for a moment as he entered, then turned back to whatever they were discussing.

The barman was waving a wand over his bar; as the wand passed over it it turned shiny and clean.

Reluctantly, Harry stepped up to the bar.

"I need to visit the alley, sir," he said. He kept his head down, the knitted cap pulled down over his scar.

"Muggle born, are you?" the man asked. He chuckled and said, "Follow me."

It made Harry uneasy going anywhere alone with an adult that he didn't know, but according to Petunia, this was how it was done.

The man led him into a small walled courtyard behind the pub, and he showed him the pattern to enter the alley. It would take a wand, Harry noted, and he was going to need one to get back out.

With a glance at the man, Harry slipped inside.

The sense of stepping into another century was even more intense. Cobblestones covered the street and men and women everywhere were wearing strange robes. They looked every bit like the cult the Dursleys had accused them of being.

There were shops selling robes, telescopes and instruments ha had never seen before. There were windows selling bat spleens and eels' eyes, potions, brooms and bottles galore.

It was overwhelming. It was hard enough to deal with the everyday occurrence of a single wizard, but any of the people on the street here could be out for his blood.

Harry hunched over even further and began heading down the street, keeping his head down and trying not to make it obvious that his eyes were darting back and forth.

He reached the bank sooner than he would have expected. The creatures standing outside the bank were shorter than he was, and they stared up at him with undisguised animosity.

The plaque on the outside had a warning against those who would steal from the goblins. Harry didn't doubt that they'd have horrible punishments. They had pointed teeth and looked as though they were ready to stab him at a moment's notice.

The clerks inside weren't any friendlier. He had to wait in line and eventually managed to get his money exchanged from a bored looking clerk.

He hadn't asked about the exchange rate, although it looked to be five pounds to the galleon. The clerk had begrudgingly explained the other Wizarding coins to him.

Getting out of the bank made him feel relieved, only to feel overwhelmed again as he realized that it was even more crowded now than it had been before.

He managed to find his potion supplies, his books and even get his wand from a man who made him feel deeply uneasy. Despite his scar being covered, the man seemed to know who he was, and he made cryptic comments about the wand that eventually chose him.

His aunt had apparently shorted him on money; he wondered if she'd done it deliberately, or whether things simply cost more now than they had when his mother went to school. In any case he had to find a used robe shop, where he had to bargain to get three robes that were worn.

Getting an owl was out of the question. He didn't have any money left, and even if he had, Harry couldn't imagine his aunt and uncle allowing an owl inside the house.

Still, of all the products on display, an owl and a broom were the ones he most wanted. From what he saw, the broom would let him get away from danger, although it wouldn't be very convenient to carry everywhere. The owl he wanted for himself.

He'd never been allowed to have a pet before, and an owl that could find anyone and deliver messages to them sounded a lot more useful than the goldfish Dudley had gotten from a fair once. That fish had died within three days.

The books and equipment he'd purchased were heavy, and Harry didn't look forward to the trip to the train station. He'd been watching carefully as they'd driven.

Although his aunt had told him to get a cab, there wasn't enough money after he'd bought everything. There would barely be enough for the train fare.

So Harry found himself walking, burdened down by books and bags. His shoulders were already aching, and it was only going to get worse before it got better.

The sun had already set and Harry noticed that there weren't a lot of cars passing by.

He felt deeply uneasy as he walked, and he though he heard the sounds of footsteps behind him.

Glancing back, he saw two men walking slowly behind him. They were dressed in regular clothes, but something about them seemed off to him.

Wizards never quite seemed to know how to dress like ordinary people.

Harry turned to run, but it was already too late. A man appeared in front of him with a crack of displaced air.

"This is from the Dark Lord," he said.

Harry stared down at the dagger in his stomach for a moment. A moment later he found himself falling.