Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter the Second

Destiny

Destiny? Don't make me laugh, Snape. I'm not obligated to do anything for any world. I never wanted fame or fortune, and I'm not your people's problem-solver. As far as I know, all I'm here for is an education.

Part a

By the time Harry slowly began to rouse from his sleep, he had already convinced himself that everything the night before was a dream.

Snape wasn't there. Harry was still in his cupboard, waiting for the sharp rattling sound of Aunt Petunia's bony fingers on his door and for dust and sand to clear the ceiling when Dudley ran down the stairs, demanding his breakfast.

Which reminded Harry. He'd have to make them breakfast.

But when he finally opened his eyes, he realised his surroundings were not at all what he'd imagined. He was lying on the couch he'd dreamt he fell asleep on, except this time, a warm blanket covered his lower half.

Snape was already up, for his bed was empty and Harry vaguely wondered where he'd gone.

It was just then that he recalled the letter from Hogwarts he'd meant to return back to Snape but never quite managed. He'd stuffed it into his pockets when he'd realised Snape wasn't under any circumstances taking it back, and now he took it out again for a second look.

Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry….

Harry swallowed. The emerald ink looked so beautiful on parchment.

Accept. You have been accepted…

"Second thoughts?"

Snape's sudden presence in the room brought Harry out of his reverie and Harry, slightly embarrassed to have been discovered reading the letter again, coughed awkwardly before hurriedly hiding the letter.

"You might as well take it out, Potter," Snape said, unimpressed. "I've seen it already."

Harry scowled.

"You'll need an owl to reply, of course," Snape continued. "Some quills and parchment will be necessary."

Harry stared at Snape in astonishment. "Sir, I've already said. I'm not going."

There was a pause as Snape surveyed Harry with beetle black eyes. "I hope I haven't said anything to suggest otherwise to you, Potter. Whether or not you choose to study at Hogwarts is one thing, but it's another to deny yourself the world you were born to be a part of. I will be introducing you to the magical community, and you can make up your mind about your schooling after seeing it for yourself."

Somewhere at the back of his head, something told him Snape wasn't about to let Harry go just so easily…

-wizardry-

The entrance to the ever so famous Diagon Alley was through the pub of the Leaky Cauldron, which Harry supposed was harmless enough. For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe.

As soon as the two of them entered the pub of the Leaky Cauldron, every eye turned to face them. Harry figured it was a common occurrence, what with Snape being the epitome dramatic entrances.

"Morning, Snape," the bartender said in a rather respectful tone. "Would you like something?"

"Not now," Snape replied gruffly. "Later, perhaps."

All was fine as Snape dragged Harry halfway across the pub. But it was when they saw him and consequently gasped as one, that trouble started.

The Leaky Cauldron went completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter…what an honor."

Eh. Now that is just creepy.

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mister Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone single soul in the room, including the woman who was still puffing on the pipe without realizing it had gone out, was looking at him. Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron, the most enthusiastic being a wizard who had come back for at least three handshakes…

"Delighted, Mister Potter - just can't tell you - Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Quirrell!" Snape suddenly barked. "Potter, that's one of the Hogwarts teachers."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"Huh," Harry muttered almost amusedly, looking at the pathetic man up and down. He must have suffered from an anxiety attack sometime in the recent past, but obviously no one had bothered giving him treatment. "Huh."

"Potter," Snape warned sharply, giving him a nudge.

"Oh, right." Harry shuffled backwards a little, withdrawing his from Quirrell's unnerving clutch. "Well, I would say I'm pleased to meet you too, except I'm told I shouldn't lie."

There was a pause as Quirrell processed his words. "I-I-"

"Since you obviously haven't been told," Harry continued, feeling extremely brave and glad of the fact that he wouldn't be going to Hogwarts, therefore whatever he said to this professor would be of no importance, "let me inform you, sir. I have no plans of going to Hogwarts, and quite frankly meeting you is just another reason why I shouldn't. I mean, if teachers like you teach at Hogwarts, it really makes me wonder what sort of people are nurturing the future of this world, doesn't it?"

Quirrell could only gape at him in amazement, though Harry was almost certain there was suspicion lurking somewhere behind his nervous front. "What subject do you teach, anyway?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," answered Quirrell.

Pathetic. Just so pathetic.

Perhaps more words would have been exchanged, but the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself and Snape didn't seem too pleased about the conversation either. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Snape managed to drag him away from the crowd.

Dedalus Diggle shook Harry's hand one last time before Snape finally led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

"Snape…why…?"

Snape merely looked amused. "Why did they know your name, Potter? Why are you famous?"

Harry frowned, feeling as if Snape had intended for Harry to meet the other wizards. "I – never mind."

Snape's lip curled. "Don't you wish to know, Potter? About why you are famous?"

Harry shrugged. "It has everything to do with my parents being dead, doesn't it? No one wants to be famous for that." There was a pause before Harry added cheekily, "Besides, it's not like I'll be staying round long enough to care."

Clearly, the answer didn't satisfy Snape, who merely glowered at his reply. Harry couldn't help feeling the satisfaction of knowing he had duped Snape's attempt to sell the magical world. Who did the man think he was, some wide-eyed, easily starstruck country bumpkin on his first visit to the big city?

Then they reached the brick wall.

Snape's wand was out. "Right, stand back, Potter," he muttered.

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his wand, slowly and carefully of course, almost in demonstration.

The brick he had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing a large archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them. A little further, Harry noticed the sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys round Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window displaying broomsticks. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever -"

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

For a while, Snape was forgotten and all that existed was Harry and a world waiting to be discovered.

"Welcome, Potter," said Snape, smirking at the stunned look on Harry's face, "to Diagon Alley."

-wizardry-

A strange thing happened as Griphook slid off the cart that contained an exhilarated Harry and a slightly bored looking Snape, deep below the structure of Gringotts Bank, took out Harry's key and opened his vault.

Green smoke billowed out and as it cleared, Harry's eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets at the sight of so much money. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze tokens.

"Sweet baby Jesus," he breathed.

"Wizard's money," Snape immediately set about explaining. "This is strictly the currency we use in Britain; You'll find that most shopowners here are impartial to Muggle muggle. Galleons are in gold, sickles in silver and knuts bronze."

"No bank notes?" Harry muttered exasperatedly. "Imagine paying for a house…in Wizarding money…"

Snape snorted, rolling his eyes. "Don't be stupid, Potter," he hissed. "This isn't Muggle. We don't use bank notes. If something needs to be paid in large amounts, either a magical contract is signed or bewitched pouches are used to carry the amount more conveniently."

"Which reminds me, Potter," Snape continued, "we'll put all the money in my pouch for now, but you'll need to buy a bewitched trunk of your own. For hiding the quills and parchment from your relatives of course."

He added the last part for Harry's benefit, as Harry shot him another suspicious glance.

"I'm only writing one letter, Snape," Harry gritted. "How much parchment will I need?"

To this, Snape smirked menacingly, evilly, terrifyingly. "Enough to reply five hundred and seventy-eight letters, I should think. After all, Hogwarts sent just as many. It would be considered rude to reply with anything less."

"You've got to be joking!" Harry exclaimed.

"I do not joke, Potter, I assure you."

Huh. The sadistic look on Snape's face told him otherwise.

-wizarding-

By the time his purchases were transferred into Harry's newly purchased magical trunk (complete with seventeen sections of storage and foot-recognising lock), Snape was dragging him to Eeylop's Owl Emporium.

"Why can't we just use yours?" Harry huffed. "I mean, honestly. These are owls. As if the Dursleys will allow me to keep one."

Nevertheless, a snowy white owl was bought, and to Snape's enjoyment, Harry loved her.

"You'll need to give her a name, of course," he pointed out once they'd stepped out of the shop. "An appropriate name. I suggest you buy book on Wizarding history, or culture. Maybe one on owl maintenance."

Without much further ado, the entourage travelled to Flourish and Blotts.

Harry entered the shop impressed. Shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books, some as large as paving stones bound in leather, others the size of postage stamps in covers of silk, perhaps full of peculiar symbols or with nothing in them at all. Snape smirked when he caught Harry looking at Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"You'll need a wand for any of that sort, Potter."

Harry swallowed his retort and instead bought himself a book Snape recommended. "Standard first year History of Magic knowledge. I say standard but truthfully, I place little hope in the first years retaining any of Binns' drabble about the Goblin Wars except that there were Goblin Wars sometime in the past."

Another book, Looking After Your Owl by Cassiopeia Antheil, was added to Harry's trunk. Before long, it was midday.

"Most boys would be asking for ice cream by now, Potter," Snape commented wryly.

Harry grinned half-heartedly. "Lead the way."

Florean Fortesue's was amazing. Harry, to prove his point, chose olive-flavored ice cream, the plainest flavor there was. Snape, meanwhile, bought a dream-flavored ice cream dipped in chocolate elixir.

For a moment, Harry wondered if this was what it was like for other boys shopping with their parents.

"Sir," he blurted, inwardly cringing at the curiosity in his voice. "What were they like, my parents?"

Snape stared at him for a long time before he answered.

"Both your parents were Gryffindors. The Hat almost immediately Sorted them. And that's what they were for the rest of their lives: stupid, impulsive – but very brave."

Harry, didn't ask what it meant, instead relishing in the fact that his parents were Gryffindors.

"Your mother was well-loved, talented…beautiful. She was brilliant at Potions and Charms, ridiculous on a broom, surprisingly the Head of Slytherin's favourite pupil, Prefect her fifth and sixth year, Head Girl in seventh to your father's Head Boy.

"Ah, yes, and that father of yours." Snape's tone drastically changed into a sneer. "Irritating at best, an outright bully most other times. Quidditch captain for his last three years, managed to beat Slytherin to the Quidditch – and House Cup – his entire flying careers."

Huh. Obviously not the best of friends. A jealous rival, perhaps?

"After school, they both became Aurors – dark wizard catchers. Their courage, stubbornness and survival instinct made them extremely good at their job."

Snape seemed reluctant to admit this, and even more reluctant to say his next words.

"They died for you, Potter. Your father first, then your mother. The specifics involve a prophecy, a Fidelius charm, too much Gryffindorish trust and a traitor of a best friend. Yes, and the Dark Lord.

"The Dark Lord was the one who killed them. They were dead-set at protecting you, and their sacrifice became your salvation. The Dark Lord could not kill you when he tried, and thus you became the only survivor of the Killing Curse, the fatal spell no other soul has ever managed to survive. To this day, you are known as the Boy-Who-Lived."

Snape's gaze finally turned to meet Harry's, perhaps the first time since he'd first met him, and its intensity didn't make Harry want to shrink away – rather hold it.

"Ultimately it took your parents' deaths for you to live. In the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived, all that was ever mention was how you lived but never how they died. But remember, Potter. Never forget the hundreds, thousands of people who sacrificed their life for the greater good, never forget all those who died before you and how their death brought you the gift of life. Never forget, Potter. Never."

Harry swallowed, finally understanding why the people of Diagon Alley had immediately recognized him – and hailed him.

"What…happened to this Dark Lord in the end?"

Snape rolled his cynical eyes. "What a wonderful question," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "his demise is only the most commonly asked question of the decade, right after the mystery of how you managed to survive the Killing Curse virtually unharmed."

Harry frowned. "He must be gone for good, even if he's not dead. You're safe then. He can't possibly be coming back."

Snape's eyes flashed. "Forty years ago, he committed his first act of brutality – twenty nine Muggle orphans and three nuns at a Muggle orphanage, found dead by the morning. Thirty years ago, the werewolf population in Great Britain squared itself and a mother's worst nightmare was to find her child the next morning a dark creature. Twenty years ago, the Ministry of Magic was utterly ransacked, chaos replacing the order governing the Wizarding World for centuries. Ten years ago, the death of your parents added to the existing tally of five hundred Auror casualties – in just the five previous years. He may be gone but his presence will linger, forever."

Snape took a deep breath, looking internally torn before he continued.

"One day, Potter, you'll have to face him again. Few in our world know this, but the truth is...it was prophesized that the Dark Lord will rise again and that you will be destined to save our world. When the time comes, it'll be you and him, man to man, wizard to wizard, power on power. You cannot avoid your fate, Potter, and if I must say, it is your destiny."

Harry stared. "Please tell me you're joking."

Snape's face contorted into an impatient grimace. "I thought we'd already established the fact that I don't 'joke', Potter. Let me reiterate: you are the most famous boy in Wizarding Britain. The Dark Lord's presence still lingers in Britain, and if I may say with reluctance, it is your destiny to become a hero. You belong in our world."

"Destiny?" Harry scoffed. "Don't make me laugh, Snape. I'm not obligated to do anything for any world. I never wanted fame or fortune, and I'm not your people's problem-solver. As far as I know, all I'm here for is an education."

Harry turned on his seat to face Snape head on. He was just getting started. "This wizarding world of yours has ignored me since I was a child, then out of the blue I get a letter expecting me to enter into its welcoming arms like a lost child. What I want to know is why? Why shouldn't I ignore the world that's ignored me for so long? You say I belong in it? Then what the hell am I doing with the Dursleys? I was forgotten and unwanted, left on the doorstep of a family that wasn't even a part of this world.

"And now you're telling me I'm supposed to do something as stupid as saving your world? Excuse me, but two points: First, I'm just a kid and Hogwarts is just an education. Second, what makes me, in any way, obligated to help you people?

"In the memory of my parents? Your world killed them. Because I'm a wizard? Then I'll stop becoming one – I'll never use magic again, I'll swear it. Because of my scar, because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived and I supposedly defeated the Dark Lord, Mr He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Screw hyphens, I'm done with this crap. And you can just shove it all back in your mouth, because I never wanted any of it."

It was here that Severus Snape finally realised something crucial, the pivotal point in which his perception of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, changed.

Even at eleven, fame wasn't enough of a temptation for Harry Potter to want magic.

-wizardry-

Around this time, Snape had just about given up. Harry Potter wasn't arrogant, or stupid, at times even the least bit Gryffindorish. No, there wasn't anything remotely easy about him. In fact, what frightened Snape the most was that this Potter made sense.

So when Harry Potter finished his ice cream and stood up to leave, Severus Snape let him.

Perhaps all would have gone well, had destiny not decided otherwise.

Harry Potter was leaving the Wizarding world for good, in the name of bitterness and vengeance, no matter how much he secretly craved for his salvation.

Fate, unfortunately, intervened.