Hi everyone!

I'm still ahead by a few chapters, so I thought I'd post this now. I almost thought I wouldn't be able to, as the site wasn't cooperating. Glad it finally worked!

This is the longest chapter yet by far – it might be the longest one I've ever written! A lot of things in this chapter will be quite familiar to you, as I've used several lines from the book. If you recognize something, it's not mine. Anyway, thank you all for your wonderful reviews – they're even better than coffee (and considering what a caffeine addict I am, that's saying something!).

Just to answer a few questions: Walburga Black won't die in this one (or at least not for a good while yet). As we know, in canon, it seems like the Blacks have really short lifespan compared to most wizards. I don't know why that is, but in Mrs Black's case, I like to think she died in part due to loneliness. Since she has family and an Heir who she cares for, I don't think she'll be gotten rid of that easily. So she's safe! There are more notes at the end (because I don't want to spoil anything). Enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think!

Chapter Four

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!"

"Protego! Reducto!"

"Protego!"

As Harry began to cast the Severing Charm, Kreacher popped into the duelling chamber and immediately fell down on all fours with a squeak. "Master Harry, Mistress is requesting for Master."

When Harry nodded in acknowledgement, Kreacher shakily popped back out. The poor house-elf hadn't been the same since he'd accidentally appeared on the path of a curse and had found himself violently thrown against the wall of the duelling chamber. Kreacher could have defended himself, but as it had been his Master who had sent the curse, Kreacher had done nothing to counter it. Although there was nothing physically wrong with Kreacher, the poor house-elf was so jumpy and nervous, his grand-mère was thinking of having Kreacher put down and putting his head on a plaque, like the other elderly house-elves who had loyally served the Black family. Although the house-elves thought it to be the greatest honour that could be bestowed upon them, Harry thought it was a disgusting tradition. It didn't matter that Harry wouldn't see it; he hated the very idea of putting Kreacher's head on a plaque.

"Well, that'll be the end of the lesson then. Your duelling techniques are coming along quite nicely; I'm sure your grandmother will be pleased to hear it. But make sure you keep practicing – being at Hogwarts is no excuse for slacking off work."

"I haven't been accepted yet," Harry reminded Quentin.

"Pish posh. It's only a matter of time. Harry Ophiuchus Potter-Black, the Boy Who Lived, not go to Hogwarts? What preposterousness!"

Harry smiled fondly at his duelling instructor. He was going to miss Quentin – and all of his other tutors, even the elderly – and half-deaf – Bathilda Bagshot.

Bidding Quentin a farewell, Harry headed towards his grand-mère's study.

"Neville!" Harry said with delight, spotting the round boy. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at your great-uncle Algie's!"

The soon to be eleven year old Neville Longbottom broke into a huge smile. "I got my Hogwarts letter this morning! My family is so pleased; they've decided to throw me a party. I came by to see if you want to come."

"Of course I'll be there!" Harry clapped Neville on the back, offering his congratulations. Harry and his grand-mère had been the only two people who had had no doubts Neville would be accepted into Hogwarts. Not having shown any sign of magic until the age of eight – and Harry inwardly shuddered at the lengths Neville's family had gone to force some magic out of Neville – Neville had been worried he wouldn't have enough magic for Hogwarts. Thankfully, having been friends with Harry – and eventually Draco – these past few years had helped boost Neville's self-confidence immensely. Although still rather shy and timid among strangers, Neville could be quite bold when among those he knew. Harry fondly remembered the day when Neville finally stood up to Draco; the blond had been acting like a prat all morning, and Neville had had enough. Draco had been so shocked at the reprimand he'd gotten from the shy, push-over Neville that he had literally been stunned into silence. Draco had then laughed and shaken Neville's hand for finally showing his "Gryffindor sensibilities". The two of them had gotten along quite well since.

The beginning of Harry's friendship with Draco was harder to define, as there hadn't been a definite "moment" where they'd put aside their animosity and began anew. Harry had originally been forced by his grand-mère to continue to invite Draco over to Black Manor. Harry had highly resented it, and his dislike of the other boy had seemed to be reciprocated. Harry now knew better; Draco had just been upset that his friendship wasn't accepted while Neville the Squib's had been, and had lashed out. Narcissa had fortunately taken over the lessons Draco had been receiving from Lucius, and her firm and practical guidance – as opposed to Lucius's inane spouting of Malfoy superiority – had eventually helped Draco lose the harsh edges of his selfishness and arrogance. Draco was still egotistical and haughty, but not so much that he thought he knew all, or refused to acknowledge any wrong-doing when his actions backfired, blaming everyone else instead. Draco even learned to swallow his pride and apologise on rare occasion. Their mutual interests such as Quidditch (Neville had become a non-participant as he'd become terrified of heights ever since he'd been dropped from a window) had helped ease the way, until one day Harry had realized with a start that they had become rather good friends.

Harry was interrupted from his thoughts by his grand-mère, who held out a thick and heavy yellowish parchment envelope. It was addressed in emerald green to Mr H. Potter-Black, The Ivory Wing, Black Manor. There was a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"My Hogwarts letter!"

Harry eagerly tore the letter open. He'd been rather afraid he wouldn't receive it – not because he was worried he lacked enough magic, but because of the hostilities between his grand-mère and Dumbledore. Harry had worried over the possibility of Dumbledore forbidding Harry entrance into Hogwarts until the Headmaster had gained some concessions from his grand-mère. But the worry was all for nothing, as Harry had received his Hogwarts letter!

"Dear Mr Potter-Black," Harry read aloud, "We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" Harry shot an excited smile at his grand-mère and Neville before finishing. "Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July."

His grand-mère had already set out parchment and quill for him. Harry carefully wrote out his note of acceptance to the Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. He then glanced over at his grand-mère's eagle owl, before deciding to send the letter in style – he called for Credo, his phoenix.

"Take this to the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts, Credo."

The red and gold bird trilled in agreement before disappearing in a burst of flame. As Harry looked on in satisfaction, Neville rolled his eyes at Harry's antics and Walburga hid her smile behind her hand.

"When can we go to Diagon Alley?" Harry eagerly asked his grand-mère. Ever since he'd found out about Diagon Alley from Draco, Harry had wanted to go. Draco had a flare for storytelling, and his vivid descriptions of the famous marketplace had only served to increase Harry's desire to visit the Alley himself. However, his grand-mère had thought it too dangerous; even with the additional security the Aurors had willingly agreed to provide, Walburga had held firm. But that didn't mean Harry couldn't ask, beg, and plead to be allowed to go. At first, Walburga had refused outright, but over time, her answer had changed to "When you receive your Hogwarts letter".

Walburga sighed in exasperation, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "We'll go on your birthday. We will, of course, be followed around by a Daily Prophet reporter and photographer – they'll want to record your first trip to Diagon Alley." When Harry groaned, Walburga pointed out, "It would be wise to get everything over and done with now so your subsequent trips to Diagon Alley will not be as hindered."

That was one of the good things about never being allowed to go anywhere – for the most part, Harry didn't encounter reporters who wanted to catalogue his every movement. Harry had seen the magazine that had come out the day after his seventh birthday, and between the dozens of photos of himself with various people, they had also detailed what he'd eaten, what he'd worn, what he'd said, etc. Even the most mundane things had made its way into the magazine. It was like a stalker's guide to Harry Potter-Black's seventh birthday party. Harry could just picture what his first trip to Diagon Alley was going to be like.

Thankfully, before Harry could do something stupid – like telling his grand-mère that he'd changed his mind about going – the fireplace chimed and Draco's head appeared amidst the flames.

"You've got the letter too!" Draco said happily, spotting the familiar letter in Harry's hand. "Mum's going to take me shopping for school supplies near the end of August so I can meet future Hogwarts students. Pansy, Vince, Greg, and Blaise are going to come along as well. Maybe you can come too. And Neville as well, of course."

When Neville nodded, saying his family was going around then as well and that his gran would likely allow them to meet up, Draco looked at his great aunt with a pleading expression. It was something that had never failed to get Draco what he wanted from his parents, even though it had never worked on tante Walburga. Of course, even Harry's only rarely worked, and he had the big green eyes with long eyelashes thing going for him. Still, Draco really wanted Harry to be there with him, to share the unique experience of shopping for Hogwarts for the very first time.

"I can't," Harry said regretfully, "grand-mère's taking me on my birthday." Although he wasn't a big fan of Blaise, the others were okay, and shopping for Hogwarts with Draco and Neville would have been something else.

Even Walburga's formidable will crumpled when it encountered three sets of hang-dog expressions. "All right! Harry, we'll go to Diagon Alley on your birthday, but we won't shop for your school supplies – except for your wand. The rest you may get with Draco and Neville."

Cheers met her response. Harry hugged her fiercely, before enthusiastically thanking her.

"I want Robards, Trimble, and Goshawk to go with you, along with several of the Aurors."

Harry eagerly agreed, and Walburga departed with a warning to keep it short as it was nearly time for dinner.

"So which Houses do you think we'll be in?" Neville asked as soon as the doors closed.

"Slytherin, of course," Draco replied haughtily. "No Malfoy has been anywhere else."

"I'm sure Blaise and Pansy will join you," Harry said, before turning to Neville. "And you'll be in Gryffindor."

"I don't know," Neville said with a worried expression. "I don't think I'm brave enough."

"Oh please, Longbottom. You have as much chance of not being in Gryffindor as Harry does in being Hufflepuff."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff," Harry protested. "I'm certain Ernie and Hannah will be in that House, and there's nothing wrong with them." When Draco only rolled his eyes, Harry said with exaggerated mulishness, "And I so could be in Hufflepuff."

"Oh please! You are a Slytherin, Black, and you know it."

Neville agreed, and Harry blew a raspberry at them before acquiescing. "Still, I plan to be in Ravenclaw," added Harry.

"What? Whyever for?" Draco said in shock. He couldn't imagine anyone voluntarily choosing another House over Slytherin.

"Duh, Draco! The Boy Who Lived in Slytherin? The world as we know it will end!" Harry said theatrically. "Anyway, since I can't be in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw is the next best thing – and I'm smart enough for that House."

"Says the boy who blew up a cauldron while boiling water," Draco said pointedly.

"Hey!" Harry complained as Neville burst into giggles. "That was one time, and it wasn't my fault the cauldron reacted badly to a spell gone awry."

"Sure it wasn't," Draco said with laughter in his voice.

"You both suck, by the way. I'm going to go find someone who appreciates me much more than you do."

"Who? Dobby, my house-elf?"

"Out!" Harry said peevishly, although a smile betrayed his anger.

"Hold your hippogriffs, we're going. See you at the party, Harry!"

The week until Harry's birthday seemed to drag on endlessly. The only break came in the form of Neville's party, which his grand-mère had somehow managed to convince Augusta Longbottom to hold at Black Manor, allowing Harry to attend with minimum amount of fuss.

Soon, the morning of Harry's eleventh birthday arrived. Once again, Harry woke up at an ungodly hour and rushed downstairs, greeted his grand-mère with enthusiasm and unceremoniously shovelled food into his mouth. As soon as Harry finished, he began to literally bounce in his seat in excitement.

Walburga sighed in fond exasperation. "We will be leaving for Diagon Alley in an hour-" Walburga continued speaking, ignoring Harry's cheer, "but we have some matters to attend to first."

Noticing his grand-mère's solemn expression, Harry quieted down, and Walburga looked affectionately at her Heir before handing over an ornate black marble box covered with runes. Harry gently ran his fingers over the carefully carved runes before opening the box. Three rings lay inside; one had the Black family crest with what appeared to be two trapiche emeralds set beside it on a platinum band – the Black Heir ring, Harry realised dazedly. Another had the Potter family crest beside brilliant red diamonds set in gold. The last was a stone of peculiar colour that Harry swore changed from emerald green to purplish red. It was set in a peculiar white band.

"The family signet rings? But I'm only eleven!"

"You are the last of the Potter and Evans lines; it is only proper that you should wear them. The Black Heir ring would have been yours once you turned seventeen, but there is no harm in you wearing it now. You are from an illustrious heritage, a fact Dumbledore should be reminded of at every opportunity. And while you are at Hogwarts, you will be more vulnerable, and I want to ensure that everyone is more than aware of exactly who they will be crossing should they attempt to harm you.

"Now then, put them on. Let's see how they look."

Harry reverently lifted each ring. The Black Heir ring he wore on his left ring finger, while the Potter ring he wore on his left pinkie. The Evans ring was placed on his right ring finger. Each resized themselves to fit snugly. When Harry looked up, his grand-mère had tears in her eyes. She surreptitiously wiped them before standing up.

"Now then, you need to get ready for your first ever trip to Diagon Alley. Kreacher!"

Walburga had refused to enter through the Leaky Cauldron, a shabby-looking pub that she claimed offended her delicate sensibilities. So instead, she had acquired a Portkey that would take them directly to the alley behind the pub. Harry tightly grasped a silver broomstick pendant that had his name engraved on the handle as his grand-mère spoke one of the activation passwords. The Ministry of Magic had personally designed the Portkey for Harry in honour of his eleventh birthday, and Harry had been informed by his grand-mère that it would also take him to St. Mungo's, the Black Manor, and the Ministry of Magic, depending on the activation password spoken.

They appeared in an alley, facing a brick wall. Surrounded by the additional Aurors the Ministry had provided for the occasion, Robards and Walburga went over the plans for the day once more.

"Gringotts first, without delay. Then it will be to Ollivander's where we'll be meeting the Daily Prophet reporter and photographer, before heading back to the Manor."

Walburga threaded the broomstick pendant onto a silver chain and placed it carefully around Harry's neck. As she straightened up, Harry looked at her and his eyes pleaded with hers. Walburga tried to resist but it was no use; she heaved a sigh and turned to face Robards once more. "We'd best be going to that Quidditch store before Ollivander's."

Harry smiled triumphantly when Robards nodded. Harry watched avidly as Robards tapped a nondescript brick in the wall. And though Draco had described in minute detail how the brick wall turned into a gateway into Diagon Alley, Harry's eyes still grew wide with surprise when the brick wriggled and a hole grew from the middle, widening until an archway formed, through which Harry could see a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

Harry could barely contain his excitement; thankfully, his grand-mère had his shoulder in a firm grasp, reminding him of the lessons in decorum when in public, lessons Harry had learned at her hand for as long as he could remember.

"Welcome, Harold, to Diagon Alley," she said, before gesturing Robards to go ahead.

Harry had, of course, been thoroughly told of everything Diagon Alley contained from Draco and Neville, as well as how much it lacked from his grand-mère. Harry knew she disdained many of the shops for being too plebeian, but to Harry – who had never seen anything like it – it was as though everything was lined with gold and precious jewels. Harry's eyes roved everywhere as they strove to take in every little thing. He barely noticed the archway close behind them in his enthusiasm.

More quickly than Harry liked, they passed by the shops without pausing. His obedience was sorely tested when they passed by Quality Quidditch Supplies, which featured in its window a new broomstick model, Nimbus 2000. It was the fastest racing broom yet, and Harry was very tempted to ask his grand-mère for it as his birthday gift, despite the fact that he was likely to receive it from his great-grandfather Pollock.

Finally, they arrived in front of a white marble building, which towered over all the other stores in Diagon Alley. Beside the burnished bronze doors stood a goblin, who was wearing a red and gold uniform. He bowed especially low to Harry and his grand-mère as they passed through the bronze doors, his pointed beard sweeping the marble floor. A pair of goblins hurriedly opened the silver doors before bowing so low that Harry thought they might topple over. Harry could see some kind of writing engraved on the silver doors, but he didn't get a chance to do more than glance at them before he was ushered inside a vast marble hall.

His grand-mère ignored all the goblins sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, and examining precious stones through eyeglasses. Instead, she remained standing in the middle of the hall, and a few seconds later, a goblin wearing a black and gold suit quickly appeared in front of her. "Mrs Black, how wonderful it is to see you again. Shall we head to my office?"

Robards's jaw by now looked as though it was permanently unhinged, and the other Aurors weren't faring much better. Harry stared at the Aurors curiously before following his grand-mère and the goblin towards the main door leading off the hall. A plaque on the door said the office belonged to Gobilnar Gringotts, Branch Manager.

The office was rather simple. Various portraits of goblins lined the walls, and a wooden desk stood as the centrepiece, with two overstuffed chairs angled opposite it. A fireplace was at the far end, where a clear vase containing Floo powder sat on the mantle.

Walburga seated herself in one of the chairs and Harry sat beside his grand-mère. Robards and two others stood in the room behind them, while the rest of the Aurors remained outside. Gobilnar scrutinized the three wizards before looking at Mrs Black in askance, and proceeded at her nod.

"Your latest set of investments have faired even better than expected. The results are being copied for your perusal as we speak."

"Good. Then I have only one more thing to attend to here at Gringotts. This is my grandson, Dominus Black. I need to introduce him to his family vaults."

Gobilnar's eyes widened briefly before he reached for a buzzer on the wall by his desk. "Send Griphook in immediately."

Barely a second had passed before a knock was heard and another goblin, whom Harry assumed was Griphook, appeared. "Take Mrs Black and her grandson to his family vaults. I will have everything ready for you when you return, Mrs Black."

Inclining her head slightly in reply, Walburga followed Griphook to another set of doors. Before entering, she ordered their security to remain behind. Ignoring their protests, Harry followed his grand-mère through the doors and down a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. Little railway tracks were on the floor, and a small cart was already waiting for them.

The rattling cart hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open, wanting to see if there really were dragons here as Draco had claimed.

They soon plunged even deeper, and – though it seemed impossible – gathered more speed. The air became even colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine and Harry was tempted to lean over the side to try and see what was down at the dark bottom, but managed to resist. Finally, after what felt like hours, the cart stopped.

Harry jumped out of the cart along with Griphook, but his grand-mère sat for another moment to gather her composure. Harry sympathised with her – she was never that keen on flying, and the ride on the cart seemed a lot like when he flew on his broomstick.

The vault didn't have a number that Harry could see, though there was the familiar Black family crest in the centre. The family motto,Toujours Pur, stood out clearly. His grand-mère approached the door and pricked her left index finger with her wand. She let seven drops of blood fall to the ground, and twisting the Black signet ring around, she placed her hand on the centre of the crest. There was a bright light before the door clinked open, and his grand-mère gestured for Harry to enter before following. Griphook remained by the cart.

The vault was huge. Twice the size of the entrance hall of the Manor, books, priceless jewels, and magical artefacts covered the shelves on the sides. There were eight doors located on the far wall; the rest of the vault was filled with gold coins, with occasional mounds of silver. Between the door and the very centre of the room was a narrow pathway that ended in a circle lined with runes; a black marble column stood in the middle of the circle with a crystal bowl on top.

"Come along, Harry. You need to complete the ritual before you'll be allowed into this vault."

Harry stood inside the runic circle opposite his grand-mère. Walburga grasped his left hand, pricked his index finger with her wand, and let several drops of blood fall into the crystal bowl. With her Black signet ring facing the mouth of the bowl, she then intoned, "I am the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I acknowledge my Heir, the Heir to the House of Black, Harold Opiuchius Potter-Black. Toujours Pur."

The blood in the bowl vanished, and Harry felt a tremendous blast of magic slam into him. It seemed to look for something, and Harry only managed to stay standing through sheer force of will. After what felt like hours but was likely only a few seconds, the magic found whatever it was looking for and left. Harry's Heir ring glowed brightly for a moment before the light too faded away.

"What was that?" asked Harry the moment he recovered his breath.

"It was a spell set-up long ago by our ancestors, Harry. It only recognizes those who are Black by birth; if you had not been, the magic would have killed you, or worse, rendered you into a Squib. The magic has now recognized you as the Heir to the family; therefore, when you come of age, you will be allowed access to the family vault. Until then, a vault has been created for your use."

Harry looked to where his grand-mère was pointing, and realized where there had only been eight doors there were now nine. The newest door had Dominus Black imprinted on it.

"What are they?" Harry gestured at the other eight doors.

"They are the personal vaults. Every time a Black is born, a vault is created for their use, with gold taken from the family vault. The individual vaults only disappear when he or she dies, and then all the remaining gold returns to the family vault. Normally, the lump sum that has been placed within the individual vault is not refilled; however, you are the Black Heir, and thus entitled to the contents of the entire family vault. The Galleons in your personal vault will not lessen, despite their use. That does not mean you are allowed to go out and buy every racing broom on the market; until you turn seventeen, I will be monitoring your withdrawals."

"Yes, grand-mère," Harry said meekly.

"Come along, then. Let us visit your other vaults before getting your key."

The other vaults yielded more Galleons and jewels. Harry also saw a portrait or two, but figured most of the portraits were at the family ancestral home. Harry wondered if there was one of his mother and James available. He vowed to look.

Along with the key to his personal vault (the Potter and Evans family vaults would remain inaccessible to Harry until he turned seventeen) Harry had been given a portfolio, summarising all he now owned, and would, once he came of age, control. So far, his grand-mère had been handling his investments for him. She'd been teaching him, but it was hard work, and Harry knew he still had much more to learn before he could care for them himself.

They were soon out of Gringotts. The wizards and witches who were shopping in the Alley kept staring at the Aurors, trying to glimpse who they were protecting. Fortunately, the Aurors were an effective shield, and Harry and his grand-mère were not seen as they made their way to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

The store owner was thankfully in too much of an awe to bother Harry, allowing Harry to admire the new Nimbus and other items of interest at leisure. However, considering Harry received autographs, uniforms, brooms, and other miscellaneous kits as presents, the store wasn't that interesting. Still, Harry could see why Draco loved it so much.

Unfortunately, Cuffe and his photographer showed up right then and began to take photos, snapping the store owner out of his daze. The man began to talk a mile a minute, surreptitiously posing for photos with Harry before loading Harry with free gifts. Meanwhile, Cuffe was firing off questions to Harry and comments to his quill – such as what Harry had examined or ignored – which the quill faithfully wrote down, making Harry grit his teeth in annoyance. He was mercifully rescued by his grand-mère, and the Aurors hurriedly escorted them out of the store and away from the store owner's exuberance.

When Harry saw Ollivander's, he understood why there was such disdain on his grand-mère's face. The sign declared Ollivander's to have been making fine wands since 382 BC, and it seemed as though nothing had been changed – or cleaned – since then. The shop was narrow and shabby, and in the display window, there was a faded purple cushion on which a single wand sat that Kreacher would have thrown out in a heartbeat. And it didn't get better when they entered.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop. It truly was a tiny place, and his grand-mère sneered as she examined the only furniture in the room: a single spindly chair that looked as though it would break if a flobberworm sat on it. Harry glanced at the walls lined floor to ceiling with thousands of narrow boxes. Harry wondered if he might be claustrophobic.

Cuffe continued to babble on, and Harry answered him as politely as he could. When an old man whom Harry assumed was Ollivander finally appeared, he was a welcome sight.

"Good afternoon," the man said, his wide, pale silvery eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello, Mr Ollivander."

"Ah yes," Ollivander said. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter-Black." It wasn't a question. Harry's eyebrow rose – if Ollivander was hoping to creep out Harry, he'd have to try a lot harder. He was a Black, for Merlin's sake – creepy was the norm in his family. Harry's motions drew the man's unblinking stare to Harry's eyes.

"You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

"Yes, I know," Harry replied, reaching into the folds of his robe to withdraw his mother's wand. It was still in pristine condition; Ollivander looked at it rather fondly.

He moved closer to Harry. "Your other father, James Potter, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose-to-nose. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Robards becoming rather antsy.

"And that's where…"

Ollivander's finger did not reach its intended destination; instead, his wrist was firmly caught and held in an iron grip, his finger inches from Harry's lightning scar.

"I don't like it when people try to touch my scar," Harry said lightly, though his tone carried an unmistakeable warning.

The store was silent for what seemed like eternity, when suddenly Ollivander stepped back, his wrist released. The ambience of the store returned to normal – the weird feeling Harry had been experiencing from the moment he'd entered the shop disappeared – and Ollivander got into full business mode. He began to flit around the shelves taking down boxes. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter-Black. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand," Ollivander said with a pointed look towards where Harry kept his father's wand.

"Right then, Mr Potter-Black. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible."

Harry took the wand but put it back down almost immediately. "No."

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy."

Harry didn't even need to touch the wand this time. "No."

"Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy."

Harry tried. And tried. But none of the wands felt right. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhe- I wonder, now – yes, why not." With that, Ollivander carefully brought out a narrow box. "It's rather an unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand and gently waved it through the dusty air and a stream of silver and gold sparks shot from the end like fireworks, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. There was a flash as the photographer took a photo. Cuffe clapped and Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"

Ollivander put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious, curious…"

Harry wasn't about to be drawn into whatever bizarre trap Ollivander had set for him this time, but Cuffe wasn't as restrained. "Pardon me, Mr Ollivander, but what's curious?"

Instead of looking at Cuffe who had asked the question, Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter-Black. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry stared back indifferently, but Cuffe and his photographer, along with the Aurors, drew in harsh breaths.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter-Black… After all-"

"Seven Galleons, isn't it, Ollivander?" Walburga interrupted, putting the Galleons beside the stack of wands on the chair. "As always, a pleasure, Ollivander," she said, her tone anything but sincere as she ushered Harry out of the store.

The days until Harry's second trip to Diagon Alley passed by relatively quickly, thanks to the busy schedule his grand-mère had planned for them. There were the requisite visits from the other Blacks to congratulate Harry on his acceptance into Hogwarts. As Harry had thought, he received the new Nimbus model from great-grandfather Pollux; he and Harry discussed at length the best way to smuggle in the broomstick to Hogwarts. Harry also received a surprisingly tame gift from Cassiopeia – an Aethonon, which he quickly named Aequus (calm, just). Harry spent an enjoyable few days learning how to ride, and then spent hours racing her all over the grounds – and the air – of the Manor. Wizarding clothiers came by to provide him with necessary robes and other apparel, as his grand-mère did not think Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was good enough for the Black Heir. Harry spent an inordinate amount of time with his grand-mère, going over the politics and what was expected of him while at Hogwarts. They spoke of children whom Harry should or should not befriend; of the Headmaster and the careful manoeuvrings Harry must make to ensure Dumbledore thought Harry possible to still win over to his side; about how Harry must do everything in his power to get into Ravenclaw, to ensure he could befriend people from all Houses. Harry thoroughly read over Hogwarts, A History, and learned how to work a prototype of the Marauder's Map that had been among his father's things. Harry memorised the prototype of the Map – including all the secret passageways – and learned how to find out the password from even the most heavily Charmed of guardians. Harry thought the actual Map might still be at Hogwarts, since he hadn't found it in any of his parents' belongings. Harry reminded himself to find it at first opportunity – it was too valuable a tool to lose.

But there were days when Harry simply spent time with his grand-mère, hearing familiar stories about his father's childhood; all the mischief his father had gotten into when young – and not so young – and Harry could see how heartbroken his grand-mère had been when his father had decided to break ties with her. They perused the photo album Walburga had gifted her Heir with on his eleventh birthday: it held the photos of his father, his mother, and James, both in childhood and with their friends while at Hogwarts. It was the most valuable possession of Harry's, and one he looked at every night before bed. His second most valuable possession was an Invisibility Cloak; it had belonged to James Potter, though Harry wasn't sure how his grand-mère had gotten a hold of it. Harry had taken to wearing it at every opportunity, startling the house-elves as well as his grand-mère. And no matter how many times his grand-mère threatened to take the Cloak away from him, she never did, knowing how much it meant to him, and Harry loved her that much more for it.

Of course, that didn't mean he stopped trying to scare her or the house-elves out of their wits.

When Harry finally arrived at Gringotts near the end of August with his entourage of Aurors, he spotted Neville and Draco, along with Blaise, Pansy, Daphne, Vince, Greg, Mandy, Anthony, and Ernie. Not a single adult stood nearby.

"Hey guys," Harry said, his head poking out between Robards and Quentin.

"Harry!" They all chorused with smiles on their faces. After the greetings were exchanged, they made their way inside.

"How come you were sitting out there all alone? Where are the adults?"

"They're having lunch still; we begged to come ahead since we knew you would be here soon," said Neville.

"Plus, with as much protection as you have, they didn't think their presence was necessary," added Draco.

Harry nodded, and was soon greeted by Griphook. The group split into two – those who needed to withdraw money went with Harry and most of the Aurors; the rest remained behind in the lobby of Gringotts.

The Galleons withdrawn, they made their way into Diagon Alley. The crowds had thickened, but the Aurors made an effective blockade, allowing them to pass through the bodies unhindered. Their first stop was Madam Malkin's to get their school uniforms.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed in all mauve. They were fitted for robes in the back, much more efficiently than Harry had been by the designer wizarding clothiers. Of course, these fabrics were cheap, the style of the robe left much to be desired, and he was positively drowning in them. Harry didn't voice his complaint aloud, though he and Draco shared a grimace.

Harry had all the necessary potions supplies and books, and he didn't need an owl as he had Credo. Still, Harry decided to follow everyone else while they shopped, as shopping for Hogwarts for the very first time was an experience meant to be savoured. Besides, being with his friends was always fun. They made their way to Flourish & Blott's, which was quite overcrowded; most of the Aurors had to remain outside the store due to lack of space. Robards scowled, but allowed Harry to enter with only him. They rushed in getting all the necessary books, and were on their way towards the door when Draco was suddenly slammed from behind. Harry thought at first that it was some kind of a furry magical creature that had decided to attack his cousin, but soon realized it was a girl with lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth instead. She looked even uglier than Pansy, and Pansy looked like a pug.

"Oh, I am so sorry! I just lost my footing – I was trying to reach that book, you see-"

The girl's voice was rather bossy, which was quite odd since she was trying to apologise to Draco. She was also clearly getting flustered at Draco's contemptuous glare. Harry knew what would happen even before Draco opened his mouth.

"Watch yourself, you filthy Mudblood."

Shocked gasps reached Harry's ears. Although their group was all pure-bloods, not everyone shared Draco's contempt for half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Although Muggle clothes weren't uncommon in the wizarding world – Harry too wore them sometimes – the fact that the girl looked confused rather than offended proved Draco's words to be true.

Still, Harry had no intention of allowing Draco to alienate their friends and allies. "Draco," Harry warned.

"Harry-" the blond began to complain, but soon shut his mouth at the look in Harry's eyes. Draco continued to glare at the girl with disdain, but didn't call her any names.

The girl, meanwhile, had lost her bewildered appearance, and her gaze sharpened as she focused her attention on Harry. "Harry… You're not Harold Potter-Black, are you?" Before Harry could even respond, she literally threw herself forward, and as Harry was bracing himself, her hand reached up and brushed his hair aside so that the lightning bolt scar was clearly visible. "You are! I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books already for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and GreatWizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. But of course you already know that. You're the Boy Who Lived, after all!"

The effect of those last words was instantaneous. The crowds as one turned towards the girl and then to Harry, and they began to push and shove their way towards him. Robards, shooting the girl who was the cause of this chaos a venomous glare, began to try and usher Harry out. However, there were too many people and the exit wasn't close enough; Robards finally bellowed, "Use your Portkey, Harry!"

Before Harry disappeared, he stared at the filthy Muggle-born girl who seemed positively delighted rather than bewildered or ashamed at her indecorous behaviour. She was smiling happily, looking extremely pleased with herself. Harry swore he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she got her just desserts.

A few things: I don't intend for Dumbledore to be evil, so there's no Dumbledore bashing here. While there is clear dislike of Hermione, that doesn't mean they won't ever be friends. As for Ron… you'll see!