A/N This is my fourth story, although all the others have been oneshots. Please tell me what you thought of it. Like it, Hate it, Tell me its a sick twisted story and I should be flogged for writing it, anything at all! Reviews are fuel for the writers tank, making him/her want to keep going, and able to run down the walls that are writers block! Also, as long as nothing drastically changes this story, my mind, and my writing style, there will be no romance in this story. No het, and most DEFINITELY no slash. I've got nothing against Homosexuality, I just don't want to write about it or any other pairing at this time. I'm going to try to get one at least 4000 word chapter out a week. As 4000 words a chapter is the minimum I like to read, I'ma try to stick to that. But Enough Blathering! On with the story!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, You'd probably still be waiting for Goblet of Fire. Also, you wouldn't be reading this, as I'd be too busy writing Goblet of Fire to be writing fanfiction. JK Rowling owns Harry Potter along with Publications including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Harry got off of the Hogwarts Express, said his goodbyes to Ron and Hermione, and walked slowly over to Uncle Vernon. His uncle had come alone, leaving Aunt Petunia and Dudley at home. Harry heaved his trunk into the boot, and clambered into the car. The long drive home was very quiet, Uncle Vernon not doing any of the complaining that was his usual habit while driving. They finally arrived at Number 4, and Uncle Vernon informed him that a client would be coming over in 3 weeks to discuss buying a huge shipment of Drills. "You are to stay quiet, and pretend that you don't exist!" Uncle Vernon always felt the need to roar in his face, spattering him with spittle.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry muttered softly. Its not like I'd want anyone to know that I'm related to this tub-o-lard anyway. For the next three weeks the Dursleys drilled him on staying silent. They would have Dudley pretend to be the guest, and Harry would sit in his room, doing nothing at all. Finally the day arrived. He was given an actually decent meal, as they didn't want anything to distract him from his silence, not even hunger.

"Quickly now, boy, get upstairs!" Aunt Petunia snapped at him. He hated her voice. It was like a torture device, shrill and loud, always painful to his ears.

He walked slowly up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him, and flopped down on the bed. About five minutes later, bored with listening to the Dursleys talking with their guests, Harry began picking up some of the broken toys that littered his room and shoved them in the closet. As he put the last of the toys away, there was a loud crack, and a creature with large bat like ears, tennis ball sized eyes, and a funny nose appeared in his room.

Harry fell off his bed, got up quickly and asked, "Who are you!"

"I is Dobby, the house-elf, sir! I am being very happy to meet you, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby spoke in an, excited, squeaky voice. Harry offered him a seat, but that set the little elf into a tantrum of happiness. Harry quickly calmed the elf, and luckily the Dursleys hadn't noticed.

"What are you doing here, Dobby?" Harry asked urgently. He wanted this elf to tell him what he wanted and just leave, before the Dursleys came up here and saw the tiny creature.

"I is bringing a message for Harry Potter, Sir! You must not go back to Hogwarts!" Dobby was squeaking much too loudly, but luckily the downstairs was roaring with laughter at the joke his Uncle had just told.

"Why not Dobby? If you can give me one good reason, I won't return, on my honor as a wizard." Harry had just been trying to shut Dobby up, but he had just done something very stupid. Now that Dobby had an opportunity to get him to stay away from Hogwarts, he would do anything to capitalize on that opportunity, even if it meant he had to oven his crotch.

"My bad masters is putting bad Dark Magics in the school to open the Chamber of Secrets to kill yous and other good wizards, Harry Potter sir!" What with the way the magics that tied his loyalty to the Malfoy family was he might actually have to oven his kibbles and bits. The magic was demanding that he do something terrible to himself. You see, in ages past, house elves were all free beings. Because they loved to work, they could bind themselves to an individual who they liked, and would serve them until that individual died. No tying themselves to a family, no way! In return for their service, they were treated well, fed, and given a place to live. If the wizard an elf was bonded to failed to live up to these terms, the elf could terminate the bond.

Many centuries ago, the wizards managed to pervert these bonds, tying them to a family and treating them as slaves. Dobby was the only elf of his generation to know of this tragedy. All of the other elves were convinced that this was the way that it had always been, and were perfectly content to serve as slaves to wizard-kind for as long as they lived, (which wasn't long due to their treatment). Before elves were enslaved, they would consistently outlive their masters, often serving as many as 3 masters in their lifetimes.

While Dobby reflected on the much changed treatment of elves, Harry Potter stood, mouth agape, wondering what had possessed him to make such a silly vow. He wouldn't be able to return to Hogwarts now! What would he do? He had sworn to the diminutive creature that if he could provide a good reason, he wouldn't return, and an evil dark artifact trying to kill him was one hell of a reason. What would he do now! He couldn't return to Hogwarts, but he needed a magical education!

"Harry Potter, sir! Is you now being ready to swear that you wont attend Hogwarts?" Dobby was extremely hopeful that the great wizard in front of him would keep his word, where so many other wizards had failed to do so. Harry cursed to himself trying to find a way out of keeping his word to the elf, but could find none.

Still cursing his stupidity, Harry gave his answer. "If I could get out of it I would, but I can't. So, yeah, I guess that I won't go back to Hogwarts. Its not like anyone wants me there, anyway." Harry was still angry with his two so-called best friends. He hadn't received a single letter from either of them all summer. Dobby saw this, but resolved not to let Harry know he had tons of letters from Harry's friends. It would make not returning to Hogwarts easier for the great wizard, Dobby had decided.

Harry needed an education though. "Dobby, do you know where I can get wizard schooling other than Hogwarts?" Dobby hung his head.

"Only Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, Harry Potter, sir. But to attend Beauxbatons you need to be able to speak French, and Durmstrang teaches bad Dark Arts." Harry was thoughtful; maybe he should learn the Dark Arts to defeat Voldemort. However, seeing how vigorously Dobby seemed to disapprove of the Dark Arts, he would probably try to stop Harry from going there, too.

"I is being sorry, Harry Potter, sir, but Dobby must be getting home and punishing himself for revealing Master's secrets." Indeed there were warning tingles from the magic. If he didn't do something soon, the magic would kill him. House elves vows of loyalty were taken very seriously by magic, and it had taken all of Dobby's considerable will to break his Master's trust and not beat himself right then and there. Dobby left with a small pop.

Harry flopped back on his bed, thinking hard. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang couldn't be all of the Wizarding Schools in the world, could they? Were would Americans, Asians, Africans, Mexicans, and many others go? He would have to find some way to get to Diagon Alley and get a book on Wizarding Schools. It was getting late and by the sound of it, Uncle Vernon had closed the deal. His voice sounded gleeful, and he was thanking the other man profusely. There was the sound of the front door opening and the crunch of gravel as Uncle Vernon's client. There were a few seconds of blissful silence before his uncle started whooping.

"We're finally going to have that house in Majorca, Petunia! I'll get a huge bonus, even a promotion for this!" Uncle Vernon was truly jubilant. His footsteps pounded up the stairs and he swung open the door to Harry's room. He grabbed Harry up in a hug and swung him around the room. "You were brilliant, boy!" Harry was so startled by this uncharacteristic display of affection that he didn't even struggle. He was thrown back on the bed and Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley all celebrated downstairs.

He just lay there for a while, before realizing the strange smell on his Uncle's breath must have been alcohol. No wonder he was hugging Harry. Harry was happy that his uncle was a happy drunk, not an angry one. If, when drunk, his Uncle would actually hug him, he shuddered to think what would happen if he were angry when drunk. Probably do something outrageous, like put bars on his windows and bolt his door shut, feeding him through a cat-flap. Harry laughed at the absurdity of that idea, and fell asleep happy, despite the loud partying going on in the kitchen below him.

Harry was awoken by Dursleys the next morning. They told him they were flying to Majorca to see if a house they had seen in a magazine was as nice as it looked, and taking a well-deserved vacation. He would be staying with Mrs. Figg for 2 weeks. Harry packed all of his clothes in his trunk and walked across the neighborhood to Mrs. Figg's house. He knocked on the door, and was welcomed in by the old Mrs. Figg. "Thank you for taking me for 2 weeks, Mrs. Figg," Harry mumbled.

"Your welcome, dear boy! If you'd just follow-" she was cut off as the flames in her fireplace turned emerald green and Albus Dumbledore stepped out of them. His eyes were twinkling brightly.

"Ah, Arabella, I was just coming for your report on young Mr. Potter--" Dumbledore was cut off as Harry stepped out from behind Mrs. Figg.

"What reports? Mrs. Figg has been spying on me? You knew the Dursleys had kept me in a cupboard for 10 years, but you did nothing!?" Harry was seething with righteous anger, and Dumbledore paled significantly. It was not every day that a particularly angry eleven-year-old boy would accost him like this. In fact, almost no one spoke to him this way? Who does this whelp think he is! He may have defeated Voldemort by deflecting a curse, but I out dueled Grindlewald!

"Don't speak to Albus Dumbledore like that, young man! He always makes choices for the greater good, so if he left you in that cupboard it was for a reason!" Harry sputtered indignantly at this.

"That's easy for you to say, you didn't have to live in a cupboard! All these years you've been magical, and when I was stuck at your place during anything fun the Dursleys would do, and you never mentioned that! What's wrong with you?" Harry was screaming, now. He was so angry. He just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else…

His magic responded to that desperate wish and apparated him to right outside the front entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. He gasped for air, that wasn't pleasant at all. It felt like be squeezed through a tiny tube. He imagined that that must be the way a turd felt as it was squeezed out. The thought did nothing to help his already unsettled stomach. He walked around the pub, not really wanting to be gawked at by everyone.

He pulled his wand out of his trunk, and tapped the bricks the way he had seen Hagrid do last year. The first thing he did was go to Gringotts. Depositing his trunk in his vault so that he wouldn't have to carry it, he decided to ask if they had bottomless moneybags or something. The goblin that had brought him down to his vault looked at him like he was crazy. "No, we do not have enchanted moneybags. If you want to carry that much money around with you, bring a bigger sack!" Harry grumbled to himself as he filled two small moneybags with galleons, one with sickles, and a final one with knuts. He also got 200 pounds for lunch. Magical cooking didn't have anything on good old muggle fish and chips. Also, jeans and a t-shirt were much more comfortable than robes.

Harry went to a trunk store, Everett's Quality Trunks. Harry walked inside and was greeted by a young clerk. "Do you have a trunk with featherweight charms and the ability to shrink?" Harry asked the young man.

"We sure do, and it's a real bargain at only 200 galleons! That's high quality ebony, good finish, and also fireproof and with wear resistance as well! We also have a bottomless one, charmed so everything is within reach, and cushioned so nothing will break, but that's 250 galleons" Harry made a decision and bought the bottomless one. (Just so you know, 1 galleon is 5 pounds, which is about 10 US dollars, so the price is about 2500)

Harry had just spent about half of one of his galleon bags on one trunk, but he thought it would be worth it. Harry next went to Flourish and Blotts. He only brought one book, titled Magical Schools of the World By Archibald Archavius. He figured that once he knew what school he was going to, he could buy the books required for school then. Also, he figured he should master the magic that he would be taught before he did any individual study. He now needed a place to stay. He couldn't go back to the Leaky Cauldron it was far too obvious. The muggle world was out, as no hotel would let him stay there unsupervised.

Harry wandered around the Alley before stopping outside Ollivanders. He walked in and seeing that there were no customers there, called out, "Mr. Ollivander? Are you there?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, I am here." The quiet voice resonated from behind Harry. He whirled around.

"Good lord! You startled me there, sir." Harry gasped out, heart pounding in his chest. Mr. Ollivander frowned suddenly.

"I can't remember what wand I sold you! This is terrible!" Harry shrugged. He didn't see what the big deal was.

"Mr. Potter, I remember every single want I've ever sold. Every one dating back to before Albus Dumbledore was in here, purchasing his first wand!"
Harry scoffed, "Even wizards don't live that long!"

"Foolish child! Look at Dumbledore! 150 and still bouncing around! Magic extends the natural lifespan of those around it! The more you are around it, the longer you live. I craft the very devices that channel a wizard's magic. Of course I live longer than most. But that is not important now! Let me see your wand." Harry reluctantly pulled out his wand and Ollivander let out a hiss. He pulled his own wand out and cast a spell on Harry. Immediately, the wand shot out of his hand and struck the wall, snapping.

"That wand was not meant for you! Your very magical core was tampered with, fooling that wand into choosing you!" Ollivander was more worked up than Harry would have expected.

"What's the big deal? We caught it didn't we?" Harry asked, feeling foolish as Ollivander stared at him incredulously.

"The big deal? The big— Dear lord boy, are you an idiot? I craft these wands by hand! Every wand I craft has been worked on and tested extensively! I take pride in every single wand I make from the shortest ash wand to the longest oak, from the phoenix-feather cored, to the dragon heartstring! Every wand is made from a branch; taken willingly from a magical tree, bark peeled carefully, whittled down, then sanded! Every core is taken only from the finest specimen, matched perfectly with what wood they best suit! There is a lot of work to my craft, and few satisfactions. One of the only satisfactions is seeing a wand perfectly matched to an individual, singing with magic as the person they are meant for holds them. And now I find that one of my wands has been cruelly forced to endure magic with an incompatible core…" By the last point in his speech, his voice had grown fainter, but more enthralling.

His voice grew suddenly stronger. "They are my life's work, and that was one of my finest specimens. I find it has bee fooled into serving you, who is nothing like it's true owner! And you my dear lad should be just as angry as me! Your core was changed on a fundamental level. You may never recover!" Harry stood there, mouth wide open as the full implications of what had happened hit him.

"So there's nothing we can do?" Harry asked glumly.

"Of Course there's something we can do, foolish boy! You use as much magic as you possibly can, sending yourself into the depths of Magical Exhaustion, and hope as your magic regains its natural form as it regenerates. Then, we custom make you a new wand that actually suits you."

"How am I supposed to do magic without a wand?" Harry asked, curious. Ollivander looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I shall teach you to use wandless magic." Ollivander said finally. "You mustn't expect that it will be the same as wand magic though. Wandless magic can't cast any of the spells you know, as they were crafted to be channeled through a wand. You can use wandless magic to imitate the effects of spells, but wand spells can't be cast wandlessly."

It took Harry a moment to digest what Ollivander had just said. He would be learning wandless magic! He had entered the shop hoping for some advice on where to stay, and uncovered a whole conspiracy theory involving violating his magical core, wands not meant for him, and an angry Ollivander. Well, shit. I should've expected this. Harry Potter couldn't be normal; it would defy logic. I'm starting to think that when I reflected the killing curse, it altered my DNA to do the unpossible. It's the only logical reason that I can find to explain my logic defying abilities. Sort of like Spiderman, except with evil snake men, and no superpowers.

"Hey old man, can I stay here? My relatives are in Majorca, my caretaker's a crazy cat lady acting on the orders of a crazy lemon-drop-sucking-twinkly-eyed-neon-robed-ball-o-eccentricity." Only he could possible say that! Ollivander processed that all very quickly.

"First of all, call me Ollie. Second, and stop me if I'm wrong, you're saying that your family went to Majorca without you, Mrs. Figg was supposed to take care of you, but was under Dumbledore's orders, which I'm guessing include lying about being a squib and spying on you?"

"You know, you summed that up pretty well, there!" Harry grinned at the look of incredulity on Ollie's face. "And what's with Ollie? What kind of parents name their kid Oliver Ollivander?" Ollivander smirked.

"I used to think that too, but then a young lady came into my shop a few years back. You know what her name was? Nymphadora Tonks. I haven't complained about my name since." Harry laughed for a good solid minute before he sobered.

"You haven't answered my question. Can I stay here?" Harry asked somberly. Ollie's grin reassured him.

"Of course you can! To teach you wandless magic, I must teach you every day for about the next month. Now I'll warn you boy, you may think you're powerful, but you're not. Sure, you've got potential, and a veritable sea of power to draw from, but so do most witches and wizards. Three things limit most people. The will to draw on that sea of power, the belief that they can use this power, and the amount of knowledge they have. Take Albus Dumbledore, The Dark Lord, and Hermione Granger. Albus Dumbledore has will, as proven by his mastery of Occlumency, the defense of the mind, and knowledge. He has 150 years of experience, and he has used all of them wisely. The Dark Lord has always believed that he was special, and delved farther into dark knowledge than anyone has since Morgan le Fay herself. Hermione Granger is driven by her desire to prove that Muggleborns can match, and even surpass, purebloods. She reads every book she can get her hands on, absorbing information like a sponge."

Here Ollie paused to draw breath, also conjuring some water and taking a swig. "Take on the other hand, Ronald Weasley. He has great potential, but doesn't believe he can use it. He has been overshadowed by his brothers numerous achievements all his life and believes he will never surpass them. He may dream about it, wish for it, but he doesn't believe it. He has also never shown any drive to learn. He is far more content to lays about copying off Mrs. Granger, playing chess, and talking Quidditch with his friends. You have a choice to make, Mr. Potter. Do you want to be one of the sheep, fenced in by your own mind, Dumbledore or the Dark Lord shepherding you on a path of their choosing? Or will you be the Hawk, soaring above the sheep, crafting your own path, weathering the sea of power within you and coming out on top? The choice is yours, Mr. Potter. Choose Wisely."

"Do not ask any questions now. Think on what I've told you. If the questions are important enough you will remember them tomorrow. Goodnight, Harry." Oliver led Harry up a concealed set stairs and to a second floor of his shop. He gestured to the 3rd door on the right, and Harry opened the door, dragged his trunk inside, and fell onto the bed. His mind reeled with everything he had been told. Everyone has the potential to match Dumbledore. It's just so hard to believe! But, it does make sense. When you're raised on stories of how powerful the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore are, it' d be tough to imagine surpassing them. Now, it's time to decide. Will I be the sheep, or will I be the hawk?

Most people would assume he would just decide Hawk, right away. Harry didn't. He realized that weathering the sea of power wouldn't be easy. He knew that outside the pasture was beautiful, but wild and dangerous as well. Inside, he would be free to not worry about important choices, leaving that up to Dumbledore. He would have to think on this. With that, Harry fell into a deep slumber.

Oliver woke Harry up in a very cruel way the next morning. After shaking him several times, but finding the boy non-responsive, Oliver imitated Severus Snape's silky voice and said loudly in Harry's ear: "500,000 points from Gryffindor for passing out, drunk and naked, on the head table. I bet my Slytherins would love to see these pictures!" Harry shot out of bed, looking down at himself. Upon seeing that he was fully clothed and had been lying in a bed, not a table, Harry glared reproachfully at the old man.

"It's only 6:00, Ollie! What's wrong with you!" The old man just chuckled at him.

"You're going to need all the time you can to master wandless magic in a month, if you can even manage that. So, you're going to get up at 6:00 every day, or I will charm your nuts and eyeballs to change positions! Got it? Good!" Oliver could be a very creepy old man, Harry decided. Though I suppose he does work in a musty shop where most of his customers were eleven year olds, all at the same time of the year.

"So, Oliver, what are we gonna do today?" Harry inquired. Oliver gave an evil grin.

"We're not going to do anything. You are going to read this book, while I am going to start crafting next year's wands." With that, Oliver dropped a huge dusty tome on the desk in his room and left. He heard the sounds of various tools being used in the next room over, and realized that Oliver's workshop must be next to Harry's room. With that, Harry began to read The Principals of Wandless Magicks By Gunter Goosehawl.

This book, faithful reader, shall be your guide through the murky and difficult path of learning wandless magicks. If you believe that you shall have complex spells flying from your fingertips after reading this book, leave now, please. Wandless magick is difficult, non-precise, and unwieldy. To gain true mastery of this art is to have near total control of the magick that flows within you. No one, myself included has mastered this art as of the time of this book's writing. If you can, then I ask that you make whatever amendments or additions necessary to this book, so as to help others achieve what you have. If you fail, do not be disheartened. I have studied this art for going on two centuries now, and have yet to be anywhere near mastering it. Please, when you are finished with this book, pass it on to one you believe to be worthy, so that this form of magick will not die out.

--Gunter Goosehawl, Author and Scholar of Wandless Magicks

As Harry made his way into the depths of this book, the day wore on. Eventually, Oliver entered the room to find Harry still pouring over the book, not even halfway through. As it had been 8 hours since he had left Harry there, Oliver wondered just how slow of a reader Harry was. Then he saw slips of paper all through the pages of the book, acting as bookmarks, as well as a pile of notes on the desk, and realized Harry had read and re-read the book, going back and taking notes! He might just have the dedication to learn wandless magick in a month after all!

A/N 2 Please Review!