Ascension: The Silver Spears

by Define Anachronistic

(AU) Harry Potter is different. No one is more aware of this than him. His relatives acknowledge his existence only when necessary and despite growing up surrounded by creature comforts, everything he has ever owned is either a hand me down, stolen, scavenged or lent to him out of pity. He has no one to rely on. He tells himself that he prefers it that way. But no man is an island.

3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

A New Identity

As the two made their way on foot towards Little Whinging Railway Station, Harry turned to Hagrid and asked, "How did you arrive here so early? I'm surprised you even got my letter so quickly. I only sent it out yesterday."

Mr. Watts of Number Nine had been passing them by, hobbling along on his cane, and Hagrid had stepped off the pavement and onto the road in order to make room for him. As Harry asked his question, Mr. Watts stopped and glanced around, before giving Harry a strange look.

Hagrid nodded before frowning in an attempt to look stern. "Yeah, I was meant to talk to you about that. We have a law called the Statute of Secrecy, which means we're supposed to keep the existence of magic from Muggles. Sending a letter by post was okay just this once as you didn't know, but in the future, upholding the statute will be your responsibility too." Hagrid looked both ways before he crossed the street, strangely cautious for a man of his size. It wasn't as if any driver could miss him.

Harry grimaced. "Did one of the postal workers see the address? Did I break the law?" The idea of falling into trouble he couldn't foresee had always bothered him. If he was about to do something stupid, he liked to be fully aware beforehand.

Hagrid chuckled. "Nah, luckily for you. The Confederacy has spies in Muggle institutions. Sometimes they're wizards, other times they're one of the rare few Muggles that are naturally immune to magical illusions, like the Veil. They even give jobs to Muggle-born parents who need them. We like to keep the secret as closely guarded as possible."

Harry spotted the station up ahead. It was late in the morning, rush hour long gone, so there were only a few adults headed into the station, as well as a group of teenagers making the most of their summer by going to the capital for the day.

"So how did you get here so fast? Is Hogwarts close? Did you arrive by train?" He would assume so, otherwise he would be irritated they didn't just take his car.

"I just Apparated." Hagrid said simply. Harry blinked. He felt he knew what that word meant but wanted to make sure just in case.

"You…teleported?" He asked unsurely. Hagrid raised his eyebrows at him as they both finally entered the station.

"Is that what Muggles call it? Appearing from thin air?" Harry nodded as he waited for Hagrid to approach the ticket office. When he did not, he glanced up at him confused.

"I'd be happy to pay for the tickets," Harry offered, "but I don't know where we're going." Hagrid looked amused, but Harry could not see why.

"I was just following you to the station," he explained. "We're headed for London. But there's no need for tickets." Harry blinked before he realised the ticket officer was staring at him. Just as Mr. Watts had. He sighed and made his way out of the station. Mercifully, the street was empty right now, so Harry didn't feel self-conscious in speaking to thin air.

"The Muggles can't see you, can they?" Harry tried not to sound sour. "It's that Veil thing at work. People keep looking at me like I'm talking out loud to myself." Hagrid belly laughed, as though he had played a great joke on Harry.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice!" He wiped a tear out of his eye. Harry rolled his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"It's not that funny." He grumbled. "Anyway, I can't keep talking to you, especially on the train. If people see a crazy looking ten-year-old, it won't be long before some do-gooder tries to help." Hagrid slowly gained control over himself.

"Did you think I hadn't thought of that? Here, put this on the opposite of your dominant hand." He offered Harry a familiar looking brown leather bracelet. "It'll put you behind the Veil, so the Muggles can't see or hear you." Hagrid lifted his own sleeve and Harry saw a silver cuff on his left wrist with a clasp that looked like a snake devouring its own tail.

Not being able to be seen or heard by anyone in the world other than an overcoat wearing hairy giant sounded like the concept of a strange horror movie in Harry's mind, but he accepted the bracelet anyway. He closed the clasp around his left wrist, brushing his finger against the still strangely familiar runes. "We're both wizards. Shouldn't the Veil automatically keep us hidden since we're both magical?" He asked, following Hagrid back into the station.

"That would be a little inconvenient for the parents of Muggle-borns though, wouldn't it?" Hagrid drew an awfully long length of polished wood from the holster at his hip and waved it carelessly over the barriers before walking through them as though they were as insubstantial as mist. Tentatively, Harry did the same. He felt a jolt of emotion in his chest, but before he could identify it, it had faded.

"Besides the Veil can only give a plausible explanation if something magical is going on. You've learned about the Great Fire of London? It started when a bloke lost control of the Welsh Green dragon he was keeping in his basement."

Harry was momentarily distracted. "A Welsh Green dragon?" He repeated. "That's terribly specific. How many kinds of dragon are there?" Hagrid looked like he had just been asked a question about his favourite topic.

"There are ten breeds still around, two more have gone extinct. But there are hundreds of thousands in reserves all around the world. No one knows how many in the wild. Yeah," he added, looking amused when Harry realised there were loose dragons running around, "Starting to see why we need the Veil now?" He sighed wistfully, "I'd love to keep wild dragon. Or any dragon really."

Harry decided not to entertain this train of thought.

As promised, the bracelet around Harry's wrist kept the people on the platform from looking at him as he spoke. "I think I saw a bracelet like this once. I was in the hospital a few weeks ago with Remus Lupin and Hestia Jones. Do you know them?"

Hagrid was studying the train route, plastered helpfully on the wall, rather intently, as he replied, "Our world isn't small enough for all witches and wizards to know each other, you know?" He then added, "But yeah, I know those two."

Harry could see the train headed towards them in the distance but paid it no mind. "Lupin was my teacher for years," he said, forcibly keeping his tone even as he wasn't sure if there was any point in getting angry at Hagrid. "My neighbour too. I never knew he was a wizard."

The train was coming into the station, slowing down in front of them. Hagrid had raised his voice in order to make himself heard over the noise. "Dumbledore wanted it that way. He thought your family would have told you the truth and if you knew another wizard was living in the area, you'd ask him for early lessons or something."

The train had stopped completely and opened its doors. Hardly anyone got out and once the two boarded (with the doorway magically enlarging itself to fit Hagrid) it was clear why. The entire carriage was empty, and Harry wasn't even sure why he was surprised. After all, it was eleven on a Friday. Hagrid took full advantage of this by waving his wand at an entire row of seats and they quickly grew to fit him.

Harry wouldn't let this continuous stream of magic distract him. "Why was Lupin even living here in the first place? And why did he suddenly leave?"

Hagrid inspected his work before taking his seat just as the train departed. "Well, he was your bodyguard, wasn't he? You really think Dumbledore was just going to leave your protection to Muggles? What about when your family took you on holiday? Or school trips? Visiting family?"

Harry ignored all of that, especially the part with the Dursleys taking him with them on holidays. He had thought the morning's events were clear, but they apparently weren't to Hagrid. He had only seen overprotective guardians when dealing with Vernon and Petunia. Instead, he asked, "Who is Dumbledore, anyway?" Harry thought he recognised his name from his Hogwarts letter, but more importantly his name had popped up in his parent's story.

"Lord Dumbledore," Hagrid corrected, his stern face coming to him much more easily this time. Harry opened his mouth to ask but Hagrid cut him off. "When a witch or wizard gains a Mastery from each of the six Guilds while studying at the Magisterium, they become a Sage. All Sages are called Lord or Lady as a gesture of respect. It's damn hard getting even just one Mastery. Took me four years to get mine from the Beast Guild and I've been around magical creatures since before I attended Pendle's!"

"Does that mean Voldemort studied at the Magisterium? You called him a lord earlier." Hagrid jumped slightly but before he could say anything Harry cut in, "Yeah, yeah, I know, don't say his name." Harry rolled his eyes.

Hagrid tutted at his lack of concern. "The wrong sort of people will get upset if you say his name. His worst soldiers might have been arrested or killed but that doesn't mean all his supporters are known to us. Best to keep saying You-Know-Who until you've learnt to defend yourself at least." He took a breath to settle his nerves and continued. "Anyway, we don't actually know if You-Know-Who studied at the Magisterium. We don't even know what school of magic he went to. With Translation Charms, even if you've never been to a country before, you can speak their language like a native, accent and all." Harry made a note of that, as it sounded dead useful. "And You-Know-Who could speak all languages flawlessly."

Harry was a little unnerved by what he was hearing. "Did he wear a mask or something?" Hagrid shook his head.

"Nah, but his followers did. You-Know-Who on the other hand was difficult to miss. He had a face like a snake, red eyes and slits for nostrils. His entire body was completely bald and his skin pale grey, almost white. I remember I could see his veins pumping through his skin." He shuddered.

Harry leaned forward in his seat. "You've seen him? I thought you said hardly anyone survived if he was there." He was impressed, but Hagrid merely looked embarrassed.

"He attacked Hogwarts about fifteen years ago now. We couldn't let him get to the students, could we? Thankfully, we didn't lose anyone before the Aurors arrived, but a lot of people died in Hogsmeade that day." Hagrid looked sad, like he was remembering someone he lost, but before Harry could figure out something comforting to say, he continued.

"Anyway, nobody knows where he came from. He called himself a lord and he killed anyone who questioned it publicly. After a while it became hard to deny it was true." He looked resentful and his voice was begrudging. "See, there are two ways to become a Sage. You either go to the Magisterium and master everything the six Guilds have to teach you and pass a series of tests for each Mastery. Or you can invent something new for each field that no one has ever done before. After eight thousand years of wizarding history and knowledge, you can imagine how difficult that is. But You-Know-Who did that publicly, several times, early on in the war. We think he wanted everyone to know what he was capable of and how bad it could be for us to oppose him." Hagrid looked in such a bad mood that Harry regretted even asking about Voldemort in the first place.

"So, Lord Dumbledore is a Sage and you're a Master? Didn't you call him something else before? A magister?" Harry asked, trying to change the subject from dark wizards.

"Hmm? Oh, he's your headmaster now, so you should call him that or Professor. I was just warning you before someone told you off," Hagrid said, looking completely unaware that he had just told him off for it. "Anyway, you normally call masters of their craft just that: Masters. Unless, of course, they give you permission to do otherwise." He added with a wink. "You can normally tell by their Ouroboros," he explained, showing Harry his silver cuff again, "Onyx for Aurors, silver for Masters, gold for Sages and bronze for everyone else." He paused and then added, "The Magister, our leader, goes without. He has the Eye of Thoth for that."

Harry nodded and was about to circle back to his line of questioning about Lupin, when the doors opened, and more passengers boarded. This close to London, there were plenty of them despite the hour, but Harry was about to continue regardless, at least until an elderly woman tried to sit in his lap.

Harry leapt out of the way, shocked, and turned accusingly at Hagrid who was shaking with laughter. His guide remained seated as all the passengers gave his enlarged seat a wide berth but didn't even glance in his direction. He glanced around making sure that no one was looking before he hissed at the not-so-friendly giant. "I thought you said this bracelet keeps people from seeing me!"

Hagrid didn't even bother hiding his chuckles. "It does hide you from their senses, but that's just a temporary bracelet. When we get to Diagon Alley we'll buy you one that's enchanted just for you, don't worry." Harry remembered something.

"But you avoided Mr. Watts earlier. The old man with the cane," he clarified at Hagrid's empty look. "You stepped off the pavement for him." Hagrid shrugged.

"If I didn't, my Ouroboros would have made him step off for me. Didn't seem very nice to do that to a man his age." Hagrid paused to listen to the announcement over the speakers. "This is our change, Harry." He stood and returned his seat to normal and went to the doors. As he moved, people stepped out of the way, even pressing against the walls of the train, as Hagrid went past. Those nearest to his newly unoccupied seat look surprised, as if it had appeared from thin air. Harry supposed for them, it had.

The train slowly came to a stop, and when the doors opened, the passengers waiting on the platform politely waited until Hagrid and Harry exited. Now Harry had only been on public transport in London a few times, but that might be the strangest thing he had seen all day.

The two made the way down the stairs towards the London Underground, as Hagrid explained, "We're headed for Charing Cross Road. Now normally, I just Apparate to wherever I'm going, but I thought it's for the best if you knew the Muggle way. Professor McGonagall helped me memorise the route, but this my first time on the Underground, so bear with me."

Harry nodded sympathetically. With his brown overcoat, long wild hair and great bushy beard, Hagrid looked like a man who belonged in the great outdoors, not stuck on the Tube with a bunch of rude Londoners.

Harry walked a step behind Hagrid, in order to avoid bumping into anyone who couldn't see him. The station was packed with tourists, families and teenagers, all looking for a fun day out in the city. They made their way down the steps towards the underground platform when they suddenly felt the vibrations of an oncoming train through their feet.

Hagrid made to hurry, but Harry tugged on the back of his coat. "What's the rush? They'll be another one in four minutes." Harry informed him, having caught the arrival board from the corner of his eye.

Hagrid looked impressed. "Will it? These Muggles have really learned how to make things convenient for themselves, haven't they?" That's a little condescending, Harry thought, but before he could decide whether or not it question him on it, they had arrived on the enclosed underground platform and Harry saw the words Charing Cross on the Tube route. His brain, over logged with questions and new knowledge, finally caught up.

"Hagrid, did you say Charing Cross Road? Isn't it that dangerous? Putting two kinds of people who constantly fight when they meet, right next together?" Hagrid waved him off.

"People are just afraid of what they don't understand, Muggles especially. But just because you're taking the mundane route doesn't mean everyone else is." Before Harry could ask how the other students would be travelling (and did it have anything to do with the Platform Nine and Three Quarters that was mentioned in his acceptance letter?) Hagrid continued. "Besides, most wizards live their entire lives separated from Muggles, never even setting foot on Muggle land." At Harry's surprise, he clarified, "We have our own government, our own schools, towns, farms, shops and entertainment. We even have our own sports." Hagrid's eyes lit up as if he realised something. "Just wait until we get you on a broom! You'll never look twice at football!"

While Harry was debating whether it was worth asking if Hagrid meant a flying broomstick (Probably not, he reasoned. They wouldn't lean into the stereotypes that hard.) and not some kind of wizard slang for something else, the wind picked up on the enclosed platform and the train burst out of the dark tunnel with a roar before eventually coming to a screeching stop in front of them.

"I didn't expect this of them. I mean it came so quickly!" Hagrid said happily, even though the train was actually eight minutes late.

The rest of the journey was spent in companionable silence as Hagrid, seemingly relieved that Harry's never-ending torrent of questions was over, busied himself with some half-finished knitting he had produced from another one of his many pockets. As they came up to Charing Cross Road with minimal fuss (it only took a few minutes to convince Hagrid that the escalators didn't operate on magic. "I need to brush up on my Muggle studies," he muttered as the moving stairs took them up into the station) Harry took a deep breath of the not-so-fresh city air and appreciated their luck as they seemed to have missed a brief shower. The cool July day was made only better when the sun peeked out from behind the dark grey clouds, its light reflecting off the shallow puddles, bathing the street in a warm golden shimmer.

However, Hagrid just looked relieved not to be stuck underground anymore. "Come on! This way," he said briskly as he led Harry up the road, leaving his charge to scramble to catch up. The entire journey Harry had been leading the way, but now Hagrid seemed to recognise where they were.

"It's just up ahead. You can't miss it," he advised Harry.

As it turned out, you could miss it.

Harry had been expecting some grandiose gateway into a secret magical society; a gateway only the initiated could see. Instead, what he got was a small dingy pub, tucked in between a bookshop and a record store. Harry looked up at Hagrid unimpressed. "Listen, I know it was a bit of a journey, but does that really mean you need a drink? It's only..." He trailed off, as he realised his digital watch had stopped working.

Hagrid took no offence. "Is that bracelet faulty? I swear you can never trust the temporary ones. Try and look closer." Hesitantly accepting the idea that he was missing something that was plain to see, Harry focused hard on the unappealing pub, ignoring the impulse to avert his eyes. After a moment, between blinks, the dingy pub seemed to shimmer and fade away, revealing what lay behind the Veil.

What appeared before his eyes was a medieval, but very well-maintained, tavern. The building seemed to be Tudor in style, with several floors and each upper room having its own wooden balcony to overlook the city. It's walls and the pavement in front seemed to gleam, as they were just that clean, and along the edges of the building, the balconies and the wooden beams, there was minute black script, like a thin frame on a painting. It was similar to the black symbols etched onto his bracelet.

Through the crystal clear and intricately styled casement windows, Harry could see a well-lit open area with booths, tables and stools by a well-stocked bar. The last thing noticed was a wooden hanging sign, painted black, with a brown cauldron containing bubbling, deep gold liquid. Above that there were three words, written in white:

The Leaky Cauldron.

Hagrid could tell the moment Harry saw what was truly there, as he did nothing but put a large, gentle hand on his shoulder and moved to lead him into the tavern and the Wizarding World that lay beyond.

The door opened soundlessly, but everyone looked up as all the noise of a busy London road followed them inside, only stopping completely when the door closed. It was impossible for a wooden door to hold back the sounds of an entire city, but that is exactly what it did.

The barkeep, a bald man with large, warm eyes and a wide smile, greeted Hagrid with familiarity. "Good afternoon, Professor Hagrid. Would you like the usual today?" Hagrid shook his head and gave Harry a little push forward.

"I can't today, Tom. I'm on Hogwarts business. Need to get this young man his school things." Tom stared at Harry uncomprehendingly for a moment before he sucked in a sharp breath.

"It can't be? Not Harry Potter?" The tavern, which had returned to its normal volume, now became silent again as everyone stared at Harry. His first instinct was turn around and leave, but he forced himself to stand still, keep his face impassive and his mouth firmly shut. This was his parents' world. His world. He didn't want to leave a bad first impression by turning tail.

Tom came around the bar and hurried towards him. Harry almost broke his stoic facade and hid behind Hagrid but stopped himself when he saw the barkeep was only extending his hand. Tom shook his hand firmly and said, "It's good to have you back Mr. Potter. We never forgot." As soon as Tom uttered that, there was a sudden mad dash towards him and a queue was formed, rather forcibly, by Hagrid. "Line up orderly! One at a time!" He called out.

Each one of his well-wishers came to him telling him how happy they were that he was safe (he didn't have the heart to tell them that he had never even realised he was in danger) and how honoured they were to meet him (this confused him as he hadn't actually done anything for them to feel honoured for) and eventually, near the end of the queue, he came across someone he recognised.

"Dedalus Diggle!" Harry exclaimed. It was one thing for Hagrid to say he knew Lupin and Hestia, but it was quite another to see his now lime green three-piece suit wearing taxi driver in a magical pub.

The pretty woman that Dedalus had approached with made a sudden noise of surprise when Harry said his name. She watched, seemingly amazed, as he waltzed up to Harry as if they were old chums. "Harry! Good to see you again!" Harry was startled by his louder than necessary voice. I'm standing right in front of you, he wanted to snap, but he bit his tongue.

"It's good to see you too, Dedalus," Harry said instead, politely shaking hands.

Dedalus smiled at him warmly and said in a low voice so only Harry could hear, "Thanks, Harry. Irene wasn't giving me time of day before, but you just made me look good." With that he walked away with the pretty woman, (Irene apparently, and who was clearly much too young for him) who was looking at him as though she had never seen him before.

"You know Harry Potter?" She asked as they walked away. Dedalus looked as cool as a cucumber as he responded.

"I can't discuss it. Dumbledore business. You understand."

Harry felt as if he had just been used, but before he could figure out exactly how, Hagrid called out across the pub to someone he recognised. "Professor Quirrell! I didn't know you were back!"

As Harry shook hands and accepted the well wishes of the last few stragglers, a pale man left his crowded table and swaggered over to them with his hands deep in his pockets.

Harry couldn't help but notice that the group he had just left were the only ones to not come and greet him. He chided himself for that thought. Two minutes as a celebrity, and suddenly I'm annoyed when people don't fawn over me. I really need to get over myself.

Still, Harry knew that wasn't what had really bothered him. What did, was that the varying group of men and women were all staring at him, unblinkingly, but not making any move towards him. Except for the one Hagrid had called out to.

"I just got back in this morning. I came to the alley in order to purchase new furnishings for my quarters. I might have stopped for a drink in my favourite pub, and then one drink might have turned into three." Quirrell said with an easy-going smile. Harry noticed the intense eye contact he was making with Hagrid, and his failure to mention anything about his creepy friends.

"Don't let Rosmerta hear you say that. She might not be so sweet on you anymore." The two men shared a laugh and shook hands warmly. Harry wondered how two people who looked so different could have such similar demeanours.

While Hagrid was extremely tall, wide and hairy, Quirrell was almost the opposite. He was below the average height for a grown man, unusually slim and his blonde hair was short and neatly combed. Even his skin was terribly pale and smooth, as though he never went outdoors, whereas Hagrid's was weather beaten, with a light summer tan.

"Let me introduce you to one of our soon to be students. Quirinus, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Professor Quirinus Quirrell. He used to teach Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, but now he's returning to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts." Muggle Studies. That explains the clothes. Everyone else in the pub seemed to have their own unique style, but with his jeans and collarless black shirt, Quirrell looked as though he would fit in with any group of teenagers, on any high street. He certainly looks young enough to be a teenager.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor," Harry said, and for the first time since entering the Leaky Cauldron, he meant it. If all his teachers were as easy going as Hagrid and Quirrell, Hogwarts was going to be a breeze.

"The pleasure is all mine! To meet the young hero himself! This is truly a lucky day for me. Hagrid, can you believe that I was considering asking Lord Albus for an extension on my sabbatical? Now that I realise that I have the honour of teaching the Boy Who Lived," he paused dramatically, and covered his eyes with a hand, his voice thick with emotion, "It's every teacher's dream."

Harry was afraid he might have misjudged this guy and began to lament the idea of being taught by him, at least until Hagrid shook his head with an air of exasperated fondness. He looked back at Quirrell, only to see him peeking at Harry through the gaps in his fingers.

"Was that too much? I think I may have laid it on a bit thick at the end there." Quirrell grinned at Harry. "I promise not to make a fuss over you, especially in class. I know just how cruel children can be. How's that sound to you?"

Harry was relieved and smiled back. "After the morning I've had, that sounds terrific." Quirrell nodded at him and turned to Hagrid.

"I couldn't help but notice that you both came through the Muggle entrance." It was a statement, but it was posed like a question.

Hagrid nodded. "No point in keeping it a secret now, is there?" He shrugged to himself. "Young Harry here was raised by his mother's sister." Quirrell turned to Harry, looking serious for the first time.

"Oh? Was that a pleasant experience for you?" He asked meeting Harry's eyes. The question seemed to jog dark memories of days spent in silence, sitting for hours on end in his cupboard with nothing to do, and his very existence being questioned as no one would acknowledge his presence. Harry forced a polite smile on his face.

"It was a life as nice as anyone's, I suppose." He said with an easy smile. Hagrid didn't seem to notice anything was amiss, but Quirrell's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Shouldn't we start shopping?" Harry asked quickly, as Hagrid looked about to continue his conversation with Quirrell. "It's just, I don't know how long it will take, and I do have a curfew." He smiled to let them know he was just joking, but something about the interaction with Quirrell had deeply unsettled him. He felt like he did back in Sara's house, like he was missing essential pieces of a puzzle.

Hagrid sighed but nodded. "Right you are, Harry. We've got a lot to get done today." Not wanting to appear rude, (the man was to be his professor, after all) Harry extended his hand as they departed and Quirrell shook it firmly.

"I hope to see you safe and well in September, Mr. Potter. If you need help, or someone to talk to, I'm only an owl away." He added the last part just so Harry could hear it. For his part, Harry was starting to get sick of people whispering in his ear.

Harry followed Hagrid through the small door at the back of the tavern, which led to a dead end with three brick walls on every side, and the only feature was an empty rubbish bin. Hagrid turned to Harry with a small frown.

"That was rude," he chided. "Professor Quirrell was only being nice."

Embarrassed on being called out on his bad behaviour, Harry snapped back, "No, what's rude is pushing me forward like that and introducing me to a crowd of strangers without any warning."

Harry glared at him, and Hagrid held his frown. At least for a moment. Then he looked at Harry with a startlingly familiar expression; the same expression Lupin always wore whenever he broke a rule. As though he would forgive any kind of misbehaviour from Harry, without condition. It was a look that had always made him ashamed of himself.

"Let's not let this ruin our day, alright?" Harry nodded silently, feeling humbled. Hagrid smiled at him. "I'm sorry for surprising you like that. I just thought it's best you get used to it. You're going to be getting a lot of it at Hogwarts."

"Oh, joy." Harry muttered, and Hagrid chuckled, their brief disagreement already forgotten.

"Now look closely," Hagrid said as he drew his wand again. "Three up and two across from the bin." He tapped said brick with his wand three times and the wall seemed to melt away, revealing a whole new world. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid said, watching Harry's eyes widen with a pleased smile.

Diagon Alley was less of an alley and more of a long, winding cobblestone street, packed in on each side with buildings made in various architectural styles from different historical periods. Most of these buildings were leaning over the street, or were crooked towards one side, as if they could collapse at any given moment. Like the Leaky Cauldron, the exterior of each building seemed to have minute black script etched along its frame, so obviously magic was holding them up. It seemed to be doing a good job of it too, as the many shoppers in the alley weren't panicking as Harry would have but were simply going about their day in their orderly disordered fashion.

The people themselves looked as if they came from all walks of life, with different clothing and hairstyles ranging from the ordinary to the truly bizarre. Some wore clothes as casual as Quirrell, others wore elaborate costumes, dresses, suits and clothes from all corners of the world, even more elaborate than Dedalus. Some outright wore sweeping robes of every colour with pointed hats to go along with them. Harry even saw one man exit a shop with a multi-coloured afro, and he walked down the street without anyone blinking an eye.

Harry smiled. The Dursleys would have hated this place.

As Hagrid walked into the alley and Harry hurried after him, the sounds and smells that had been blocked off to him before almost overwhelmed his senses. He saw street vendors selling various types of food, some he recognised and some from countries he couldn't even point to on a map. It all smelled good though, and breakfast suddenly felt like a long time ago.

The sound of the alley was almost as loud as the city that lay beyond it, even without a single vehicle in sight. People were calling out to friends they recognised, street vendors were selling magical trinkets and a group of children younger than Harry were running around with toy wands, and with each wave it either transformed into something silly like a rubber duck or produced a spurt of water that would soak one of the others. All the while, a harried looking mother was hurrying after them, fixing whatever damage they caused, apologising quickly and calling after her children in a tense sort of voice that let him know they were in serious trouble when they got home. Harry managed to dodge a torrent of water, but Hagrid wasn't so lucky. However, the giant man just laughed and waved off the witch's apologies as easily as he waved his wand to dry himself.

Every shop they passed seemed distinctive in its own way; the apothecary looked like an ordinary (if a little anachronistic) Edwardian style shop but had an intense stench emanating from the door. With a wave of his wand, Hagrid created a small breeze just for the two of them, and all Harry could smell from then were flowers. Judging by the unbothered behaviour of the other witches and wizards moving past, this was a commonly used spell. A woman was just leaving the apothecary as they passed, muttering to herself, "Sixteen Sickles for an ounce of dragon's blood? The world's gone mad."

There was an owl emporium to his left, which had tinted windows to dim the inside of the shop from direct sunlight. It was proudly displaying the types of owls they had with a wooden sign out front, and Harry remembered again that he still didn't know what wizards did with them. Did they eat them? Did owls taste like chicken?

They passed a skinny little wand shop that was tucked in between two larger buildings and another that promised to tailor clothes for all occasions, but what really caught his attention was the shop that had a strangely shaped but highly polished broomstick on display. There were a group of kids around Harry's age crowding around the window looking at it in wonder. "The Nimbus 2000," one boy was saying, "it's the fastest broom ever."

"Isn't it the one the Japanese team rode at the World Cup last year?" A girl asked, not taking her eyes off the broom.

"Yeah, and Hogwarts has gone and ordered twenty-eight of them for their school Quidditch teams," a second boy said, before adding, "lucky sods". A chorus of disgusted agreement came from the rest of the group.

However, all the shops they passed paled in comparison to a majestic marble building, with columns so grand they looked like they belonged on Mount Olympus. The building towered, both over them and the surrounding shops, and it must have been particularly important, as it lay directly ahead, the entire alley having to divert into two separate streets around it. "What is that place?" Harry asked as they began to approach it.

"That is Gringotts Bank."

Harry was irritated but tried not to show it. "Do you have an appointment there or something?" He hoped not, as he wanted to start purchasing his magical items.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Hagrid said, much to Harry's disappointment. As they approached the bank, he noticed that at the top of a small set of marble steps, there were two noticeably short guards posted on either side of the large, burnished bronze doors. They were wearing full plate red and gold armour, helm and all, and carrying round shields and sharp spears. On their shields there was an emblem of a gold coin and written on the edges of it were the words; Fortius Quo Fidelius.

Strength through loyalty, Harry translated silently. For the first time ever, he was glad Lupin had insisted on teaching him the useless language.

They climbed the steps and entered through the bronze doors into a small entrance hall, where they were greeted by an equally large, but closed, set of silver doors. Hagrid stopped and seemed to read the engraving on these doors, and after a confused moment, Harry did the same.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

The doors opened by themselves, but only after they had both read the grim warning. "That was ominous," Harry muttered.

Hagrid tutted as they approached the now open doorway. "Every time someone enters, they force them to read the whole thing. Never mind if you've been here a thousand times and have the damn thing memorised. As if anyone would be mad enough to steal from goblins." Harry snapped his head towards him.

"Goblins?" He hissed as they entered the bank. He was lucky that the large marble hall was filled with the sounds of echoing voices, stamps being pressed, coins jangling and a dissonant bell; otherwise, his voice would have carried to everyone in the room.

"Didn't you notice them outside?" Hagrid asked, looking confused. Harry had, but he had assumed they had just been guards who happened to be on the shorter side. He was starting to understand he couldn't assume anything in this new world.

As they crossed the vast marble hall, he took the time to examine the bank's interior and found it to be just as impressive as its exterior. Harry noticed that the same emblem the guards had on their shields outside was emblazoned beautifully on the bank's floor, underneath a high ceiling, from which hung three elaborate crystal chandeliers all along the length of exceptionally long the hall.

On his right-hand side, there were roughly a dozen doors, from which many small men and women, dressed in smart red and gold uniforms, were entering and exiting from. On the left-hand side, there were over a hundred high counters with equally well-dressed individuals, which must have been the bank tellers, as most were speaking to customers.

When they approached an available teller, Harry finally got his first good look at a goblin. It was hard to tell with him standing behind the counter, but Harry guessed he was around three feet tall. The teller had very fair skin, long stiff pointed ears and a large, dome-shaped head. He watched them approach, looking bored.

"This is Harry Potter. He'd like to enter his vault." Hagrid said without any preamble. Harry snapped his head towards him. Vault? He was about to ask Hagrid what he was talking about, but the teller spoke before he could.

"Is he prepared to take the risk?" The goblin asked, lazily. Harry remained silent, too confused to speak.

"There won't be any risk involved," Hagrid said confidently. As the teller made an unconvinced noise, (which didn't exactly instil any of Hagrid's confidence in Harry) Hagrid withdrew a letter from a pocket and added, "I'd also like to remove the item from Vault 713." He handed the letter to the teller, who hadn't lost his bored expression before, but now perked up, interested.

"Oh, really?" He asked, tearing open the letter and reading it quickly. When he was done, he pressed a button on his desk, calling sharply, "Griphook!" At first, Harry thought this was a bizarre insult, but the teller corrected that notion.

"This is Griphook." He said, indicating the approaching goblin. He was younger than his colleague, with a face free of wrinkles and a head of oily, black hair. Instead of a teller's red and gold uniform, he wore a simple grey shirt and suspenders, as he carried a lantern before him. He looked more like a coal miner than a banker. "If you follow him, he will take you down to your vaults."

Griphook (what an odd name) turned and led them towards the very end of the hall, through another pair of large double doors (this time gold) and down a long series of wide stone steps until they emerged into a small, dimly lit, cavern. There they waited in a small queue behind a young family and an elderly couple, all of whom were escorted by similarly attired goblins, and were waiting in front of railway tracks.

Just as soon as Harry began to wonder what they were waiting for, a large, furbished miner's cart came barrelling from the darkness to their right. The elderly couple climbed aboard, with their escort in the front, and immediately took off towards the darkness to their left.

Soon, another cart came to take the small family, and then it was their turn. As soon as the cart took off, (and they had some semblance of privacy) Harry turned to Hagrid and asked, "I have a vault?" Hagrid, looking upset by the cart's high speeds, kept his eyes firmly closed.

"Huh? Course you have a vault. You didn't think your family left you with nothing, did you?" In fact, that was exactly what Harry had thought. "How'd you think you were gonna pay for school otherwise? Hogwarts tuition isn't cheap." Harry merely hummed, and he decided not to mention the bundle of cash he was carrying in his bag.

Considering how long they travelled down the tracks, they must have been miles under the city by now, passing hundreds of locked vaults, entering dark tunnels and zooming through giant caverns, all the while going deeper and deeper underground. They never slowed down, not even at a tight corner over a sheer drop that made Hagrid whimper.

Eventually, after the fourth time that Harry felt sure they couldn't travel any deeper, the cart began to slow down as they entered a wide tunnel and came to a complete stop in front of a giant circular door.

Harry stepped off onto the platform once Griphook did and, when Hagrid finally joined them on shaky legs, they made their way to the vault door. Griphook jerked his head at it and ordered, "Press the flat of your palm against the door and turn the key." While Harry couldn't see a key in the lock, he didn't want to make it seem like he was too stupid to follow a simple instruction, so he stepped forward and pressed the palm of his right hand against the burnished steel.

Harry let out a hiss as he felt a sharp pain on his palm. Removing it quickly, he couldn't see any mark on his skin. He turned to glare at Griphook anyway. "What was that?" Griphook smiled for the first time and Harry noticed he had a very sharp set of teeth.

"That was security. We needed to make sure you are who you say you are."

Harry frowned. "And if I wasn't?"

"Then the door would have transported you to one of our holding cells, where the guards would have...questioned you." Harry swallowed. "Now turn your key."

Harry looked back at the lock and saw a large, ornate, golden key that hadn't been there before. Reluctantly, he reached out and turned it, hoping this wouldn't lead to anymore surprises. In fact, it did lead to a surprise, but this was a very pleasant one.

The vault door had swung open easily and silently, as though it were weightless and recently oiled. The vault's interior was as spacious as the Dursley's house, which in and of itself was already large. The first thing Harry noticed was the mountain of gold coins not ten feet from the door. It was taller than Harry and wider than Hagrid, and he could not believe that this fortune could all be his.

"Your key can be used for larger purchases, but it's always good to have a bit of coin on you just in case. Twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a silver Sickle, and seventeen Sickles make up a gold Galleon," Hagrid explained, now looking a little less green.

Harry had to know. "And how many Galleons make up a pound?" Griphook rolled his eyes. He could not have looked more bored with his job.

"Twenty-Five Pounds is worth one Galleon. You can make the exchange with a teller at the surface." Harry was stunned. He knew a pile of gold coins had to mean something, but that exchange rate meant...well he wasn't sure, as he was unable to process it just yet, but it had to be good for him.

Hagrid removed a bag from one of his many pockets and indicated Harry should hold out his hands. Once he shook out its contents, looking careful not to touch it with his skin, a small black pouch fell onto Harry's open palms. "Mokeskin. You can fit a lot in there, and now that you've touched it, only you can open it." Hagrid looked so pleased at Harry's grateful smile, that the last of his nausea seemed to melt away. "Those are dead rare, but you can think of it as ten birthdays and Christmases worth of presents."

Harry was touched, but before he could thank him, Hagrid gave him a gentle nudge towards the vault. "We'll be waiting in the cart when you're done." Griphook followed, but only after Hagrid frowned at him.

Harry was a little confused. After all, how long could it take to collect some coins? He only saw what Hagrid meant when he actually stepped into the vault.

It wasn't just money inside, it was as if someone had raided a house, a library and a museum and placed all the contents in this vault. To his right there were stone shelves jutting out the wall, packed neatly with what had to be thousands of crystal flasks of varying sizes and each had a different coloured liquid inside, with clear labels written in different handwritings, such as: Drink of Despair or Felix Felicis.

To his right, there were wooden shelves, with hundreds of books. Some were little more than scrolls that looked so ancient, they would crumble to dust if he dared to unfurl them. Others were thick leather-bound tomes that were much more modern, with titles such as: Most Macabre Monstrosities and A Sorcerer's Field Guide of Western Europe, but Harry's attention was grabbed by An Auror's Enchiridion.

After hesitating, he slid all three of those books into his bag. Everything in this vault is mine, right? He thought, even though it still felt a little like stealing. But he ignored that feeling, as he only wanted the books so he could learn about his parents' world and their profession. There was nothing wrong with that.

He noted that there were a lot of different weapons scattered here and there. Swords, daggers, axes, throwing knives, bows, even pieces of armour, and they all had engravings. However, these weren't the same as the etched symbols back in Diagon Alley or even the different script that was on the vault door or on Gringotts' exterior. These were etchings of animals, initials, dates and words of love: All I ever need or Whatever our souls are made of, and such.

Harry headed towards the back and finally noticed that the dimly lit vault was even larger than he had first realised. The entire back of the vault was taken up by the contents of a house. Various styles of men and women's clothes were packed in several trunks, there was furniture piled high up against the walls, a large mahogany desk that looked like it belonged in a scholar's study, and a few boxes filled with women's jewellery.

What really caught his attention was the cherry wood lockbox placed on a red armchair, no larger than a thick hardcover book. It had his full name written in neat gold cursive above the gilded lock: Henry James Potter.

Harry grimaced. Nobody called him Henry anymore. Some of his day-care and nursery teachers had called him that, but it had stopped when he first went to St. Gregory's as the other teachers followed Lupin's example and called him Harry.

A sudden jolt went through him. His parents had named him and who else could have placed the box in the vault for him? He quickly reached to check if it was unlocked, but the moment his fingers brushed against the wood, the lock clicked open. He lifted the lid.

Harry wasn't sure what he expected, but two letters, a sheathed dagger, a tiny bronze Ouroboros and a length of simmering silver fabric was not it.

Picking up one of the letters, he tried to break the seal, but it would not budge. He tried the other but had the same result. After a moment's frustration he drew the long dagger from its sheath and tried to cut the seal to no avail. Both letters had, For Harry written on the front, so why wouldn't they open for him? After a minute, he gave up, and he put the letters back in the box and was about to do the same with the dagger when he noticed something.

The dagger he was holding had an inscription too. Along one side were the words Quod in te est, prome and on the other there was an engraving of a stag's antlers with lilies on them. Above that, engraved in English, were the words Until the very end. He honestly wouldn't have thought much of it if he hadn't learnt earlier today that his mother's name was Lily. Harry slowly sheathed the dagger and returned it to the box.

He put the Ouroboros in his pocket before removing the final item, the length of shimmering fabric, but as he did, it unfurled, becoming much longer than he had expected. It was so light, almost insubstantial, and it flowed smoothly through his fingers like water. It was only when he noticed the hood did, he realise he was holding a cloak.

Harry threw the cloak over his shoulders and fixed the large, triangle shaped clasp over his right shoulder. He didn't think this thin cloak would ever keep him warm but as he examined himself in an antique dressing mirror, he thought he would blend in better back in the alley. It was only when he lifted the hood over his head did he realise his parents hadn't just left him a fashion statement. His entire body seemed to disappear, even the parts that weren't covered by the cloak. He was invisible!

After amusing himself for a few minutes, he returned the cloak to his lockbox and placed the entire thing in his Mokeskin pouch for later use. Continuing his examination much more enthusiastically now, he searched the vault from top to bottom but found nothing else that interested him, at least until he saw, behind a precarious stack of intricately carved chairs, the tapestry hanging on the wall.

After he had carefully moved the chairs without causing an avalanche, Harry moved forward to study his new discovery and the first thing he noticed was his full name again, almost glowing with golden threads against the deep red backdrop, at the very bottom. Seeing his parents' names above and connected to his own through two black threads, he understood what he was looking at. A family tree.

At the very top were the words Domus Potter and underneath that were the same words from the dagger:

Quod in te est, prome. Bring forth what is within you.

Maybe Lupin had a point in teaching him Latin.

The earliest name on the tree was Linfred the 'potterer' over eight centuries ago, and it all flowed down from him, with black threads connecting eldest sons and their children, only diverting when the eldest son died childless.

Many different names were written there from Hardwin, Iolanthe, Ralston, even his great-grandfather Henry, who Harry must have been named after. But the thing he found most interesting were the dates at the bottom. Everyone in the family who was born after 1871 died the same day he had been born; July 31st, 1980. James and Lily had survived whatever tragedy had occurred, only to die fifteen months later.

Lily Marie Potter

30 January 1955-31 October 1981

James Fleamont Potter

27 March 1955-31 October 1981

His grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins had all died on the same day. It wasn't hard to imagine why. Your parents had been on the run with you for over a year, Hagrid had said. Harry knew why his name was the only one in gold. He was the only one left alive. Eight hundred years of history and this was all that remained? A clueless orphan boy and a vault filled with hollow wealth?

Harry wanted to turn and leave immediately, he had wasted enough of Hagrid's time, but he kept staring up at the tapestry until the names of those who had died on the day of his birth were seared into his mind. Henry, Wendy, Charlus, Dorea, Roland, Stephanie, Olivia, Fleamont, Euphemia.

Slowly, he walked away from the tapestry, stopping only to fill his Mokeskin pouch with Galleons, and closed the vault door. He could hear the door lock itself behind him, as clearly as he could see Hagrid watching him approach the cart with concern. "You were in there for a long time." He said quietly, as Harry climbed aboard and Griphook promptly took off toward Vault 713.

"Was I? I couldn't tell. My watch stopped working." Harry said, wishing he had glanced in the mirror before he left the vault. There must have been clear distress on his face for a person he had only met today to be able to pick up on it. "Look what I found!" Harry reached into the pouch and quickly removed the dagger from the box. He didn't want to show the Invisibility Cloak to a teacher, as something like that would definitely not be allowed in a school, and he wanted to distract Hagrid from his current turmoil. He couldn't think of a better way to do that then the sight of a kid with a dangerous weapon.

"My parents left it for me in a lockbox with my name on it." Harry explained to a surprisingly unstartled Hagrid. "I don't know why they would leave me a dagger though. Isn't that a bit irresponsible?"

"Kindjal." Griphook grunted.

Harry grimaced. "Bless you." He hoped none of Griphook's snot flew back in his face.

"No! That's what the weapon is called!" Griphook snapped at him and muttered something derogatory about humans that Harry couldn't quite catch over the sound of the cart zooming through the tunnels.

Harry glanced at Hagrid to see if this was normal goblin behaviour, and judging by the half-nauseous, half-exasperated look on his face, it was. "Goblins treat all things made in a forge with reverence, especially when it's their own creation." He added, "Goblin Silver," at Harry's curious look.

"It's not strange they would leave you a weapon though," Hagrid explained as Harry stored his kindjal away. "When witches and wizards propose to each other, the one doing the proposing has to present a gift that would be useful to their firstborn. It's just symbolic. Most Aurors present weapons because it's a way to promise they'll teach their kids how to defend themselves." Hagrid stopped speaking when they made a short and steep climb in order to avoid another cart, before they took a sudden drop in order to get back to their original level. The entire time the cart maintained the same insane speed. After a long moment where he looked like he might vomit, Hagrid powered through.

"You must have seen other engagement gifts when you were in there. The Potters were a varied bunch, but they had plenty of Aurors and Professional Duellists among them." Harry nodded.

"You know most Muggles just give a ring when proposing." The cart was slowing down now as they saw a light up ahead.

"Really?" Then what do they do when they get married?" Harry shrugged, a little unsurely.

"They give each other another ring." Hagrid shook his head and muttered something like "strange Muggles," as the cart came to a stop. They approached the vault door slowly, as Hagrid appeared to be walking on sea legs, and Griphook looked like he was about a minute away from throwing his lantern at them. However, he remained professional and simply grinded his teeth loudly instead.

When Hagrid finally reached the vault, he reached out and placed his palm against it, not flinching as Harry had (the show-off) and the door slowly opened. Inside was a tiny room, completely empty except for a fist-sized package. Harry wondered what all the fuss was about, but before he could ask about it, Hagrid snatched it up and stuffed it into one of his many pockets.

"Alright, time to go! And Griphook? Could you please slow down the cart this time?" Hagrid pleaded.

"I already told you. I'm new. I'm still figuring out how to drive one of these things. I don't know anything about deceleration yet!" Their escort claimed, but Harry could have sworn he spotted him grinning deviously in the corner of his eye. Probably just my imagination, he thought as they walked back to the cart.

It definitely wasn't my imagination, he thought two minutes later, as the cart zoomed at previously unknown speeds in a hectic race against no one. Hagrid looked as though he had accepted his own mortality, with his hands pressed against his face and his body going limp. Harry, on the other hand, quite enjoyed the experience. At least until the moment where they passed the same sheer drop that they had on their way down. This time only two wheels were left on the track as they made the tight corner, and Harry was certain that they were going to tip over as the upper half of his body hung precariously over the side of the cart.

He screamed.

Griphook laughed.

Hagrid flopped like a giant fish.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry and Hagrid left the bank in much worse condition than they had entered in. Griphook had left them in the exit cavern and simply drove the cart off into the darkness, cackling all the while. Together, they hobbled out into the sunny mid-afternoon and Harry felt as if he needed a break. Hagrid seemed to have read his mind.

"I'm just going to the Leaky Cauldron to get a quick drink, you know, to settle my nerves." Hagrid said awkwardly. "Will you be alright on your own?"

"I could use a drink myself, after that experience." He joked, but Hagrid seemed to be slightly annoyed. His jokes weren't great, but they weren't that bad. Hagrid leaned closer to Harry.

"I'm not actually going to get a drink. I just need to get this package to the headmaster." Harry understood. He nodded silently, not wanting to tip off the spies Hagrid thought were listening. He watched his guide walk off into the crowd, feeling ever so slightly abandoned.

Drawing his shopping list from his bag, he decided to purchase his luggage first. That should make it easier to do his shopping and he couldn't quite picture the Dursleys letting him borrow a suitcase. With that decided he went searching for a magical luggage store.

Harry asked for directions from an elderly witch and found himself at Scribbulus' Writing Instruments. Despite the name, the kindly witch assured him he would find what he was looking for in this shop. As Harry entered the sparsely populated shop, a ringing sound echoed throughout the front room, even though there was no bell above the door.

A man with a name tag that read Dave approached with a smile so fixed that only those who worked in retail could achieve it. "Can I help you, young man?" Harry nodded and held up his school shopping list.

"I was told I could purchase a trunk for school here. Is that correct?" Dave nodded looking uninterested, until he spotted the letter in Harry's hands. Then his smile turned hungry.

"Hogwarts?" At Harry's nod, Dave quickly led him to a cosy section near the back of the shop that had comfortable seating. As they went, Dave moved his own body as though he were shielding Harry from the gazes' of his co-workers.

"Can I get you anything? Cherry soda? Butterbeer?" Harry was impressed with this level of service. Did all magical shops treat their customers so nicely? He had already planned on returning to Diagon Alley in the future of course, but this just made him look forward to his next trip.

It was only much later would learn what commission meant.

For now, he made himself comfortable in his cushy seat and accepted a chilled glass of cherry soda, straight out of the bottle, and a plate of wiggling biscuits called ginger newts that only stopped moving once he bit into them.

"Please tell me what kind of trunk you are looking for and I'll find one that best suits you." After a moment's thought Harry realised that with a pocket full of gold and the products of a magical store, the sky might really be the limit.

"I have a lot of books and I'd like to purchase a lot more, but I also need a lot of space for my school things. Do you have anything that would make it easy to carry all of that?" Dave smiled as though Harry had just made his day.

Hardly any time later, he left the store with an oak and iron band trunk that was almost as large as he was. It had been enchanted to be five times larger on the inside than it should have been, leaving plenty of room for all of Harry's things.

Which was good, because Dave had somehow managed to convince him that he was better off buying a year's worth of stationary right now, rather than getting it from Hogsmeade or by owl-order, (Apparently wizards sent their post by owls. He really should have guessed) and the prices of the Hogwarts school shop did not bear thinking about.

When Harry had asked why, Dave had only replied awkwardly. "It's just something I heard. Never actually been."

With an enchanted trunk that was carrying a year's supply of quill and inkpot writing sets, leather bound notebooks and rolls of vellum floating along behind him, Harry continued his shopping trip in a more pleasant mood than he had started with.

He stopped at Slug and Jigger's Apothecary in order to purchase the potions kit, cauldron and scales that had been specified on the shopping list, before making a hasty escape, as he did not have Hagrid to make the smell disappear this time. He promised himself he would not open the airtight kit until he learned that particularly useful spell.

Harry exited Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment with a brass telescope that was able to observe the night sky through dense clouds and magnify enough to observe celestial bodies at the very edges of the Solar System. He promised himself that he would return to examine the equipment and trinkets that Wiseacre's sold at a later date, as he didn't yet understand what would be useful and what was junk.

Also, the attendant told him not to return until he knew enough to not get himself killed, after she had to stop him from poking a spooky black orb with his finger.

Harry only left Flourish and Blotts after he had picked out all the required books, a few more history texts and added a few more, such as Known Spells That Fool Muggles, Jinxes for the Jinxed, Hexes for the Vexed and A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Curses. When the attendant began to look at him suspiciously, Harry innocently added Easy Household Charms and the entire set of The Adventures of Captain Armstrong, before bidding a hasty retreat.

Harry was pleased at how quickly this was all going as he didn't have the best memories of shopping. When he had been too young for Petunia to leave home alone and she didn't trust him to behave himself with the same neighbours that were babysitting Dudley, she had dragged him shopping with her, forcing him to watch her spend her money on things she didn't need, while he was forced to look on in boredom.

He remained in a good mood as he entered Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. A similar ringing sound emanated from the door that had in all the shops he had been to today, as a friendly looking middle-aged witch approached him with a natural looking smile. She either actually enjoyed her job or was a better actor than most of the employees he had interacted with today.

"Hello, dear. I am Madame Malkin." She spoke with the smooth, confident voice of an experienced salesperson. "How may I help you today?" Harry lifted the school shopping list he still clutched in his hand, as he had found that by doing so attendants were quick to help him find what he was looking for, sometimes even ignoring other customers. Harry felt a little bad about that, especially when they would turn to glare at him, but not bad enough to stop. There was a reason he had gotten most of his shopping done in little more than an hour.

Madame Malkin was no different, as her eyes immediately zeroed in on his letter. She quickly shepherded him past the other customers and her assistants, his trunk following him loyally, into a cosy back room where only one other person was reclining comfortably reading a magazine.

"It was lucky you caught me while I was passing. The enchantments on Hogwarts uniforms require a more personal touch and my assistants just aren't ready yet." Malkin's smooth voice had now turned almost buttery, as she directed him to stand on a small circular platform that was surrounded on three sides by mirrors and withdrew a tape measure to size him up. "I was just helping this young lady here with her uniform, so I will be able to have both your packages tailored and enchanted at the same time."

As she spoke, the tape measure whizzed around his body, measuring his legs, arms, waist and even his neck and a floating quill was making notes of his measurements on a roll of parchment. Harry had never had clothes tailored for him before, but he was certain it was not usually done like this. He was so dazzled by the tape measure and quill, that he almost missed the fact that the girl in the room was being made to wait longer because of him.

Harry glanced half-apologetically, half-embarrassedly (as the tape was now at his inseam) at her in the reflection of the mirror, only to find her observing him curiously over the top of her magazine. She was around his age, he guessed, with long, sleek red hair hanging unbound down her back. He guessed that she was a little taller than him, but it was difficult to tell while she was sitting down.

Madame Malkin asked him to step off the platform and led him to the seating area, before she disappeared back into the main shop, her floating items following her obediently. Harry, hoping she wouldn't take too long (the quick and efficient service of the other shops had already spoiled him) began to peruse the magazines left on the coffee table and helped himself to another cherry soda when an array of beverage options appeared beside his seat on a floating tray. Harry picked out an issue of Quidditch Monthly for himself, before almost dropping it when the woman on the front winked at him.

"Let me guess, this is your first day in the Wizarding World?" The red-haired girl asked. He looked up and found her looking amusedly at him from across the coffee table.

"So what if it is?" Harry asked gruffly. He remembered what Hagrid had said, that some witches and wizards hated anything to do with Muggles. Hagrid had probably meant it as a warning to keep his head down, but Harry didn't want to bend to people like that.

The girl raised her hands, non-confrontationally. "I don't mean anything by it! I've just never seen anyone look so surprised at a magazine before." She said this while clearly repressing a smile, but Harry could not fault her for it. He must be like a strange tourist to her.

"In the Muggle world pictures don't normally move, and they certainly don't wink at people!" The girl shook her head in wonder.

"We learned about that at Pendle's, but honestly I've never believed it. What's the point in a picture that doesn't move?"

Harry could have replied with, What's the point of a picture that does move? Or even explain videos to her, but instead he simply asked, "What's Pendle's?"

"The Forest of Pendle Institute." She explained, shaking the questions about Muggle pictures from her mind. "It's a school wizard children go to for four years, before going to a school of magic when they turn eleven."

Harry's stomach dropped. "I'm going to be four years behind everyone else?" He couldn't believe he was starting his magical education at such a disadvantage. Why didn't they let him attend Pendle's when he was seven? He would have happily left the Dursleys behind.

The redhead was quick to reassure him. "Not where it matters. They don't teach magic at Pendle's, only mundane subjects like Literature, Arithmetic, and Dead Languages, but also Muggle Studies to let us know how the other half lives." She smiled at him, conspiratorially. "Madame Malkin said you're going to Hogwarts?" She asked, waiting for his nod. "Then you have nothing to worry about. Hogwarts is one of the premier schools of magic. It only accepts the best, which means you're among the best, especially if you're Muggle-born. You'll catch up in no time, because if you couldn't you'd have been invited to Rosewood's instead, or," she paused in order to wrinkle her nose, "Wendell's."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He wondered if that had anything to do with the way shop attendants had been treating him all day, but before he could ask, Madame Malkin had returned carrying two large packages in her arms. "Here you are, dears." She removed carefully folded clothes from each and drew her wand. "One last thing. The school requires name tags on all your uniforms." Harry wondered what that had to do with her. His future classmate, however, seemed to catch on quickly.

"Susan Bones." She said, and Malkin waved her wand over Susan's pile, before returning her clothes to its packaging and handing it over to her. Then she looked at Harry expectantly.

"Harry Potter."

"Oh!" Madame Malkin had been in her element since Harry had entered the shop, but for the first time she looked like she was on the back foot. But only for a moment, as she regained her professional air after an awkward moment and handed over his package with her wide smile as soon as she attached his name tags.

Harry glanced over at Susan, a little embarrassed, but was startled to see her scowling at him. He would have asked what her problem was if Malkin didn't divert his attention.

"If you would just place your keys at the end of these receipts." She directed. Susan went first, quickly slapping her Gringotts key down at the end of a short length of parchment that had the Gringotts emblem on the top and the list of purchases, their prices and tax written in red ink, below. Once the ink of the page had turned black, Susan snatched her key back and left the room without saying a word.

Harry looked at Madame Malkin, but she appeared just as confused as he did. "Thank you," he said once he had paid. As soon as he placed the package inside his trunk, he left the shop. He almost immediately spotted Susan's vibrant copper hair up the street, and she still looked upset as the same elderly witch who had given him directions to Scribbulus' tried to comfort her, looking both confused and concerned. Her grandmother, perhaps? He was still wondering what had even set Susan off in the first place, when an enormous mass stepped into his line of sight.

"Harry! Glad I finally found you. I thought you might have gotten lost." Hagrid said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm not an idiot. I have a list and I'm capable of asking for directions. What about you? Did you complete your top-secret mission?"

"Yes," Hagrid said, either ignoring or failing to detect Harry's sarcasm. "How much have you got left to buy?"

"Just a wand, an Ouroboros and I definitely want an owl."

"We can buy the first two at Ollivander's, but it'll take ages. Let's get the owl now." Harry figured that Hagrid was more knowledgeable about this, so he followed him to Eeylops Owl Emporium without complaint. On the way, he told Hagrid about the strange interaction he had with Susan Bones.

"She just ran out. Were her parents on the other side of the war? Is that her problem?" Hagrid looked confused.

"I told you before, not all witches and wizards know each other. I'm not sure about her parents, and I've never even heard of her, but I do know that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is Amelia Bones, and you don't get as anti-Death Eater than that. Maybe it's more personal? A family grudge?" That didn't sound at all reassuring to Harry. He didn't like the idea of inheriting enemies; if someone was going to hate him, they should do it for something he had actually done.

However, he kept his mouth shut as he entered the dimly lit emporium, not wanting to upset the birds. Harry thought it was both intimidating and cool how the shop was so deathly quiet. Perhaps owls were like this naturally or maybe they were being kept silent with magic. All he knew was that having a hundred owls stare at him from all sides, made him feel like a field mouse.

While Hagrid approached the shop attendant, who seemed to recognise Hagrid and was watching him draw near with an apprehensive expression, Harry set about exploring the shop itself. He just wanted to pick an owl that matched his temperament. He turned down the attendant's suggestion of an Eagle owl, because he thought it was a little too aggressive with how it snapped and screeched silently at his Barn owl neighbour, and he walked away disappointed from a Snowy owl Hagrid suggested after she wouldn't even turn her head to face him. He was just about to give up and get a cat from the Magical Menagerie up the street, when he spotted a bright pair of golden eyes watching him from the shadows.

Harry felt ridiculous for his initial thrill of fear when got closer and saw it was a handsome Burrowing owl with brown feathers flecked with white. Harry held out his arm and the bird obediently hopped onto it. It was rather small compared to most of the others, maybe ten inches long, but its aloof air had Harry reaching for his Mokeskin pouch.

"I'll take him."

Harry and Hagrid left the shop a few minutes later, with owl treats and a new perch in his following trunk. Harry looked up at Hagrid with uncertainty. "Are you sure about this?"

Hagrid grunted. "What good is an owl if it doesn't know where to go?"

Harry took a breath. He really didn't want to lose his first pet as soon as he got him, but he knew he was going to have to take this risk eventually. "Could you please wait for me in my bedroom? I live at-" The owl had taken off before Harry could even finish speaking, flying away so quickly that it was out of sight before he could even lift his head to the sky.

Harry looked at Hagrid helplessly. "I'm sure it's going to be waiting for you when you get home." Although, Hagrid now appeared to be the uncertain one. Harry couldn't blame him, as he hadn't even told the owl where he lived.

Feeling morose, he followed Hagrid as he led the way to Ollivander's Wand Shop, trying to focus on getting his magic wand instead of his missing owl. When they arrived at the shop, it was already occupied, but not for long.

A stocky blonde boy who was about Harry's age stormed out of the shop, wand in hand, with tears in his eyes. Harry jumped out of the way before he could knock him over and watched as the boy was chased down the street by what must have been his parents and older brother, who were calling out after him.

"Michael!"

"Michael! Stop!"

Harry whirled around to face Hagrid, fearing that crying when getting his wand, like almost dying when going to the bank, was just routine for wizards. Judging by the baffled look on the giant's face, it was not. "Getting your wand is supposed to be one of the best moments of your life." Hagrid told him when he asked. Well, it looked like that poor kid was going to remember this moment for all the wrong reasons.

Harry shook himself out of it. He was a wizard, and he wouldn't be leaving here without a wand. With his mind made up, he briskly climbed up the three steps to the door and entered the shop.

Standing behind the counter was a lanky old man with long, unkempt white hair and grey eyes so pale they gleamed like moons in the gloom of the shop. When Harry and Hagrid entered, he had been staring remorsefully into space, as though asking the motes of dust in the air for forgiveness.

When the bell rang, he jumped and turned his head slightly to face them. "Professor Hagrid! I normally don't see you in my shop. Doesn't Professor McGonagall usually initiate Muggle-born students?" Hagrid chuckled.

"Normally, yes. But I wanted to initiate this particular student myself." The old man looked at Harry and his eyebrows rose sharply in recognition.

"Harry Potter. You look just like your father, you know, but you have your mother's eyes. It seems like only yesterday they were here to get their wands."

As the old man, who eventually introduced himself as Garrick Ollivander, spoke about Harry's parents, and how his mother favoured a willow wand that was good for Charms, his father chose a mahogany wand that had more power, and how wizards didn't actually choose their wands ("The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter!") he began walking around the back of the shop, pulling boxes from the shelves at random, before placing them all on the counter.

"No two wands are the same, Mr. Potter, just as no two people are the same. Now why don't you try and wave this?" He said as he handed Harry a cherry and unicorn tail hair wand. It didn't work. Neither did the walnut and dragon heartstring. Or even the cypress and thunderbird feather. No matter what wand Ollivander handed him, it failed to create the reaction the Wandmaker was looking for. It failed to create any reaction at all.

Harry could feel his anxiety rising. He didn't like this. There was a reason why he kept things neat and orderly. It was because he hated having things out of his control, and the act of picking a wand seemed to be completely out of his hands.

Harry would have done something stupid, like jumping over the counter and trying to find the real wands that Ollivander was clearly hiding from him, if it weren't for the fact that Hagrid looked utterly unconcerned, reclining in his conjured chair as he worked on his knitting. For his part, Ollivander seemed to be getting more and more excited with each failed wand.

"Maybe...? No, he's too young. Perhaps...? No, that's too temperamental." After a veritable mountain of wands were piled on the counter, Ollivander finally paused, and brought a black wand box towards Harry, with a look of curiosity on his face.

"This is an inadvisable combination in my opinion, but this wand was crafted almost two centuries ago by my grandfather. Blackthorn and phoenix feather, twelve inches." Ollivander lifted the lid. "Unyielding."

For all the Wandmaker's apprehension, the blackthorn wand looked less impressive than all the others that he had tried. Some of those wands had gorgeous handles that were made to look like the heads of animals, while others had precious stones fixed to the end. One even had glowing golden symbols carved painstakingly onto the wood. However, the one thing they all had in common was that they each looked like actual magic wands.

The blackthorn wand did not. It was dark and polished, but unassuming. The minute black runes that had been carved along its length had been smoothed over and blended into the surrounding wood. There was a handle, if he looked closely, but it clearly served a utilitarian purpose; to make it easier for its wielder to grip. Slowly, sensing Ollivander's growing apprehension, Harry reached inside the box and gripped the wand.

The moment he did so, he knew this wand belonged to him.

Never in his life had he sensed magic outside of his own body, but that's what he felt the moment his skin touched the blackthorn wand. Ollivander's earlier mutterings of the wand choosing the wizard suddenly made sense to him now when they hadn't before. He could feel the wand reaching out to him cautiously, tentatively, before a warm, pleasant sensation flowed up his right arm and across his body. It wasn't a physical phenomenon, but something much deeper. Harry had a silly history of getting attached to inanimate objects, but this time it truly felt as though a fragile but mutual bond was being formed.

Harry raised the wand as high as his arm could stretch and made a wide circular motion around his head. A thick hoop of dark purple sparks trailed from the tip of the wand, and fell around him, circling him, before exploding upwards and outwards once it touched the floor at his feet. The shop was overtaken by the glow of the violet sparks as they rebounded off the walls before Hagrid and Ollivander burst into applause.

"Well done, Mr. Potter, well done indeed!" Ollivander said happily. "I was afraid that I had guessed wrong, and the wand might reject you, but that was a better connection than I could have hoped for!"

Harry was curious. "Why were you afraid of this particular wand rejecting me? The others didn't accept me." He nodded his head at the pile of wands on the counter.

Ollivander looked sheepish. "Well, you see, blackthorn wands are most particular about their wielders. They prefer a militant sorcerer and even when they find them, they won't obey them completely until they have proven themselves in combat. If it had rejected you, it might have been quite... err..." Harry frowned as the Wandmaker trailed off awkwardly.

"You said this was an inadvisable combination." Harry reminded him.

Ollivander grimaced as he began to busy himself with a rectangular piece of bronze. "I tend to prefer unicorns, dragons and thunderbirds for my wand cores. I craft and sell wands with cores from all manner of magical creatures, but I prefer those three as they are the most reliable in their results. Phoenixes, however, are the most detached creatures in the world, and to my knowledge only one has ever been truly domesticated. It was that phoenix that provided my grandfather with two feathers."

"Have you sold the other one yet?" Harry asked. Ollivander nodded without glancing up from whatever he was etching on the bronze.

"Yes, a long time ago. Hornbeam, thirteen inches, very rigid. Surprisingly for someone with such an unusual wand, nothing ever came of him. He died decades before you were even born." Harry had been hoping for reassurance; he wanted to hear that the only other wielder of a phoenix wand was thriving, not that he had died before he had amounted to anything.

Ollivander reassured him. "There are other phoenix wands in the world, you know. Other wandmakers steal feathers from the nests of wild phoenixes and they have proven to be a very powerful, very coveted core. Phoenix feathers have an excellent range of magic and tend to think for themselves, so it takes a determined, strong-minded wizard to control it. If you couple that with an aggressive wood, and unyielding flexibility..." he trailed off again.

"It won't work for me as well as it should?" Harry guessed unhappily.

Ollivander smiled at him, finally finished with the rectangular piece of bronze. "The blackthorn bush tends to produce the sweetest berries after the coldest frost. I am certain that once you manage to make your wand obey your commands, you will be a force to be reckoned with." Harry nodded slowly even though he didn't really believe it.

He purchased his wand for seven Galleons and spent three more on a similar hip holster that Hagrid had. The Wandmaker handed him the bronze card and Harry was surprised to see his full name, date of birth, wand materials and likeness etched into the bronze.

"A licence for my wand?" He guessed.

"The Confederacy keeps a catalogue of all wands in order to discourage crime. Everyone has one." A glance in Hagrid's direction confirmed the truth of it, as he removed his own Wand Licence from one of his many pockets in order to show Harry. It was silver, just like his Ouroboros. "Should you ever be stopped by an Auror or a Custodian, hand over your wand and licence as requested." The old Wandmaker advised, before he brought forward a bronze Ouroboros and gave Harry a startling request.

"Now, I need to spill your blood onto this." He brandished a small silver knife. Harry jumped backwards and hastily retrieved the small Ouroboros from his pocket.

"That's okay! I've already got one of those!" He showed the Wandmaker the baby sized Ouroboros that had once belonged to him. Ollivander looked disappointed that he wouldn't be able to drain Harry of his blood and he lowered the knife to the counter.

"Well, I suppose I can resize it for you." He muttered, with the air of a small child who had been denied a treat. Harry quickly paid him another Galleon once he had finished and exchanged his leather bracelet for his refitted bronze Ouroboros, before hastily retreating from the shop.

Hagrid followed him, looking undisturbed at the fact that a strange old man had just tried to cut his young charge. "Well, that's that then, isn't it? You want me to take you home, or get something to eat first?"

At the mention of food, Harry felt his stomach pang with sudden hunger. It was now late in the afternoon and all he'd had since breakfast was a handful of ginger newts. "I'm so hungry, I could eat a whole unicorn." Hagrid looked at him oddly. "That's not even a saying, is it?" Hagrid shook his head. "So where are we eating?" He asked, trying to change the subject from his gaffe.

He led Harry down the Alley, past Gringotts, where the foot traffic seemed less dense and the shops were spread out more horizontally than vertically, and they came to stop at a cafe called Rosa's Teabag.

Once they had entered and had taken their seats at a table by the window (and Hagrid adjusted the seat for himself), a young waitress approached and asked for their orders. While Harry looked for a third cherry soda on the menu, Hagrid asked for two large pineapple sodas instead.

"Pineapple?" He asked as the waitress walked away. Hagrid smiled.

"I remember when I was looking after you while Dumbledore was setting up the protections around Little Whinging. I took my eyes of you for a second and found you sitting on my kitchen floor, drinking from a bottle of pineapple soda you'd snagged from the cool box." Hagrid reminisced. "I think it must have been accidental magic (How would you have even managed to find the cool box without it?) but you made such a mess of the kitchen, like you had searched for it with your own two hands. Eggs and milk were everywhere. You were so high on sugar that I just let you play with the Crup puppies in the enclosure until you fell asleep."

Harry had remembered Hagrid saying something about being there when he had been placed with the Dursleys, but this made it so much more real. No one had ever told an embarrassing childhood story about him before. There was so much more that he wanted to know, and Hagrid could have the answers.

As their meals were floated to their table (that was quick!) Harry asked him, "What were my mum and dad like?" Hagrid paused before biting into his burger.

"They were excellent students: Head Boy and Girl, two thirds of the Triumvirate, Auror Cadets," Hagrid listed through a full mouth. "They both excelled at everything the school had to offer. It's a tragedy that they couldn't reach their prime. They had more to contribute to the world than just fighting, you know."

Harry nodded slowly. A moment ago, the burger that he'd bitten into tasted like the best he'd ever had, but now it was like ash in his mouth. His parents sounded like great people, heroes even, so why was he so worried? Hagrid seemed to pick up on his mood and asked him what was wrong.

Harry did his best to articulate what he was thinking. "I'm a good student. I mean I do my homework and get good marks, but I'm not as good when it comes to making the right decisions. I'm a little worried about having one my stupid moments and hurting someone." He glanced up from his meal to get an idea of what Hagrid must be thinking. His giant guide, however, looked as unfazed as he had all day.

"Let me guess. You lost control of your emotions once or twice and your magic lashed out and hurt someone?" At Harry's nod, he continued. "It happens to everyone. Every witch or wizard you meet will have at least one story about how they threw a tantrum at the wrong time or the wrong place, and someone was either hurt or scared by it." Hagrid shrugged. "It really isn't anything to worry about. It's a lot worse for Muggle-borns because of the confusion. You've got no idea what's going on. Now that you've got your wand, you'll have control over it, and soon you'll be amazed that there was ever a time you hadn't."

"So, my parents struggled with controlling themselves too?" Harry was feeling better once he heard that. For some reason, though, Hagrid began to laugh.

"I'm not sure about accidental magic. I first met them when they already had their wands you see, but they weren't exactly the best at controlling themselves, no." In the face of Harry's rising apprehension, he quickly explained, "Lily just had a bit of a temper and she could get a little cheeky with the teachers sometimes, but she was a good girl really. Now James on the other hand, always seemed to go out of his way to find trouble, and when he couldn't find it," Hagrid chuckled, "he went out of his way to cause it."

Harry was smiling now. "So, there isn't anything wrong with me? Even though I get into trouble a lot?" Hagrid shook his giant head.

"Nah, of course not. You're still a kid, aren't you? It's up to the grown-ups around you to tell you when you're doing something wrong and then teach you how to be better. In a few years you'll look back at this and wonder why you were so hard on yourself. You're a good lad, Harry. "

"How can you be so sure? We just met today. I could just be on my best behaviour."

"I'm sure because an actual bad person wouldn't have thought to worry about this in the first place."

Feeling much better now, Harry began to devour his meal with gusto, quickly finding that Hagrid was right to order the pineapple soda as it was delicious. They spent the rest of the meal exchanging stories about accidental magic, which only led to a belly ache because he had laughed so hard. Harry couldn't quite imagine Hagrid being young enough to have a teddy bear, but the idea of him accidentally turning it into a tiny dragon and making it chase his father around the house was the funniest thing in the world at that moment.

As the day drew to a close and Hagrid escorted him home, Harry wondered what the rising emotion in his chest was. It had started when he had first entered Diagon Alley and it had only increased significantly when Hagrid told him about his parents. Maybe it was a sense of belonging? He had been born into this world, but it didn't feel like it. It all felt brand new and wonderful in the best way imaginable.

Harry had always felt out of place, but it all made sense to him now. He was not slipping into a new identity, but simply reclaiming one that had always belonged to him:

Harry Potter. Son of Lily and James. Wizard.

Author's Notes:

I've got to give credit to NovusArs and his story Ouroborus for giving me the idea of Domus as a house title and leading me to google what an ouroboros even is. Pretty cool symbolism.

The Potter family motto is something I found on a Shadowhunter fan work of the Herondale family, but as I just stumbled on it on google images, I don't know who to give credit to.

Kindjals are something I learned from the Shadowhunters show (can you tell I'm a fan, yet?) as they become a certain character's signature weapon. I added it because I thought it looked cool.

The runes in this fic work similar to Shadowhunters too but instead of going on people, they go on things.

My idea for the potions in the vault is that the Potters made their wealth from potions, so brewing a difficult one is like a family rite of passage.

Also, I aged up Harry's parents by five years, so they had more time to do all the things I said they did.

I changed the wand woods around for a reason, and things like only one phoenix being domesticated is done for a reason. Also, I'm using the Wizarding World's explanation for wand wood meanings.