Harry had heard that one of the worst things to do when you were going to be having an important meeting was to be nervous about it.

Admittedly the one who'd given him the advice had been Draco, and it had been a bit uncharacteristic of the Slytherin boy, but it sounded reasonable.

Accordingly, Harry got a large chunk of his Easter Holidays homework done over the weekend. He skipped going to Fort William, enjoyed the Book Club, then after dinner on Sunday he re-read most of All The Weyrs Of Pern and turned in at about ten in the evening.

Bright and early the next morning, Harry made his way to Professor Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle moved aside at the password, just as he'd expected, but by the time the moving staircase had taken him to the top Harry had a question.

Professor Dumbledore opened the door, and smiled. "Good morning, Harry. Very punctual, I see."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry answered, stepping in. "Um… if we have a minute, I'd like to ask something."

"We have many minutes, Harry, some of them even available for free," Dumbledore replied. "Though I must commend you in not asking the question of whether you may ask a question, which has tripped up many before you."

"Well… why is it that so many things in Hogwarts are handled with passwords?" Harry asked. "Like the door to your office, instead of just having it ask you. Or the Prefects' bathroom – Penelope told me that there's a password to get into that."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "I think it's because it's just more fun that way. I admit that I do not recall when the idea first came in, but it lends a little entertainment to getting around, don't you think?"

That did sound like the sort of thing Wizards would do to Harry, and he nodded.

"Excellent," Dumbledore pronounced. "I'm glad we've had such a productive discussion. Now, I'm afraid Fawkes is a little poorly today on account of bursting violently into flames last night, so we'll be travelling by Floo."

He waved his wand at the fireplace, and it sprang into roaring life.

"I believe you've used the Floo, Harry?" Dumbledore added.

"Yes, Sir," Harry confirmed. "I've been wondering if I could make my flame breath do the same thing."

"A fine project, though perhaps a little advanced for first year," Dumbledore told him, and waved Harry forwards. "We will be going to Diagon Alley, and I believe from there we shall walk to the Ministry of Magic."

Harry nodded, then paused and looked at Dumbledore's clothes. "Sir, do you mean we'll be going out on the streets?"

"Most likely," Dumbledore mused. "I suppose it is possible that we could walk through the London Underground instead, but I fear the trains would get in the way."

Harry shook his head. "That's not what I mean, Sir. I mean that I think that Muggles will probably notice you when you're wearing robes, a purple cloak, and high-heeled boots."

"Goodness, is that so?" Dumbledore asked, sounding delighted for the advice. "Do you mean they will see me as dashing, or simply as obviously strange?"

"I'm afraid it's the second one, Sir," Harry explained. "I think if you had a long coat that would work better, and maybe if it was mostly brown or black."

"Ah, brown and black," Dumbledore said, considering, and waved his wand to conjure a mirror. "I do wonder why it is that so many people prefer dark colours..."

Another spell, again without any spoken words (Harry was very impressed) and Professor Dumbledore's purple cloak changed into a dark brown raincoat.

It was much better, and while Harry would have noticed the Headmaster walking down a street in London he wouldn't have done more than that.

Then they went through the Floo. Harry flared his wings as wide as he could as he arrived in the Leaky Cauldron, and that helped stabilize him – so he only stumbled a little on landing.

After a quick breakfast at the pub – Harry had a large pile of waffles, which was something he hadn't tried before – they went out into Diagon Alley.

"Why did we come here hours early, Sir?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I just thought it would be nice to have a day out," Dumbledore explained pleasantly. "And do some shopping. Do you have any shopping to do, Harry?"

"I do want to get a tent," Harry said. "And probably some more books."

"A tent?" Dumbledore repeated. "Goodness, I didn't take you for a fan of camping, Harry. But then I suppose everyone has a hobby."

"It's not really for camping, Sir," Harry explained. "It's more to keep my things in. I've already got a lot, and my trunk's too big and heavy to fly with. But if I could put everything in a tent, or in a backpack, then I could carry the tent and it'd be easier for me to get to and from the station without troubling my aunt and uncle – and it would mean I'd have more space."

"That all sounds very sensible of you, Harry," Dumbledore told him, and Harry tried not to preen. "And do you have any other shopping to do? I myself would like to pick up a brand-new astrolabe, along with an orrery I have had my eye on for quite some time, but since nobody has got me one for my birthday for the last eighty years I decided to treat myself."

"I didn't know it was your birthday, Sir," Harry apologized.

"Oh, no, it's not," Dumbledore chuckled. "But I don't see why I should wait until August to treat myself once I decided to."

That sounded sensible enough to Harry.

"I was thinking of getting some books," he added. "And some Muggle money from Gringotts as well, so I could buy more."

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed pleasantly. "Though I might warn you that, when you have too many books, you will long for the simple delights of socks instead."

"I really don't think that will happen, Sir," Harry politely disagreed. "I don't think there's such a thing as too many books. I can always use the ones I don't want to read to lie on."

Harry quite enjoyed the morning he spent with Professor Dumbledore, both because it was a chance to do some shopping in Diagon Alley and because the Professor was quite amazingly knowledgeable on just about all aspects of magic – from Alchemy to something beginning with Z.

It could have turned into a lecture, during the time they spent not in Gringotts or in the book shop, or in the various other shops they visited, but Dumbledore spent as much time asking Harry about things Harry could tell him as the opposite.

He wasn't really sure whether or not Dumbledore already knew all the things he was asking about, but it was quite fun anyway to explain to the headmaster about why Reaper Man was funny or how Belgarath the Sorceror's wife was who he described as a reverse wolf animagus.

The time really did pass quickly, and Harry had to admit that he enjoyed how more people came to say hello to Dumbledore than came to say hello to him.

He might be a dragon, but Dumbledore was Albus Dumbledore.

"Sir?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering something he'd wondered about a while ago. "I wanted to ask – what's a Grand Sorc?"

Dumbledore put down the glass ball he'd been looking at, which contained a model of Saturn and all its rings, and smiled down at Harry. "Well, as you are doubtless aware, though may wish to confirm, it means Grand Sorcerer. As to what a Grand Sorcerer is, I confess that I have no idea."

"You don't?" Harry blinked. "But… you are one."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "And I wish to this day that when I was told that I was one I had asked precisely what it was."

Harry had to hastily swallow a giggle, and Dumbledore twinkled.

"So it's just something you were told you were one day?" Harry added, once he was sure he wouldn't laugh.

"Well… I do have an idea or two, I would say," Dumbledore said, raising a finger to his extravagantly bearded chin.

Harry tilted his head in anticipation, and Dumbledore winked at him before continuing. "One possibility is that it simply means that I am quite good at magic. While another is that it means I have created a Sorcerer's Stone."

"What's a Sorcerer's Stone?" Harry asked.

"I don't have the faintest idea," Dumbledore replied. "I believe that our cousins across the Atlantic may know, but I would not care to guess – that is surely for them to tell."

He smiled. "Though I believe that in the tale of Babbity Rabbity, a fine old Wizarding fairytale, the Muggle pretending to be a Wizard is called a Grand Sorceror. So perhaps it means I am no good at magic after all."

"That's a lot stranger than how it works at Unseen University," Harry said, thinking about it. "People there have all kinds of titles, and they organize Wizards into levels. But Witches don't have any titles except for things like 'Granny' or 'Nanny', they're all equal."

He paused. "And they all know Granny Weatherwax is in charge."

Harry was delighted when that made Dumbledore laugh out loud. It wasn't really his joke, it was definitely one of Mr. Pratchett's ones, but he was sure he'd told it quite well.

After Professor Dumbledore was loaded down with astronomy equipment – which all seemed to vanish into his pockets a bit at a time after he'd paid for it – they moved on to getting Harry's tent.

There was a quite amazing variety of tents, ranging from a very simple 'Muggle-safe' tent which was just a tent charmed impervious to the cold or to rain, all the way to a fifteen foot castle which looked like it was larger on the inside than Harry's primary school.

He didn't want anything nearly as complicated as that, and it wouldn't fit in the attic at Privet Drive anyway, but that still left a lot of choice. Several of them had kitchens with ovens and fridges installed, living rooms were common, and there was even plumbing (though that left Harry very confused as to where all the results would actually go).

"You'll need to provide water for those yourself," the shop owner explained, pointing out where the water could be put. "Normally you'd be able to use a spell, of course, but you're still in school so that's not an option when you're out and about I suppose."

"You can make water with a spell but not food?" Harry asked.

"Quite," Professor Dumbledore was happy to explain, and the shop owner jumped a little as if he'd forgotten his old headmaster was right there. "Water is simple enough, you see, and there's a spell for it, though the water one conjures is never quite so tasty as water from another source."

"I should be okay," Harry decided after a bit, thinking about the taps at Privet Drive (not to mention the kitchen there). "Is there one with a big storeroom?"

"Ah, um, yes," the shop owner confirmed. "There's two in the back. Got a lot of stuff, I suppose?"

"I want to make sure I don't run out of space," Harry clarified.

"Well, then, let's have a look," the shop owner decided. "Let's see… here's one of them..."

He waved his wand, incanting 'Erecto!' and the tent was up in moments.

Harry found himself presented with a choice of décor, which was the main difference between the two tents when all was said and done. They both had two conventional bedrooms, a bathroom, a sitting room, a kitchen with a small table, and a large storeroom with shelves lining the walls. (Harry mentally labelled that particular room the library in both cases.)

As for the differences, one of them was… certainly consistent. It was all patterned in various shades of beige, on the carpets and walls and the worktops, though the beds and chairs were thankfully more of a deep brown so they could be discerned.

The other had wooden floorboards everywhere except the bedrooms, which were carpeted in a rich blue, and all the furniture was plain pine and mahogany (though the sofas had plump green cushions on them).

Harry found himself preferring the second one, not least because he felt like it was easier to tell where the wooden floors met the white-wallpapered walls than to tell where beige met beige. The idea of lying there over the summer months, reading through his library, was deeply pleasant, and if he left the door open Hedwig could fly in and out – the opening wasn't enormous, but it was big enough to fit her wings through.

The unfortunate thing was that he couldn't really explain it all to the Dursleys, but this would probably make it a lot easier for them to handle having him in the house.

Thoughts of the Dursleys led Harry to ask what other charms there were on the tent, and the shop owner explained proudly that it was charmed Unbreakable, as well as having a lock that only responded to a specific key, then added pointedly that none of it was flammable.

Pleased by that extra point, Harry decided to go ahead and buy the wooden-floored tent. It cost a little more than he'd been expecting, but it was manageable, and Harry finally walked out of Accoutrements For The Wand-Ering Wizard with his new summer home packed up to about the size of a dinner plate.

He'd want to try putting it up a few times at Hogwarts, just to make sure he could do it, though. Even if that meant 'indoors'.

All too soon, however, it was time for lunch.

Dumbledore got them both expansive triple-tip sundaes from an ice cream bar, Florean Fortescue's, which was the first time Harry had actually had any ice cream – Dudley had had it a lot, but he'd never been got any.

It was very nice, cool and refreshing, and though perhaps that might have been a better fit on a hot day instead of the slightly dreary weather of a typical British Spring Harry couldn't bring himself to mind that much.

"Something I was wondering about, Sir," he said, after biting off some of the caramel-swirled tip of his sundae. "I can see the sky overhead, but what would happen if I flew up there?"

The Professor smiled. "Ah, an incisive question, Harry."

He negligently waved his hand at his own sundae, leaving his spoon sticking out of it. "You see, if you took off you could certainly leave – I do believe you'd come out over the Embankment Gardens – but you would need to turn around and trouble Tom at the Leaky Cauldron to come back in again. The charms involved are a little complex, I am afraid, but the idea is that it's… sort of a trade, you see. Light and rain and so on, they can come in, but it cannot be seen from the outside and it cannot be entered either."

Taking his spoon again, he took a mouthful of his peanut-butter tip as Harry absorbed that.

"Of course, we do quite well from both sides of the trade, you see," he added cheerfully. "And I must say, the wizards who put the spellwork over it did a truly marvellous job. It's been hidden entirely since Sixteen Eighty-Nine, and not once have the charms shown the slightest sign of intermittency."

"Is a lot of magic like that?" Harry asked. "Swapping things, I mean."

"Oh, some things, some things," Dumbledore told him. "Such as the Fidelius Charm. You can hide yourself from the world, but not from one person… and that is the person in whom you place your trust."

That topic seemed to make Dumbledore a little sad, so Harry decided to change topics. "What's the Ministry of Magic like?"

"Well, I might say it is a collection of Witches and Wizards," Dumbledore mused. "And one in which most of those involved do quite a lot of paperwork. So I would venture to say that it is quite an odd place indeed."

He produced his wand, and cast a wordless spell which caused numbers to float in the air for a moment. "And I see that if we are to be on time, we should perhaps not take too long on our lunch."

Harry was about to swallow the rest of his ice cream in one go, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "You misunderstand, Harry. I meant we should take no more than another hour."

"I don't think I've ever had a lunch that lasted more than an hour," Harry replied.

"It can be quite a pleasant experience," Dumbledore told him. "I recommend it one day."

They finished their sundaes, and made their way out onto the streets of Muggle London. Harry had taken the precaution of putting on his weather cloak, as well as his robes, and so he looked like he was perhaps a little overdressed for the weather but nothing more.

Professor Dumbledore stood out a little more than Harry had expected, even with his more drab clothing, but it wasn't too bad – and it wasn't all that far to walk, either, taking them perhaps twenty minutes of actually walking and another five minutes waiting to cross roads. It was a bit further than anything was in Hogwarts, perhaps, but it was also a lot less 'up'.

"There is an awful lot of traffic, isn't there?" Dumbledore commented to Harry, as they waited to get across the complicated roundabout where Charing Cross and Whitehall met. "I do sometimes forget just how many people there are in London."

"It's a lot busier than Surrey," Harry had to agree.

They took a few minutes to admire the Admiralty Arch, because they were in no hurry, and then Dumbledore led him to a small and out-of-the-way alley which looked like it was the most run-down place anywhere near Whitehall.

"This is the visitors' entrance," he explained, indicating a battered old red telephone box. "Shall we see if we both fit?"

Harry agreed, not sure if they could, but after a bit of squeezing they managed to sort of get themselves both inside. Harry's face was up against the door, and Dumbledore opposite him was facing the telephone.

"This is a bit awkward, Sir," he winced.

"So it seems," Dumbledore agreed, starting to dial the telephone. "Not to worry, we shan't be in here long. Ah… six, two, four, four, two..."

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," said a pleasant female voice which filled the whole telephone box. "Please state your name and business."

"Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore said clearly. "Chief Warlock. Here to escort Harry Potter, who has a hearing before the Wizengamot to help determine whether he should be allowed to carry a wand."

"Thank you," said the invisible woman (?). "Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

There was a clatter, and Dumbledore used his free hand to pass Harry the badge. It was shiny and silver, and Harry stared at it in surprise.

Harry Potter, Philosophical Conundrum.

"It is always rather interesting to see what it comes up with," Dumbledore chuckled. "I remember I once came by this entrance – oh, it must be twenty years ago now – to talk with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and my visitor's pass said that I was 'Albus Dumbledore, Probably Responsible'."

That made Harry snort, and he pinned the badge to his robes as the female voice told him that he had to be searched and present his wand for registration. Then the telephone box ground slowly into the ground, going down like a lift for about a minute.

Then Harry saw the Ministry of Magic for the first time, though it was spoiled a bit by the fact that when the phone box door opened he promptly fell flat on his face.

It didn't hurt, though he did have to wave off an offer of help from Professor Dumbledore.

Harry wasn't sure quite what he expected there to be in the Ministry of Magic. What little news he'd seen on the television had suggested that government buildings were all full of serious people in serious offices doing serious things very seriously, while what he'd heard from Professor Dumbledore and seen of the magical world made it seem more likely to be a bit mad.

What there actually was on the entrance floor was a hall with dozens of fireplaces, all seeming constantly in use as people used the Floo to go back and forth, and a marvellous-looking fountain made of gold.

On a second look, though, the fountain seemed a little bit odd. It had three kinds of non-human Being, all of them looking with adoration at the wizard and the witch they surrounded, but from that Harry understood from his History of Magic classes – and his textbooks – that was only really accurate for the house-elf. Centaurs didn't like anyone who wasn't a centaur much, and he wasn't entirely certain that goblins liked anyone who wasn't currently paying them.

Though admittedly that might just be that most of the goblins people met were bankers, and most of the ones they read about were trying to rebel.

As Harry and Dumbledore made their way up to the main desk, the bustle of the Ministry slowly quietened down. People were still walking, but more slowly, turning to look.

Harry heard at least one muffled 'Ow!' from behind him, which sounded like someone hadn't got out of the fireplace in time and someone else had run into them.

It reminded Harry a bit of the first few weeks at Hogwarts, not knowing quite where to go and with people looking at him, though it did help that they were also still quite early.

He got his wand registered, which turned out to mean they checked what it was made of and how long it had been used, and then Professor Dumbledore led him through the crowds to one of the lifts.

"If it helps, Harry," Dumbledore said, as Harry sighed in relief, "I prefer to remember that, while for you and I to go outside and have people wishing to meet us is quite common, for the people who are meeting us it is not common at all."

Harry thought about that as the lift descended, and nodded – realizing it was certainly true.

He hadn't really thought about it that way before.

It turned out, when they reached the floor on which the Wizengamot met, that they were still over half an hour early.

Fortunately, there was a waiting room, and Professor Dumbledore took a seat while Harry sat on his haunches.

"Would you like something to eat, while we wait, Harry?" Dumbledore suggested. "Sherbet lemon?"

"Probably not a good idea, Sir," Harry replied. "I don't think a sneezing fit would help my case."

"Quite, quite," Dumbledore agreed, and rummaged around in his pockets. "Marble?"

The bag he produced was full of half a dozen round glass balls with little flecks of colour in them, and they were so like Muggle marbles that Harry paused and looked at them.

"Are they some kind of Wizard sweet I haven't met yet, Sir?" he asked.

"No, not at all," Dumbledore replied. "They're Muggle marbles."

Harry supposed that did explain why they looked like Muggle marbles.

"I noticed a few weeks ago that you accidentally ate your glass of Pumpkin juice," Dumbledore explained. "So I thought I would get a bag of these, to see if you enjoyed them."

Quite willing to try, Harry took one in his talons and then popped it in his mouth. It shattered with a crunch, and he swallowed down the result before nodding.

"Ah, a success," Dumbledore smiled.

When they were called in, Harry was sucking on a marble to see if it would go the way of a gobstopper or something like that. He crunched it down, then followed the wizard who'd come to get them, and came out onto the floor of a large square room with wooden benches around three of the walls.

Dumbledore walked up to a podium, and announced in a cheerful way that by order of the Chief Warlock the Wizengamot session was begun.

Harry looked around at all the people sitting on the benches, noticing how they were all wearing plum-coloured robes with a silver W on the left side of the chest.

One or two of them looked sort of familiar, like he'd met their relatives – which probably meant they had children at Hogwarts.

"Ah, er, Harry Potter," began a portly man. "You are Harry Potter, yes?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry answered. "Is it Sir? I'm afraid I haven't done one of these before."

"Oh, that's quite all right, my boy," the portly man replied. "This is all to sort out a misunderstanding."

"A-hem," coughed a woman who sort of reminded Harry of Trevor, a little way around the row of benches. "Surely I must have misheard, Minister. A knowing violation of the Code of Wand Use is far more than a simple misunderstanding!"

She gave a silvery laugh, and Harry tilted his head slightly.

"You're the Minister of Magic?" he asked the portly man. "It's nice to meet you."

The toadish-looking woman seemed a little annoyed by Harry's reaction, and more annoyed by the way the Minister said the pleasure was all his. Then a woman about halfway around the row of seats inquired as to why exactly Harry was a dragon, and the best he could say was that it happened when he was very young.

"How did you stop He Who Must Not Be Named?" said a completely different wizard, and Harry had the strangest feeling of deja vu about these questions so far.

"I don't remember that, either, Sir," he had to answer. "It happened when I was only one year old."

The unpleasant-looking woman from before coughed. "I'm sorry if you don't know this," she said, her voice high and sweet. "But the Wizengamot is made up of very important people! It's not polite to boast, because their time is very important!"

Harry didn't think he'd been boasting.

"Ah, Mr. Potter – can I call you Harry?" the Minister asked, and Harry nodded. "Harry, do you remember not being a dragon?"

"Yes, Minister," Harry answered. "Not very well, but I know I'd started school. I remember being very confused, but nobody noticed."

"Nobody noticed?" asked one of the people on a back bench. "How in the world could nobody notice?"

"I believe that is because they are Muggles," Dumbledore explained for Harry. "For some unknown reason, it seems that Mr. Potter appears unremarkable to anyone who is not blessed with magic."

"That's right," Harry agreed. "And I just sort of assumed… that was something that happened sometimes and nobody much cared. Because everyone was okay with it."

"This all seems quite unbelievable to me," someone muttered.

"Are you an Animagus, Mr. Potter?" one of the other Wizengamot members asked.

That question made Harry frown, as he thought about what he'd read.

"I don't think so, Sir," he answered. "I've never brewed a potion anything like that complicated, especially not when I was about five years old, and I didn't carry a leaf in my mouth for months either. And I didn't have a wand."

The woman with the high voice looked like she was about to say something, but another Wizengamot member asked a question instead, and then another.

The questioning went on for at least half an hour, and it seemed as though every member of the Wizengamot wanted their turn.

Some of them asked Harry half-a-dozen questions, including Bartemius Crouch (from the Quibbler, though Harry didn't talk about that) and one Elphias Doge who Harry remembered from the letter in the paper.

"...quite capable of using your wand to full effect?" Elphias asked, following up. "For detail work?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry said. "Or, well, I'm still learning, but I've been able to cast all the spells I've tried so far – it sometimes takes a lot of work, though."

"Mr. Potter's marks at school are quite good," Dumbledore provided cheerfully. "His friends have a habit of making wonderful use of the spell to conjure bluebell flames."

"Most impressive," Elphias said, and sat down. Harry thought he heard the man say something like 'very exciting, wow' but by then someone else was standing.

"Mr. Potter," that witch said, sternly. "Are you in any way capable of proving yourself to be human?"

"I don't know, Madam," he replied, continuing with his assumption that Sir and Madam were the right ways to talk about all the Wizengamot members. "I haven't found out what the official definition of human is."

"Grandparents," the witch told him. "To be human, Mr. Potter, you must have at least one human grandparent."

That made Harry frown.

"Wouldn't that mean that if you have a human grandparent you also have a human parent?" he asked.

"I believe it is because of the customs on what counts as pureblood versus halfblood," Dumbledore told him. "Interestingly enough this means that the children of two muggleborn parents are themselves considered muggleborn."

"Chief Warlock, I protest," the witch said. "You are allowing Mr. Potter to evade the question."

"My apologies," Dumbledore replied. "I saw a teaching moment, and I did not want to let it escape."

"Well… I think all my grandparents were human," Harry replied. "But I've never met any of them, they all died before I was born."

"Perhaps-"

"This is all very sweet," the high-voiced woman interrupted, drawing a scandalized look from the witch she'd spoken over. "But none of it matters, because Mr. Potter is clearly not human."

"Dolores," the Minister said, a little surprised, and the woman – Dolores – kept going.

"It's obviously lovely that he's been allowed to play at being a wizard," she said. "But he really needs to grow up and accept that he's not human, and to give back that wand to whoever he stole it from."

"I didn't steal my wand, Madam," Harry protested. "I paid seven Galleons for it."

"It's lovely to see you again, Dolores," Dumbledore said brightly. "Do you know, I still remember when you were a first-year. How is your father Orford doing?"

"You must be mistaken, Albus," Dolores replied. "My father is not Orford."

"Well, I can't remember any other Umbridge at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "And how is your mother, Ellen Cracknell? I remember her and your father both being terribly disappointed that your brother was born without magic."

Dolores looked like she was so angry she'd lost the ability to speak, which was quite strange to Harry because all Dumbledore was doing was asking about how her family was doing.

For the actual discussion to start again took quite a long time, during which there was a general uproar, and Dolores left the room in what Harry guessed was some level of 'dudgeon' – a word he didn't actually know the meaning of, but liked the sound of anyway.

The Minister for Magic looked quite perturbed by the whole thing, and when the discussion finally resumed it was Dumbledore (in his capacity as Chief Warlock, and possibly as Grand Sorcerer) who made the next suggestion.

"It seems to me that there are three possible outcomes from this meeting," he said calmly, and the last of the conversations died away to listen. "The first option is that we make the decision that Mr. Potter does not qualify as human, and thus we should take his wand."

That made Harry a bit nervous, but Dumbledore continued calmly. "This, I think, would be a mistake – because we cannot be sure that Mr. Potter is not human, and to strip away his wand could be a dreadful injustice."

"Well, of course," the Minister agreed, nodding along as if it had been his point in the first place. "Got to be sure about this sort of thing, quite sure."

"Then there is the option that we should decide to allow Mr. Potter to keep his wand, that is, to conclude that he is human," Dumbledore went on. "But I feel that this as well is not the right option, because Mr. Potter would then be in a state of worry – perhaps in the future a different decision might be made, and his wand might be taken away, and even if it were not he would doubtless worry."

That statement prompted some muttering, and after a few seconds of that the Minister spoke up. "But… I'm not sure I understand, Dumbledore," he admitted. "What's the other option? Either we say Harry Potter is human or we say he's not… unless you're saying we should just ignore it?"

"No, Cornelius, though that had crossed my mind," Dumbledore said. "But there is another option. We are the Wizengamot, and it is within our right to change the laws as well as enforce them. I might suggest an exemption for Mr. Potter?"

Harry's glasses nearly came off.

"What?" he asked, shocked, just ahead of the same question from everybody in the Wizengamot chamber. It was actually quite impressive how the shout echoed around for several seconds, and after it had faded Dumbledore – still smiling faintly – asked Harry to speak.

"Well… I don't really want there to be a law that's just about me," he explained. "It'd be really special treatment, and I don't want that."

There was a general muttering of approval, and Dumbledore considered before snapping his fingers with a smile.

"Perhaps something slightly different?" he suggested. "I would propose an amendment to clause three of the Code of Wand Use – no non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand, excepting those who are in the process of undertaking or have completed an accredited magical education to O.W.L level."

Harry remembered that O.W.L was the equivalent of GCSEs, and that everybody had to get them anyway, so that didn't sound too bad. It also didn't mention him, even though it was obviously meant for him as he was the only one doing an accredited magical education.

It sounded sort of sensible, at least as a way to avoid having to work out whether or not Harry qualified as human, and there was a lot of discussion and grumbling and more questions about what 'accredited' meant and whether the 'process of undertaking' covered time outside school.

It was maybe half an hour after Dumbledore's suggestion that they ultimately decided to accept the wording anyway, and with a quick vote it was carried into law.

"Excellent," Dumbledore pronounced. "I am glad to have had such a lovely afternoon's conversation with you all, my lords and ladies of the Wizengamot. Any other business?"

There was a long pause, and the Headmaster smiled. "Wonderful. In that case, I'll be off back to Hogwarts. Do pop in if any of you want to visit."

He turned to Harry, and spoke more quietly. "After all that, I'm quite peckish. Shall we have some Muggle food to celebrate? I've heard good things about a Scottish chef not far from here."

Amused by the idea of coming all the way down to London to eat Scottish food, Harry nodded – though he felt like heaving a big gusty sigh of relief that the stressful meeting was over.

It probably wouldn't do to set Dumbledore's robes on fire, though.

Harry had missed when Dumbledore had colour-changed his robes to a plum colour at some point, but on their way to the exit he switched them again so they were back at the 'Muggle-Safe' colour that Harry had decided on.

Then they took the phone box back to the street, where Dumbledore assured Harry both that he could keep his name badge (apparently Dumbledore had a whole collection of them in one of his drawers, ranging from 'Simply Passing By' to 'Wizard Avoiding Blizzard') and that the entrance was covered by a Muggle-Repelling Charm which kept them from being noticed.

It was some minutes after that – walking back through what was now shading towards being an evening instead of an afternoon, and through the beginnings of a rush hour that had Harry curling up his tail so nobody tripped or stepped on it – that Dumbledore revealed what he meant by 'a Scottish chef'."

"Is that not what the name means?" Dumbledore asked, with a delighted smile, eating a fry. "I must admit I was completely fooled."

Harry took a bite out of his own McDonalds burger, not bothering to remove the wrapping first.

"I think maybe the family was Scottish, originally, of the person who started it. But it's an American company," he told the much older wizard. "And there's loads of them, they're all over the place. I think they're supposed to be in half the countries in the world."

"I believe I can see why," Dumbledore said. "It is really quite tasty, and prepared so quickly, and you can take it to eat anywhere. And they call it a happy meal, as well – how very positive."

He looked down Diagon Alley, as if looking for an empty shopfront. "Perhaps we should have one in here. I'm sure they would have plenty of business."

Then there was a flash of white light, which made Harry jump, and a silvery-white doe appeared in front of them.

"Albus," the doe said, in Professor Snape's voice. "I just checked the third floor corridor. Someone broke in and got past the Cerberus."

Dumbledore blinked, then frowned. "It seems we must cut our dinner short, Harry. Please take my hand."

Harry did so, and then Dumbledore vanished with a cracking sound.

"...Professor?" he asked, confused.

There was another cracking sound, a few feet away, and Professor Dumbledore appeared again. "My apologies, Harry, I quite forgot. We shall have to take the Floo back to Hogwarts."

AN:

Caution: contains Dumbledore.

Warning: do not attempt to fake own family history in front of Dumbledore.