About the subject of Harry's vault: it's frozen right now. For all the goblins know, Harry Potter could be dead. He was taken from his house immediately after the final battle. It's useful to keep them thinking that for now. He may claim it soon, or he may have reasons why he can't.

I am going with about 12-15 people per house per year in Cannon (normally it would be 18-20, but birth rates are low due to the war). In this world, there are only about 6-8. Many, like the Patil twins, moved away or never came to the UK in the first place. Some died in attacks on Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. A few were killed when Death Eaters hunted down their family or were killed during raids on Death Eater houses.

I have redone the monetary system, which I will explain in the next chapter. In addition, I would love suggestions as to where characters should be sorted. I'm having a massive issue with the sorting, which is part of why I didn't want to post this. I apologize for the long space between updates.

Nestled away in a vibrant green forest, mystical and bursting with life of all shapes and sizes, was a small village. Seventeen houses made of brick and wood, along with a town hall, an inn, a small stone fortress, and a clothing store, stood around a small square lined with colorful stones. A dirt road winds its way through the houses, branching out to lead to each individual house. There are thirty-one inhabitants, many with the ability to wield magic, although some without it. This village does not officially exist.

Early in the morning, when the streaks of orange and pink had just barely vanished from the sky, a small boy with messy hair and bags under his eyes sat by a crystal-clear window, staring out into the trees longingly. His name was Harry Potter, and he would be leaving the village for the first time in two years, the first time since Uncle Moony had brought him here and The Accident had occurred.

Downstairs, he could smell the glorious aroma of pancakes heating up over a magical fire, being cooked by Jenna Heathers, one of the younger women in the tiny village. Despite being unable to use magic, she was kind and friendly to all, the very image of what people like her could be if given a chance. She had always been nice to Harry, unlike some of the more hostile villagers, bitter from years of war and bigotry towards their kind. Uncle Moony would be in there to wake him soon, at which point he would bound excitedly forth and murder his pancakes, talking rapidly about how he was so excited to finally leave.

But for now, Harry would sit by his window at his tiny table, thinking about the nightmare that had woken him up. Harry always had the nightmares around the full moon, and it had only been five days since the last one. He would tell Uncle Moony that he was nearly recovered, of course, but a werewolf could never be completely free of the icy full moon hanging up there in the sky. Harry looked down at the picture of his parents holding him on the day he was born. They looked so happy, so carefree, despite the war going on at their doorstep. Little did they know that they would have only five short years before the family would be torn apart by the father's death.

Harry shook his head, clearing away the thoughts. He was excited, that was no lie. He missed Diagon Alley and all the magic humming around the place. He could hear it, like it was just a bit too high or low for humans to hear. He did sometimes wonder if animals could hear magic. He had waited for this since he was nearly nine, and asked when he would be allowed to leave the village. It did not at all dampen his enthusiasm that this would merely be a quick trip – in and out. He could get a wand at Ollivanders, and that would be it. Mary Prince, one of the four non-werewolf members of the village, had gotten Harry's birthday present already, although officially he only knew that everyone who had wanted to had pooled their money on it.

He picked up his letter, from Hogwarts, savoring each word. He, a werewolf, was invited to Hogwarts. Sure, they needed as many people as possible to replenish the population of the Wizarding World, but even Muggleborns were considered higher than werewolves. At least Muggleborns had the same rights as half-bloods (in theory). Werewolves had barely any at all. The most you would get for an unauthorized killing of one of them was a fine, and that was rare. In general, you were told that you had done a great service to the community. But the Headmaster didn't know that Harry was a werewolf. The Headmaster wasn't even supposed to know he was alive, but Uncle Moony said that he had seemed nearly omniscient. Still, Harry had a chance, and he was not going to waste it. He had his very own letter, and soon, his very own wand.

"Harry!" Uncle Moony's voice called from outside the door. "Happy birthday!" Harry grinned at once and opened the door. "So you were up this whole time. How long?" Suddenly, Uncle Moony looked worried. He could change so fast that you wondered if he was ever really happy or just pretending.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Just an hour or so…I'm fine, really." Uncle Moony gave him a hug. "I got Jenna to cook you some pancakes. Or more, she shoved me aside, told me my cooking was horrible, and began to make them."

"They smell delicious." Harry commented as they made their way down the stairs. They creaked, but didn't fall. Magic kept this house together, because it certainly wouldn't be standing otherwise.

"And here's the birthday boy!" Jenna said cheerfully, flipping a large one in a pan as she spoke. "Happy – arg!" She staggered backwards as Harry gave her a hug. Jenna normally loved them, but apparently it was a bad idea to try that if she was cooking. A finished pancake flew into the air and landed on his head. Pausing to apologize, Harry, picked the pancake up and took a bite out of it.

"Yum." He proclaimed, his mouth full of food. Uncle Moony gave a rare laugh, and for a moment everyone was happy. Then the serious stuff had to begin.

Sitting down at the table with plenty of pancakes and orange juice, the three werewolves began to talk. "Okay, so we're going to make our trip today to get the wand. Lucinda knows about this, right, Jenna?"

"Yeah, but she'll probably forget." Jenna said thoughtfully. "I'll be over at my shop with Andrew, and that'll likely be the first place Lucinda looks if she gets worried. Plus, I know all about everything here, and you know how she is."

Harry smiled. Jenna was basically the gossiping neighbor of the village, except she somehow managed to do it in a nice way. She knew everyone's birthday, their personality, their thought process, their parents' names, and where everyone happened to be at the moment. Everyone was her friend, even the children. Currently, there were four children in the village at the moment, two of them non-werewolves. The non-werewolf children were Catherine and Brandon McGuire. Both of them were children of Vincent and Cordelia McGuire. Vincent McGuire was a non-werewolf, so any of his children had a chance of not becoming werewolves themselves. The other werewolf child in the village besides Harry was Rose Zeller, a close friend of Catherine Stewart.

"I will be taking Harry to Ollivanders in a few minutes via Apparation. We will arrive near The Leaky Cauldron and enter. We shall go to Ollivanders, get a wand, and leave. If we are spotted by anyone who might raise an alarm, I shall contact you through the mirror, and we will decide whether to abort the mission or not. Are you ready, Harry?" Harry nodded. Uncle Moony always talked like an Auror when things were this important. And they really were incredibly important. Two werewolves would be going into Diagon Alley in broad daylight, with people. Harry took a deep breath.

Uncle Moony led him to behind the cottage and with a crack! the world seemed to spin, pressing in on Harry.

Turning –

Spinning –

Whirling –

Tornado –

Scream –

Whirlwind –

BAM!

Harry hit the street hard, bruising his leg. He struggled to his feet, pulling himself up with Uncle Moony's arm. They had landed near a pub with a sign proclaiming it "The Leaky Cauldron". Harry felt like he was going to be sick. "Feeling okay there, Harry?" Harry jerked his head in a no, not willing to risk speaking.

Eventually, he was able to choke out an "I'm fine" and they made their way to Ollivanders. A bell dinged as Harry stepped into the shop. Mr. Ollivander was there within seconds, stepping down from a ladder that travelled among the dusty shelves.

"Mr. Potter. I was wondering when I might see you here. You have your mother's eyes, you know. It seems only yesterday when she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work, as well as for Healing. Lily Potter was astoundingly good at that." Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry, silver eyes unblinking and curious.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, and quite pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Harry nodded. Uncle Moony had told him all about that. He just hoped that a wand would choose him quickly and that he wouldn't sit there in the shop for hours, waiting for a wand that would never appear.

"It's alright." Uncle Moony chuckled. "When I was first here, I thought that I could never be a wizard. I wasn't even going to go to Hogwarts until Dumbledore showed up. I didn't expect a wand to choose me, but it did."

"Ah, Mr. Lupin. I remember your first wand – but that's not the one you carry, is it? You received your new wand thirteen years ago. Cypress, with a unicorn hair core. Pliable. Is it still in good shape?"

"As reliable as ever, Mr. Ollivander. We are in a bit of a hurry today, though."

"The process cannot be rushed!" Mr. Ollivander sounded offended. "Oh, no! This is a most delicate procedure. Would you deprive young Mr. Potter of his best fitted wand?"

"I merely meant to say that I do not have the time to stay and chat about my wand. Being here at all is risky." Uncle Moony explained.

"I understand." Mr. Ollivander's eyes softened. "After the London attacks…well, you're lucky you aren't traced. You may still be, you know. But we shall, as you are surely wishing to say, 'get on with it'." He rummaged through a pile of papers and pulled out a long tape measure with silver runes. "Which is your wand arm?"

"My right hand." Harry said quietly, having watched the proceedings with great interest. The was Mr. Ollivander talked, it seemed like a precise art to match a wand to a wizard. Mr. Ollivander started taking measurements before leaving the tape measure to work on his own.

"This will do." Mr. Ollivander announced. He had been searching among the shelves until he found one. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –" The wand was snatched quickly out of his hands before he even got a good look at it. "No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, rather springy."

This wand was a beautiful dark brown color with elaborate carvings and runes all over it. He waved it, but it was soon snatched out of his hands. He was handed willow, mahogany, cypress, holly, vine, and silver lime, but none of them worked. "Perhaps…red oak and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Harry sighed as he took the wand, expecting another failure, but as soon as it touched his hand a sudden warmth spread throughout his fingers. He smiled. The wand felt like coming home, filling him with a feeling of rightness. Harry could hear the faint buzzing of magic from the wand, his wand now. It was a dark reddish-brown color, and fairly plain. A circle of runes was carved around the base. It wasn't particularly shiny or polished, but it was smooth. The bottom part of the wand was a bit large for his hand, but it fit comfortably. The wand was simple, yet practical. Harry flicked it, and a stream of red and gold sparks shot through the wand, reminding him of the Gryffindor crest. What did that mean?

Harry payed for the wand with his golden coins and he left the shop with Uncle Moony, his mind still on the House that he hoped to be Sorted into. His mother and father were both Gryffindors, as was his Uncle Moony. Uncle Padfoot had also been a Gryffindor. But Wormtail, who everyone refused to tell him about, had been a Gryffindor too. Uncle Moony had told him multiple times that he shouldn't be ashamed if he was a Slytherin, meaning that he seemed to think that there was a possibility for that actually happening.

They took a different way home, because apparently Uncle Moony had forgotten something that he needed to pick up. This time, instead of the bustling town that appeared on the Main Alley, the houses were a dull grey and the streets a dusty, dirty brown. Cobblestoned portions appeared occasionally, but more often than not the street was riddled with holes. Beggars sat on the sides of the road, holding non-magical signs. "Who're they?" Harry asked Uncle Moony. Sure, there may be issues with rent in the Wizarding World, but no one could want for food when they had magic. Besides, it was rather easy to build a home with magic.

"Uneducated folk, mostly." Uncle Moony said. "Some lost all they had during the war and were forced to work instead of attending Hogwarts. Others are orphaned children, unable to use magic outside of school and hoping to raise a few Galleons to buy extra school supplies. Some people were expelled from Hogwarts, and others left willingly after their second year only to discover they liked this world years later."

"Second year?" Harry asked.

"Educational Degree 36 wasn't in place until two years ago, the summer after the war ended." Uncle Moony explained.

"Sorry, I always get my dates mixed up." Uncle Moony literally had to drag Harry away from a small boy sitting on the side of the road with a small can. He had brown hair and sad brown eyes that stared pleadingly at each passerby. The child couldn't have been more than seven. "Why can't we help him?" Harry asked. "Even we can spare a few knuts."

"Watch." Uncle Moony sighed. About a minute later, a man came out of a nearby apartment and began to argue with the boy. Harry, with his excellent hearing, eavesdropped on the conversation.

"How much've you got?" The man asked, checking the can. "A sorry seven Sickles?"

"Daddy, a man fixed my shoes and shirt!" The boy said quietly, looking down at the road. "I don't look like a beggar, so no one gave me anything." He took off his left shoe, and the man waved his wand and the shirt looked dirty and threadbare.

"I expect you to do better this time. Do you understand?" The father asked in a dangerous voice.

"Yes, daddy." The man left without a second chance and the boy began begging again.

"Do you see?" Uncle Moony asked quietly.

"Yeah. I guess there's not much we can do for him – can't keep his father from him, can we? But some of them are for real?"

"Most of them are, at least. Again, here's not much we can do to help. A few sickles won't change anything. The problem is that we're still rebuilding. It will take more than a few years to recover from the war. We're here." Uncle Moony motioned to an old building full of books. They stepped inside, and Uncle Moony began asking the owner questions. Harry wandered around the store for a bit among the musty tomes, but soon found himself incredibly bored. Harry had never been one for reading.

After what felt like years, but Harry was willing to concede that it was only days, they stopped talking and Uncle Moony began searching through the stacks of books. Harry tried examining his wand or reading his DADA book, but eventually gave up and flopped on the floor. The bookshop owner scolded him, and he went off to sulk about how unfair it was that he got stuck in here.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and Harry decided to wait outside for Uncle Moony. Diagon Alley was very interesting, and he would go back in in a few minutes. Uncle Moony would never even notice that he left the bookshop.

Harry sat down on the doorstep, surveying the scene. Shoppers traveled through the streets, and Harry watched them, hoping to see another student beginning at Hogwarts. He didn't find anyone, but watching everyone pass by was still interesting.

Harry liked to watch how normal people acted, studying their movement and speech. A little girl with blonde hair in pigtails was complaining about eating a broccoli-flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, and her older sister was telling her that it served her right for stealing candy. A woman wearing pink robes with white fur on the sleeves was shaking her pink hat upside down, out of which several large rocks, way too big to fit, were falling. Another woman with white hair and blue robes was walking around with her eyes closed, bumping into people left and right. A brown owl flew overhead with a message, causing owl droppings to fall onto a boy of about twelve who screamed in fright.

Little did he know, one of the beggars on the street had been sneaking closer to him, slowly but surely creeping up to the doorstep. Harry only noticed when he felt a prickling on the back of his neck and spun around. A man was standing at the side of the building next to the steps up to the door. He had long, uncut greasy black hair and sallow skin. He was carrying a bottle in his left hand, and from the way he walked he was very, very drunk.

The man grabbed him, causing Harry to shriek, but everyone on the street just ducked their head and hurried on, pretending not to notice. Most people knew that if you wanted to keep your possessions and your life, you minded your own business. Harry was pressed up against the building, eyes darting left and right, searching for an escape route. He should never have come out here alone.

"You look like him." The man said, pushing Harry against the side of the building. His breath smelled like fire whiskey and his eyes were afire with hatred.

"What –" Harry asked panicking. "Let me go! Let me go!"

"But you have her eyes." Harry squirmed, trying to run, to fight, to live. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. The wolf was taking over, and Harry couldn't let it. Everything was going in and out of focus, and Harry was completely unable to think clearly. He needed to get out of here right – right now!

"Help!" Harry cried. The door burst open and the strange drunk man was thrown off of him with a blast from a spell. Uncle Moony ran over to Harry immediately, hugging him.

"Are you alright? Harry, are you alright? Speak to me!"

"Fine." Harry croaked. "Just – get – off – can't – b – b – b – breathe!" Uncle Moony let go and Harry was finally able to inhale again. "I - I'm fine." He reassured Uncle Moony immediately. Reassuring Uncle Moony was instinct by now. "W-w-who was th-that?"

"I don't know." Uncle Moony said, although his eyes indicated that he was lying. "I didn't have a chance to see him. I was worried, Harry. You can't just run off like that!"

"I-I'm sorry." Harry said, still looking around. But the man was gone. The only thing remaining was the odor that Harry could still smell. That wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Slowly, he collected his thoughts and took deep breaths until he could speak normally. "Really, I'm sorry for going off like that. I should have stayed in the shop."

"Yes, you should have." Uncle Moony sighed. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Really." He added at Uncle Moony's skeptical look. "It was scary, and he was saying something weird, but I'm not hurt at all."

"Well, it's your birthday today, so I am not going to try to punish you. Have you learned your lesson?" Harry nodded. "We're going home – I got what I needed." They began to walk back to the Apparation spot. "By the way, what was the man saying?" Uncle Moony asked curiously.

"He said I looked like him but I have her eyes. I mean, I've been told that about my parents before. Did he know my parents?" Uncle Moony, lost in thought, didn't respond. Harry nudged him. "Uncle Moony, did he know my parents?"

"What? Oh, maybe. I don't know who it was." Harry frowned. Uncle Moony was a horrible liar, but he always, always stuck with his story. You could never catch him off guard and he always kept his responses consistent.

"Really?"

"Yes, Harry. I don't make a habit of knowing everyone in the Wizarding World." Uncle Moony said. Harry decided to drop it, and anyway, he couldn't really think of anything after the sickening Apparation. They arrived at the Apparation spot and walked into the village from there. When they reached their cottage, Harry reached towards the wooden door…

"SURPRISE!" Harry grinned as his eyes took in the room. Most of the villagers had come, and there were sparkling gold letters in the air spelling "Happy Birthday Harry!" Lanterns with animated lights in the form of different animals floated throughout the room. On the table was a big cake that Jenna had likely made with some help from Amber Gretchen, and beside it was a long package wrapped in sparkly wrapping paper.

After being congratulated on his birthday twenty-three times, Harry was convinced to cut the cake. It was delicious, and it vanished astonishingly fast. Then it was time for Harry to open his present. He carefully pealed back the wrapping paper to find a broomstick – and not just any broomstick either. He had been pretty certain that they were getting him a broomstick to use in Broomstick Maneuvering Class, but he had thought that it would be a Shooting Star or similar broom. It would be pretty much the same as the school brooms they gave to Muggleborns, but it would at least be his.

This, though, was a Nimbus 1700 – one of the fastest brooms made and a top battle broomstick. Sure, it was secondhand, and the Nimbus 2000 was even better, but this was a really good broomstick. How had they managed to afford this? Harry pushed aside his worry, though. He had a broomstick, and feeling bad about it wouldn't earn any money back. He smiled and ran over to Uncle Moony to hug him. "Thanks!" He yelled. Then he hugged each of the villagers who would let him, thanking them for their contributions. He wouldn't normally do anything like that, but today he was completely and utterly happy.

"You're acting like you're drunk!" Jenna teased. Harry just smiled and looked at his new broomstick. He couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts and show his classmates what he could do. That's right, he was going to stop at nothing to prove that werewolves could be heroes. And, with his new broomstick and wand, he was going to be the best battlemage ever.

Please read and review! I would love your feedback! Thank you to Qtelatino1, Snake D'Morte, animikiikaa, nsaifnabi, and skyjadeprincess for favoriting this story.