PART 1: COLLAPSE

"I must say," began Garrick Ollivander – he looked much younger, much healthier than Harry had ever seen him, "that I have never met a wizard with the ability to break through my very own anti-apparition wards."

Fuck. He had to think on his feet. "Perhaps," said Harry, "you ought to be more attentive at the front of your shop."

That was more biting than it needed to be.

Ollivander found it amusing, for some reason. "Now those are the words of a prospective customer. What is your name, child?"

The 'prospective customer' had his brow twitch. "Harry. Just Harry."

"Well, Harry," the wandmaker said, "I must ask you once again. How did you apparate outside my shop?"

"I thought shopkeepers warded only their business. Not outside, too," Harry ignored, meeting Ollivander's questioning gaze.

"Better safe than sorry, so we ward outside as well," shrugged the wandmaker. "And since we both know you knew that already, I await my answer."

"You'll get it," promised Harry. "As soon as I get a wand."

"You are bold. Irrationally so," he judged. "I could call the aurors. Show them the tampered wards and have you arrested on the spot."

"But there would be no evidence," Harry let himself smile for the first time. "Because I have not tampered with your wards. My signature is not on Ministry record," that was a guess, though likely true, "and there are more pressing matters for the aurors to deal with. Come on now, Mr Ollivander, you ought not waste your time on a child."

Ollivander must've only recently taken over the wandshop, given his young look and paranoia. Inheriting a family business was stressful, though Harry wouldn't know.

"You appear to be new, yet know of our ways," muttered Ollivander. "Outwitted by a child," he grouched. "You will be paying double."

Harry twitched again. If this Ollivander was older, or the attentive, sharp old man from when he was eleven, this wouldn't fly. It was a short walk up into the shop, with it being dark and brooding as always – little light, and boxes upon boxes of wands populated every shelf.

"Right or left?" Ollivander questioned, eyeing Harry curiously. He was already digging through boxes.

"Right."

It seemed Ollivander would spare him the mysterious posturing, given the circumstances. "11 inches, Cedar, and Dragon Heartstring. Give it a wave, then."

Nothing.

And repeat. It felt as though it were for hours Harry was searching for a wand – for even longer than when he was 11, and he was getting more impatient than nervous.

"Here we are," said Ollivander. "Try this. 15 inches, Aspen, and the spine of a White River Monster. Unyielding."

Harry nearly tipped over from the shockwave of magic that emitted from the wand. His body tingled from head to toe, and it was exhilarating. His hand was still quivering when Ollivander began to speak.

"Aspen," he murmured. "Suited for all sorts of Martial Magic and Transfiguration. Unyielding, and best wielded by those with strong convictions – the wand of a duelist." Ollivander was eyeing Harry with far too much intrigue. "The spine of a White River Monster," he continued. "Native to North America, known for producing the most elegant of spellwork, rumored to carry an affinity to the Dark Arts…"

"Interesting," said Harry, as calmly he could.

"Very interesting," said Ollivander. "Now, I await my answer."

"What if I triple your payment?" Harry said, knowing full well he hadn't even a way to pay.

"Tempting," replied the wandmaker. "But no."

He'd backed himself into a corner. He had to come up with a lie, and fast.

"Your anti-apparition wards do not account for invisibility cloaks, Mr Ollivander. I suggest you change that." He tried to say, as smoothly he could. It was sloppy at best. While it was true anti-apparition wards didn't look specifically for invisibility, they didn't have to in order to recognize the person in question.

"I suppose they do… not." Ollivander still had his eyes narrow. "Perhaps you could explain why you felt the need to hide under such a cloak."

"I'm a transfer student," Harry said, quietly. He supposed that was true. "I'd like to keep on the down-low for now."

Bingo. At the very least, Ollivander was probably guessing Harry was from Durmstrang and afraid of getting judged. He looked more sympathetic, now.

"I'm afraid that also means I cannot pay you in British currency," Harry said, in the same quiet tone.

"You are indebted to me, then. 14 Galleons," said Ollivander. "Get it to me before term."

Ollivander had guessed that about him, then. Harry was many things, but a thief was not one of them.

"Will do, sir," Harry nodded his head. "Sorry for the trouble."

"It could've been far worse," he returned. "Be off, then."

Right as Harry began walking out of the shop, the wandmaker called once more. Harry paused and turned. Ollivander looked pensive.

"One more thing," he said. What's your surname?"

Harry did not want to be deciding on his identity this soon, and he knew Ollivander would grow too suspicious if he refused to answer.

"Evans," Harry called back, painfully. "I'm Harry Evans."

Armando Dippet was the elusive Headmaster of Hogwarts during this time, and Harry had yet to find out if that would be his advantage or disadvantage. For now, Harry would bide his time, write a letter to Dumbledore and staff – who were probably more lenient, anyway – and see about his transfer.

It was incredibly stressful. Harry did not know what to make of anything just yet. And if his encounter with Ollivander was anything to go by, it was making him sloppy.

Get to Hogwarts. Once Harry was there, he could take everything in. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere he knew. For now, he was on his own.

To Hogwarts Staff and Whom it May Concern

My name is Harry Evans. Most recently, a terrible tragedy befell my family that has resulted in the deaths of my guardians. Circumstances have placed in me in Magical Britain, and I'm afraid my only place of refuge lies at your school. I am seeking a transfer, and am aware this process will require thorough examination of my identity and magical background. That does not matter to me. Please respond with correspondence affirming if such a transfer is possible, and if a meeting may be arranged.

With Sincerity

H.

Harry was making many commitments, and ones that had all required funds for him to fulfill. Forging an identity – and verifiable documents that come with it, was going to be expensive. Ollivander needed his payment. And as for now, he needed to get this letter out of his hands and to Hogwarts.

"Maybe Dumbledore is as generous here as he was in his older years," Harry murmured. "I won't have to worry about this."

No. Harry could not rely on just the generosity of others, though it sure would've been welcomed, right about now.

He stood up from the bench he had been sitting on – privy to some of the stares he had been getting from passerbys. Harry guessed it was too early for teens to be going Hogwarts shopping, so the looks he got were mildly justified.

Mildly.

Harry did not know whether it was wise to lay down low or begin mingling with those his and above his age to possibly aide in his transfer and integration – but he knew two things that required a complete guarantee.

The first was the complete and utter annihilation of Tom Riddle.

Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter, he chided. He was prodigious at this age too. Maybe even better. You aren't bringing a future Dark Lord down with an assassination.

Not to mention that deep down, Harry wondered if he had the heart to pull off such a thing. If he did, it would certainly be reserved for the likes of Riddle.

And the second was that he would have Albus Dumbledore's support in all of this.

Harry was already missing the former Headmaster, but more importantly, he was instrumental in the years to come. 3 from now, if Harry remembered right, Dumbledore was to take down the Dark Lord Grindelwald and rise up as the Head of the largest supranational Wizarding organization.

Harry kept feeling the eyes on him as he walked, and he couldn't help but notice that Diagon Alley seemed very different – there were less people around, and the place felt far more impersonal than it already had. The entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, as far as Harry could tell, remained the same.

Inside, it was more crowded - many adults took suspicious eyes to him, but Harry paid them no mind.

"Hello, dear," the front desk lady greeted him warmly. "Can I help you?" The woman's tone reminded him a little too much of Molly Weasley, but Harry knew better. Underage wizards & witches tried all too often to snag a drink under the pub & inn's nose.

"No, ma'am," said Harry. "I'm just passing through."

"A bit too early for Hogwarts shopping, no?" She asked.

"Better be safe than sorry," Harry shrugged. "Good day, ma'am."

Why was everyone so on guard? Something especially egregious must've happened for everyone to be so… questioning.

Harry made sure to snag a copy of the Daily Prophet and Transfiguration Today on his way out, before finally seeing himself in the Muggle world. The headlines, to his disappointment, were not all that helpful.

Grindelwald stalls in the east… Black and Rosier families reach an accord… Alden Malfoy speaks out on Grindelwald's war… Horace Slughorn's new Potions textbook spurs a conflict of interest controversy for Hogwarts…

At that, Harry raised an eyebrow. He knew nothing more about Horace Slughorn than his former – more current position as Potion's Master of Hogwarts, but he didn't know of any textbooks written by the man.

"I believe Professor Slughorn has overstepped his boundaries," a professor told me. "He is a most excellent educator, but he shouldn't be trying to monopolize his students' learning."

"This is a calculated move by our Potions Master in the name of nothing but profit. How the Board is not involved remains an outrage," an anonymous staff member ranted. "If the professor does not retract his publication, I and many others plan to petition the Board when term begins."

Of course, this is far from Mr Slughorn's first controversy…

The reporter was surprisingly balanced in his analysis, even though the article was far back in the newspaper. A far cut above the likes of Rita Skeeter, as far as Harry was concerned. He continued scanning the many headlines from then on – but it was only one that was able to truly grab Harry's attention.

Wizengamot to vote on emergency legislation lifting The Trace.

Harry smiled - his first true smile since he had arrived here. He had spent much of his time at Hogwarts looking for a way to circumvent the blasted charm – but every time, he had no success. Even better for him, the vote was a week from now, which meant he was finally aware of the date. The first of July, 1942.

On his mind now, was a place to stay. Harry had no money for a room at the Leaky Cauldron, and neither a home in the Muggle world.

But if he could use magic…

"One week," Harry assured himself. If the legislation made it through – which it likely would, according to the author of the piece – he could figure something out. He hated to be counting on something so quickly, but it was Harry's only choice.

If, on the other hand, it didn't pass…

Harry hoped it wouldn't come to that.