Disclaimer: Please see Chapter Zero.

Author's Notes: Okay, longish chapter here. There are a few parts of it that I tried to make as much like their corresponding canon-bits as possible; I'm afraid my memory isn't perfect, though, and anyway I required a few differences. You'll all forgive me, I hope?

Thank you all for your reviews -- you've no idea how nice it feels to recieve such positive feedback, hehe.

o.o.o.o

29 August, 1991

8:20 PM

It was taking so long to reconcile Harry to the idea of remaining with his parents and siblings, without Sirius, that James began to be rather desperate. It had never occurred to him that he might have to convince his son to love him, and the reality of it was proving quite as upsetting as having to say goodbye to Harry in the first place, all those years ago.

Lily had gone upstairs, on the pretext of putting the girls to bed, and was no doubt sobbing away into her pillow her own distress and bewilderment at this development. 'If only,' James thought, 'I could do the same thing.'

After awhile, it became very clear that the only person Harry was really willing to talk to was Sirius. And definitely not in English.

James wasn't sure exactly what language Harry was speaking, and was even less sure what they were actually saying. He himself spoke only English, with a smattering of Latin and French he'd picked up throughout his life, quite accidentally.

A few times, he thought he might have understood a word or two of the boy's rapid-fire dialogue to his godfather, and gradually he realized that Harry kept switching which language he was speaking in. (To James's knowledge, gathered through Sirius's weekly letters, Harry spoke three languages fluently, and could make a far showing in at least two others.)

Sirius, who looked nearly as stricken as James and Lily, could hardly get a word in edgewise. Even he seemed to be having trouble understanding his godson.

"You know, maybe it's just a bit childish of me, but I'd kind of like to be able to understand," James said loudly, interrupting his son. Harry looked up, his expression rather contrite, and James continued, "Anything you have to say about this, Harry, you'd be better off saying to me. I'm your father, you're supposed to tell me things so I can try and make them better."

"But that's what Sirius is for," Harry muttered, frowning a little. This time, James could see it was mostly confusion and hardly any anger. There was something else as well, but he couldn't place just what.

"Sirius is your godfather," agreed James, just a bit tightly. "He's supposed to try and make things better for you, too. But only when I'm not around to do it for myself. Do you understand?"

Harry shrugged, but at least let go of Sirius's hand and stepped nearer his father. He looked much calmer, though his face and voice were still full of that emotion that James couldn't place.

"No, I don't understand," said Harry very flatly. "Not really. I'm sure I will, though, if you give me awhile."

"Good," James allowed, with a nod. "Are you ready to say goodbye to Sirius, then? He really ought to get going."

Panic flashed across Harry's young face, briefly, and James winced. "Can't I go with him? Just tonight?" pleaded the boy urgently. "I promise I'll come back, but..."

James shook his head slowly, saying, "I'm sorry, Harry, but no. Your mother and I have quite a few things we need to tell you, and then we've got a pretty long list of things to do, before you start school."

At the word 'school', Harry made a face, and James nearly forgot himself and laughed, except his son went back to looking forlorn. Sirius, next to Harry, looked as if he was trying his hardest to blend into the wall behind him.

"I'll tell you what," suggested James abruptly, glancing at his best friend. "How about we have Sirius visit tomorrow, as soon as he can. Will that be good?"

Sirius's face lit up. It was unclear which he was pleased with more; the thought of seeing his godson again right away, or of spending more time with his best friend after nearly a decade.

Harry considered this for a moment. "I suppose I have no choice," he allowed finally, with a tiny sigh. "As long, I mean, as long as Sirius wants to come visit me--us. I don't want to... bother him."

Again, James winced, and this time Sirius joined him. There was no escaping the implication that Harry believed Sirius, the only adult Harry really believed to have been a constant in his life, had gotten tired of him.

"Of course I want to, kid," Sirius exclaimed, in a tone of slight rebuke. "You know better than to think something like that."

Harry hung his head, sheepish. "Yes, Sirius."

"Well, if that's settled," muttered James, as Lily came down the stairs. Her eyes were red, but when James sent her a slight smile, she returned it with relief.

"Are you going now, Sirius?" she asked, walking over to give him a hug, since she hadn't when he'd arrived.

Sirius nodded, returning the hug. "Yes, I think so. I'm coming back for a bit tomorrow, though. Make sure Harry's not telling you tall tales about how I treated him, and all that."

Pleased that things had progressed to where Sirius could joke about them, Lily pretended to laugh.

"Where are you staying, Sirius?" Harry piped up suddenly, giving his godfather a curious look.

Sirius recognized the expression. Lily had no idea why he winced at her son's words, but he did.

"Er," he said eloquently, avoiding Harry's eye. "Remus has offered to let me stay the night at his house, but then I think I'm going to be moving into an old house that my parents left me."

"And how are you getting there?" persisted Harry, his eyes narrowed now. "Remus took the car."

"Er," Sirius repeated, extremely uncomfortable. "Well, I... Actually, kid, your dad would be a better person to answer that for you."

James threw him a dirty look (it was rather halfhearted, as he was too busy being proud of his son for paying attention) while Lily laughed softly.

"And he will, in just a minute, too," she assured her son, reaching cautiously for his hand. When he didn't flinch or pull back, she smiled down at him. "Come into the kitchen, Harry, while Sirius and your father say goodbye. Your sisters and I made you some fresh cookies, to welcome you home."

Though his face twisted slightly at the reference to his sisters, Harry followed her obediently. Right before they made it into the kitchen, he glanced back at Sirius, who smiled encouragingly.

It was painful, seeing the boy so hesitant around his own parents.

"You like shortbread cookies, don't you?" they heard Lily ask brightly. Harry's response was inaudible in the other room, but whatever it was, it caused Lily to laugh.

Sirius and James stood a little awkwardly, until after a moment, Sirius offered apologetically, "I'm really sorry about this, James. I didn't-- I had no idea he'd react like that."

"It's not your fault," James said reassuringly, though he looked as if he wasn't quite sure he believed himself. "I never should have let Albus convince me to send him away. You have no idea how much I've regretted it."

"I think I might," Sirius countered, in a whisper. Both men recalled the expression of betrayal on Harry's face when he'd seen his sisters, and discovered that he'd no longer be staying with his godfather. Sirius sighed, and James looked mad at himself.

"Well, I'd better get going," said Sirius, breaking them out of their melancholic interlude. "I warn you, I don't envy you a jot, the task of telling that boy he's been lied to for all his life."

"Lied to?" James blurted, looking faintly startled. "What do you mean?"

Sirius shrugged. "Well, that's how he's going to take it, when you tell him about magic. He doesn't like being lied to, and he doesn't like secrets."

"I'll remember that." James paused a moment, then continued hesitantly, "Sirius?"

"Yes?" responded Sirius, curiously raising both his eyebrows as he used to do when they were still in school.

James thought about a way to phrase what he felt he had to ask, and eventually settled on saying, "You're sure he has no idea about... what happened?"

"Absolutely none," Sirius averred instantly. "I haven't told him a thing; we agreed when we started that that would be yours and Lily's job."

"Oh," said James in a breath of relief. "Good."

"Yeah."

Sirius walked over and gave James another hug, not caring this time how unmanly they looked, because he'd missed James. Besides, there was no-one to see it, and he knew James wouldn't mind. Though they hadn't actually seen each other in years, they both knew they were still each other's best friend. They always would be.

James returned the hug, and watched as Sirius stepped back to apparate. When the other man paused, he frowned quizzically.

Sirius looked uncertain for a second, then said, "If Harry starts talking to his sleeve, or something, just ignore it."

Before James could ask what he meant, Sirius was gone.

°

29 August, 1991

8:47 PM

"Did you get cookies often, while you were living with Sirius?" Lily found herself asking, as she and her husband watched Harry devour an entire plate full of the treats.

"No," Harry informed them, speaking much more politely than a boy normally does while addressing his parents. "Sirius said they were bad for me, and you wouldn't like it."

This was not really the answer Lily had expected, and she didn't have anything to say to it.

Abruptly, Harry grinned mischievously. "Besides, he couldn't make any if his life depended on it."

"He never could," mumbled James, a distant, wistful look on his face. "Can't cook at all, if I remember correctly."

"Nothing's changed," Harry stated, with a half-smile. "It's been me doing most of the cooking for years now."

This pronouncement made Lily start, and she stared at her son disbelievingly. She seemed to be considering getting angry at Sirius for letting her son do the cooking. Sensing something of this, James put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a pointed look.

He glanced at Harry.

Lily understood. She sighed and nodded.

They might as well tell him now.

"Harry, you're a wizard," James said bluntly. "As am I, and you're mother is a witch."

"You can do magic," added Lily, in case he didn't know what being a wizard meant.

Harry regarded his parents calmly; much more calmly than they'd expected, at any rate.

"Okay," he replied, and went back to his cookies.

James's mouth fell open a little. Lily's brow furrowed. "Just, 'okay'? Aren't you, I don't know, a little surprised?" demanded James.

"No, not really," replied Harry, with a shrug. At his parents' dumbstruck expressions, he added, "Sirius thinks very loudly, some times."

When they still didn't seem convinced, he sighed and reached up under the left cuff of his long-sleeved Muggle shirt. Lily thought she heard a faint hiss. When Harry withdrew his fingers, he was holding a folded and twisted piece of what appeared to be parchment. As he unfolded it, his parents could see that it was covered in fine, steady handwriting, and the traditional green Hogwarts official ink.

Once the piece was completely unfolded, which took awhile, Lily and James could see that it was roughly the size of a page from an average book, and one side was almost completely covered in the writing. Harry passed it to his parents, and allowed them to read it.

It appeared to be a page from a Hogwarts acceptance letter, as Lily had suspected it might be. The name at the top, however, was not Harry's -- it was Sirius's.

"I'm not exactly happy that nobody told me about it before now," Harry remarked almost casually, wiping his hands together over his plate, to remove cookie crumbs.

His parents looked up at him, and Lily at least couldn't find anything to say. "I can't believe he kept his letter," James muttered, seeming slightly astonished. "I can't believe he took it with him."

"How long have you known?" Lily asked at last, resignedly. She passed the letter back to him, and he began to refold it exactly as it had been before; he replaced it, wherever he'd had it under his cuff, and she wondered why he kept it.

"Two years," answered Harry. He scratched his head, choosing his words carefully as he elaborated, "We were leaving the house near St Petersburg -- I think Sirius was planning on us going Southwest and staying somewhere along the Volga, but I can't remember now exactly; he changed plans when he got sick, and we ended up in Finland, quite close to Helsinki -- but, yeah, he was sick, and I offered to pack up his things for him. The paper fell out of one of his books, the ones I'm not allowed to read."

"Oh." Lily waited a beat, and then demanded shrilly, "What books, did you say?"

"His magic books, Mum," Harry said soothingly, a half-smile on his face. "He pretended they were adult novels. It amused Remus."

"Oh," Lily repeated, then laughed.

James, on the other hand, was looking closely at his son, as if he expected to see something startling, that he hadn't before. Harry gave him a questioning expression, and his father asked, "You were in Russia?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "For almost six months, which was a long time for us."

"What were you doing in Russia?" pressed James, looking confused.

Harry shrugged, and gave his father a look which suggested he thought the answer should have been obvious. "Sirius wanted me to get some firsthand practice speaking Russian, so we went there. Naturally. What's wrong with Russia?"

"You speak Russian?" mumbled Lily, a touch faintly.

Harry frowned.

"Look, am I going to have to repeat everything Sirius and I have ever done?" he snapped, quite crossly. "Haven't you been getting letters about me?"

"Well, yes," admitted James, looking a little uncomfortable. "But they didn't really tell us things like that. It was more about the ordinary things you did everyday, such as how you don't like Sirius's cooking much, and get all worried about Remus."

"Well, of course I worry about Remus," said Harry indignantly. "Don't you?"

"Er, well, yes, but--"

Feeling that the conversation wouldn't be benefited by going in that direction, Lily interrupted her husband by inquiring, "So, Harry, where were you just before you came back home?"

"Germany," Harry replied promptly. "A small village near Düsseldorf, on the Rhine. Sirius likes rivers."

"He was raised in London," said James, because for some reason this made perfect sense to him.

"I know." A rather dark look passed over Harry's face, but he shook his head quickly and it disappeared. "He told me that when we were staying in Paris."

"You've been to Paris?" asked Lily, unable to keep herself from sounding a little jealous. Harry nodded, but didn't offer further information, so she pressed, "What were you doing in Paris?"

"Practicing my French," Harry replied, staring at her as if he thought this should have been obvious.

Lily looked uncertain. "Oh. Was practice Sirius's only reason for taking you anywhere?"

"No," said Harry, shaking his head sharply. "Sometimes he was running away. And, no, Mum, I don't know what he was running from."

"Say, Harry," began James, changing the subject abruptly. "You seem to have been to a lot of places. Just wondering, but how many languages do you speak?"

Harry looked at them both blankly for a moment. He appeared to be thinking very seriously about whether he should answer them or not; James could practically see the wheels in his brain turning. Then Harry looked back down at his empty cookie plate and said flatly, "Five, counting English."

"What are the others?"

"Russian, French, German and Spanish."

Harry wasn't sure why he didn't mention the others. What could it hurt if his parents knew that he could also speak Italian, Latin, Bulgarian, and Swedish? Or that he still wasn't very good at Greek or Portuguese, but was trying very hard? Or that he was due to start Romanian, as soon as he could get Sirius to get him a decent book on it?

Why was he certain that telling them would be a bad idea?

His parents were talking. "...bed soon. You're going to need an early start tomorrow," Lily reminded her husband gently.

"You're right." James nodded, and turned his attention back to Harry. "We're going to do a bit of shopping tomorrow morning, son. School starts the first of the month, and you need a few things by then."

Harry raised his eyebrows and didn't say anything. (He hadn't been told about attending any school, he didn't think. He wasn't sure how well he'd do in a school; he'd never been to one before.)

"Only a few," Lily assured him, misreading his expression as anxiety over the shopping. "Just your wand and robes; your father and I bought everything else already."

Harry shrugged. "All right," he said. He looked down at his plate, realizing that his cookies and his milk were both gone. He looked back up. "Where am I sleeping?"

"I'll show you," Lily offered, and took him to his room.

°

30 August, 1991

6:02 AM

Harry and his father had gotten up extra early, as he needed to be taken to get his school clothes and his wand, but wanted to avoid the crowds. They'd had a light breakfast, which James had made (personally, Harry considered his own to be much better, but he appreciated the fact that someone else could cook eggs without somehow contriving to accidentally turn them blue, and so hadn't said anything). Then, it was off to Diagon Alley.

Harry's first experience with Floo Powder was not what could be called delightful, but aside from a wobbly moment where Harry and his breakfast disagreed, there were no real mishaps. James greeted the Leaky Cauldron's old bartender, Tom, as they passed.

James led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where ther was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

James grinned at Harry. "Watch this, son," he said. He pulled out his wand -- which Harry had admired earlier -- and tapped the wall behind the trash can three times.

The brick he had touched quivered -- it wriggled -- a small hole appeared in the middle -- it grew wider and wider -- a second later they were facing an archway large enough for a giant to pass through. It was an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," said James, beaming at Harry. Clearly, he expected his son to show some sort of amazement, or wonderment, or some reaction.

Harry gave him a distinctly nonplussed look.

James shrugged, giving up impressing his son with anything magical; clearly, it didn't work. They started walking.

There were already a few other people up and about, several of whom noticed them. This turned out to be because they knew James -- the only reason Harry could think of for anyone noticing at all -- and they paid Harry no attention.

It didn't really surprise Harry that his father wouldn't introduce him to the other adults. Sirius had never introduced him to anyone, besides when he'd first met Remus. And, though he knew it wasn't really proper manners, he was relieved to see that James and Sirius were alike in this small way, because it made him feel better about being away from his godfather.

Harry was not aware that none of the people would have needed an introduction to know who he was, if they'd realized he was there. He was, after all, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and the son of James Potter. Looking so much like his father, a mistake about his identity would have been almost impossible to make. But, just as he had since he'd started walking, Harry displayed a remarkable ability to go undetected, even when standing right in front of a person. James did not seem to notice this strangeness about his son.

The time they spent in the robes shop was quite uneventful. Aside from Madam Malkin herself saying that she was very pleased indeed to finally meet Harry, and Harry being stuck unpleasantly with pins by the absurdly nervous seamswitch several times, absolutely nothing interesting happened.

Then James guided Harry down the slightly more crowded street, to the only place they could purchase his wand; Ollivander's.

For some reason, seeing the narrow, shabby shop made Harry grin. He spoke the words on the sign, Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. When he saw the single wand on the faded purple cushion in the window, he wanted to laugh, but Harry couldn't have explained why this was. James, seeing the odd expression on his son's face, looked amused.

As they entered, a bell rang somewhere, and sent shivers up Harry's spine. He had the weirdest feeling he'd done all this before.

James motioned for Harry to take a seat on the on the only piece of furniture in the tiny shop, a spindly chair. Harry did, with his father standing at his elbow, and began to look around more carefully.

The atmosphere in the shop seemed to Harry like that of a very strict library, and he'd been in enough of those to know what they felt like. He examined the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling, as he liked to do with books at libraries.

For some reason, the back of his neck prickled; though he'd not been exposed to much of it in his short lifetime, Harry thought the very dust and silence in the shop seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry would have jumped, but for some reason he'd been expecting this sound. James didn't jump, either. He smiled broadly when he saw how unfazed Harry was by the sudden appearance of the shop's proprieter, an old man who was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining lik moons through the gloom.

Harry stood up.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly, using English although he got the feeling this was one of the few people he'd ever met who would understand if he started speaking in Latin.

"Ah, yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I hoped I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question, and Harry wondered how the man had known. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

James smothered a chuckle while Harry stared. Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink, as he was beginning to think those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand," continued Mr Ollivander with a brief glance at James, "favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

"Can't you give him lessons while you're finding his wand?" James queried, his voice laced with amusement.

Mr Ollivander nodded obligingly. Out of his pocket he pulled a long tape measure with silver markings. "Well, now -- Mr Potter. Let me see. Which is your wand arm?"

"Right," replied Harry very crisply, without hesitation. James gave him a bemused look but didn't comment.

"Hold out your arm -- yes, that's it." Mr Ollivander smiled, as Harry complied before he'd even finished his request. He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, knee to armpit, shoulder to floor and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

For some reason, Harry was not surprised when he suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. Harry grinned at it, and it twitched a little.

"Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling dissatisfied) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try --"

Harry tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

"No, no -- here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried, and tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

Harry, for his part, was growing vaguely annoyed. He listened with half an ear to Mr Ollivander's mutterings about tricky customers, and looked around the boxes of untried wands.

For some reason, as his eyes landed on a particular one, he smiled grimly. He cut the wandmaker off in mid-sentence, which was quite rude, and said, "How about that one?"

He gestured toward the one he meant, which wasn't very far away from him. Mr Ollivander's eyes narrowed a little. "I wonder, now -- yes, why not -- unusual combination -- holly and phoneix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of violently gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. James whooped and clapped approvingly and Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious."

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."

James, who seemed to have quite a lot of experience with this sort of behavior rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he said, not sounding exactly as if he meant it, "but what's curious?"

Before Mr Ollivander replied, he fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather -- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother -- why, its brother tried to kill you."

James tensed. His eyes, speculative, darted to his son. Harry swallowed, more because of the look his father was giving him, than what he'd just learned from Mr Ollivander.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

Harry found himself wanting to shiver, but suppressed the urge. "Who is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" he asked, finding himself surprisingly curious.

Ollivander stared unblinkingly at him, startled, and then said, "You-Know-Who, of course."

"But I don't know who!" protested Harry, slightly annoyed. He really wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. "That's why I asked."

James fought back a snicker that he knew was highly inappropriate. He put his hands on Harry's shoulders, promisingly solemnly, "I'll explain it when we get home, son. I promise."

Harry shot him a rather dirty look. "Fine, then." He turned away and began scrutinizing the (now rather messy) shop.

Chuckling, James produced a money pouch and paid seven gold coins for Harry's wand. Mr Ollivander bowed to them, which seemed to be an indication they were supposed to leave.

Harry hesitated.

Though he had a wand now, he felt that he couldn't leave yet. His eyes kept roaming the store, as if he were searching for something. He spotted a box back in a corner, one that didn't stand out at all, and knew he'd found it -- what, he wasn't sure, but it had been found.

"Please, sir," Harry called quickly, as his father was about to lead him from the shop. Harry looked up at him, pleadingly. "Please, can I see that wand, there, in the corner?"

He pointed, and Mr Ollivander's strange eyes narrowed slightly, while James looked surprised.

"Please?" pressed Harry.

"Harry, you only need one wand. It's not pro--" he started to say sternly, but with a touch of confusion.

Mr Ollivander interrupted him, saying, "No, wait. If Mr Potter thinks... Hm, yes, he'd better try it."

The box was brought out quickly, and the wand placed in Harry's hand. Immediately, sparks shot out, as they had with the wand he'd already purchased.

James gaped. "But that's not--"

"Hmm." Mr Ollivander was regarding Harry closely, and he seemed quite pleased. "Pine and unicorn hair, fourteen inches. An unusual wand. Very powerful, for someone so young. How interesting."

"What does that mean?" queried Harry blankly.

"It means, Mr Potter, that you have a second wand."

Harry frowned. This man exasperated him like he couldn't believe. "But, that's not normal, is it?" he pressed.

Mr Ollivander shook his head. "Indeed not. I believe it would be wise if you didn't mention this one to anyone else."

"Don't worry," said James sternly, finding his voice at last "We won't."

This wand too was put back in its box, wrapped in brown paper and handed back to Harry. However, James snatched it from his son's hand and stuffed it in a pocket of his robes. Harry looked at him curiously, and he smiled reassuringly.

Harry frowned.

Another seven gold coins were passed to Mr Ollivander, and with several more bows on the part of the wandmaker, the Potters quickly left the store.

On their way back down the street to the Leaky Cauldron, James stopped them. He turned Harry to face him, and squated down so he was on the eye level with his son.

"Sorry about that," he said quietly, apparently keeping his voice low so that none of the passersby could hear him. "I'll give you... the other one... when we get home."

"Fine," muttered Harry.

He was back to looking cold, and a little sulky; James winced. "Tell you what," he said suddenly, standing up. "How about I get you a pet? You're allowed one at school, you know?"

Harry blinked. He already had a pet (sort of). But, he didn't exactly want to mention that, and anyway... He was overwhelmed with a strong desire for something, after listening to his father's words, and couldn't help voicing them. "... I want an owl."

"Excellent." James grinned. He didn't stop to wonder when Harry had figured out that wizards used owls. "I would have said the same thing."