A Heart's Desire

by Slynnwen

Harry has just found out that he's a wizard, but it still feels like there's something missing from his life. If only there was something he could use to figure out what that was... Year 1 of my transgirl!Harry series.

2. Chapter 2

Albus Dumbledore sighed from behind the mounds of parchment on top of his desk that he had yet to sort through. At the moment he was expecting a visit from his deputy headmistress, one of the few individuals who he allowed to see the sheer volume of letters he had to deal with on a daily basis. Just as he finished putting the last touches on a response to a missive from the minister (no, restrictions on underage magic did not need to be tightened, it was hard enough keeping the children learning during the school year without the loss of the summer months), the gargoyle on his desk turned towards him and clearly intoned "Minerva McGonagall, one try, slightly harried." Albus leaned back, mentally counting off the time needed for her to get to the top of the stairs.

"Come in, Minerva." The door to the office swung open to admit a severe looking older woman who had on deep green robes and a pointed witch's hat of the same color. She spared a glance towards the phoenix on her perch, and turned back towards Albus. "Lemon drop?"

She eyed the proffered sweet as though it had personally wronged her. "No." She moved towards his desk, eyes sweeping over the stacks of letters and scattered parchments. "Albus. I don't suppose I could convince you to give up one of your positions or your atrocious robes?" She said as she took a seat across from him, studying his bright blue robes with animated nifflers searching up gold on it with some measure of distaste.

"No, and I think they go together rather well. If I ever get buried under parchment, all you need to do is look for the bright colors and you'll have me out in no time." He chuckled. "Though if you didn't look all that hard, I might not complain."

She frowned and smoothed out her robes before responding. "I'll just set fire to the pile and hope to get your robes as well." That got a deeper laugh from the man, and seemed to push back some of the age lines on him for a moment. Just as fast, though, they were back as he started to speak again.

"Well, I'll make sure my robes are all spelled fireproof then. But I didn't exactly ask for you to discuss my wardrobe, Minerva." There was a pause, as he considered how to continue. "I was visited by Arabella again last night and she brought up an interesting point." A raised eyebrow from Minerva was the reaction. "With how things have seemed at Harry's residence, it would appear as though he might be better suited to the standard muggleborn visit rather than just having The Book send out his letter."

Minerva frowned. "Albus, are you trying to tell me that those muggles haven't told the boy anything?"

"By all indications, no. Obviously, we can't be certain, since we haven't talked to anyone there." He rubbed at his forehead. "Part of their conditions for accepting the boy included that no one from our world have contact with them."

Minerva's lips pursed at that. "And you just accepted that? What possible reason could you have for letting him grow up so isolated?"

"It might not be the most comforting for him, but if you remember any of what Lily's relationship with her sister was like..." He sighed. "I think that Mrs. Dursley was hoping that by avoiding contact with us, she wouldn't have her new family torn apart the way she and her sister were."

Minerva gave a slight nod at that. "I can remember a few times in Lily's first couple of years where she was rather distraught over the fact that her sister wouldn't write back to her."

"Well, in any case, I think it might be best for you to be the one to deliver the letter and make introductions. I can't imagine she's avoided telling her husband, so you should at least be able to talk to both of them without too much disbelief." He reached into one of the stacks of parchment and deftly plucked out two envelopes. "I've made a standard form acceptance letter for Harry and a separate letter for Mrs. Dursley."

"What's in the letter for her?" asked Minerva.

"A few reminders of everything that must happen, and a hopeful indication that Harry will not need to stay with them much longer, provided a suitable alternative guardian can be found after this year at Hogwarts." Albus said.

Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. "You're actually going to give up on the blood wards?"

"I've had no sign of actual death eater activity by the house for at least four years now, and despite looking I've also seen no trace or remnant of Voldemort." Minerva flinched at the name, and Albus let out a sigh. "Perhaps the indications that he's moved on might inspire some more common usage of his name, hmm?"

"Not all of us were a match for him in single combat, Albus." she said.

"I suppose that is a fair enough assessment. Now, did you have any more concerns for me?"

"Nothing that can't wait until after I've given Mr. Potter his letter."

Albus watched as she stood up and walked out of the room, turning back to his desk before the floo started up and his old mentor's face appeared in the flames. "Nicolas? Is something wrong?"

"Someone's attempted to breach the protections on the stone. Do you think you can help set up a trap for them?"

/-|-o-o|-\

Harry was working in his Aunt's garden behind the house. The Dursleys had finally seen fit to let him out of the cupboard after the snake incident, almost a month after his punishment had started. Oh, they had let him out for school and the occasional bathroom/meal times, but he had still spent every other moment in there until the term had ended. This hadn't stopped them from blaming him for the slightly overgrown lawn and less than perfect flowers, of course. No, if only he had kept his head down they wouldn't have had to punish him so severely. He stabbed the dirt a little more forcefully with his trowel. It was too hot to be working outside all day, and he almost wished he was back inside where at least he'd be slightly cooler. Harry was hoping that maybe a snake would show up for some conversation, that way he'd at least be able to talk with someone about things. "Gah!" A sudden crack like a car backfiring had made him look up for a moment and accidentally hit his thumb with the trowel. Still, he had to dismiss it as unimportant. A neighbor's vehicle blowing out wasn't his problem, and he'd had worse than a sore thumb and a bit of a cut. He wasn't going to let a distraction earn him more beatings for slacking off.

It was a surprise a few minutes later when Aunt Petunia appeared out the backdoor. "Boy! Get in the house and get cleaned up, there's someone here to see you."

Harry quickly stood and put the tools on the ground next to the gardens. It wasn't likely that this visit would take long. "Coming, Aunt Petunia." He quickly made his way to the bathroom and tried to get as much dirt and grime off as possible. Visitors that were seeing him was one of the few chances he had to actually use the good soap and towels, since anything else would be too suspicious. A quick check of his thumb showed that it had already stopped bleeding and the cut looked more like it had been inflicted a few days ago. Harry debated whether or not he should take the chance on getting laid out later for using a bandage to cover it up. Too obvious a cut might bring on more attention than the Dursleys wanted, but wasting more money on him was equally bad in their eyes. In the end he decided against it. He stepped out of the bathroom and headed into the sitting room where he saw his Aunt and an older looking woman who he guessed to be in her early sixties. "Hello."

The woman was dressed in what appeared to be a rather old fashioned dress colored a deep green. She looked up at him with some sense of... wistfulness, maybe? He couldn't tell. "Hello, Mr. Potter. My name is Professor McGonagall. What I'm about to tell you might come as a shock, so it'd be best for you to be seated before we begin."

Harry looked over at his Aunt, who gave a jerky nod of acceptance. It wasn't often that he was allowed on the couch, even when there were visitors. "Alright, Professor McGonagall." He began thinking over possibilities in his head over why she might have shown up while he took a seat. He knew Dudley was going off to Smeltings, but he had been marked down for Stonewall High, which didn't seem the sort of institution that had professors. Had there been some sort of mistake and he was marked down for Smeltings as well? No, he didn't have the grades, not with how he had to make sure he was just below his cousin in class.

"There's no easy way to say this, Mr. Potter, so I'll just come right out with it. You are a wizard, and you've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry stared at her, and glanced over towards his Aunt. This, this had to be a new low for his Aunt and Uncle. What where they trying to do, get him committed? As he turned back to protest, his eyes caught on his Aunt's face and instead of the expected distaste and glee at having a plan for being rid of him, he found what seemed like pure terror. "Your parents have already paid for your tuition, and you've got a sizable trust vault to see you through your school years until you can access the main accounts."

At this, Harry gave a laugh. "You're saying what, that I've just got some money tucked away by my parents?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. You do indeed have money." Her lips were pursed, and he suddenly realized that while he had washed up, he was still in one of his worst outfits.

"And you happen to be the one with access to it?" He said, idly fingering a hole on the bottom of the t-shirt he was wearing. "Not my relatives?"

The professor gave him a look as if he had just failed some sort of test. "If that is the state of your clothing, I should hope not."

"He's been working outside all day, and I didn't want him to ruin any good clothes." Aunt Petunia said, sounding like she was frantically trying to figure out how to quickly get this woman out of her home before she could realize anything was wrong.

"Yep. I've been working in the sun on the garden, didn't want to end up with holes in a nice shirt." It always paid to put more effort into dodging the adults that showed up as visitors. The Dursleys would, well, not quite reward him so much as just... stop noticing him for a while. Although how much use that would be if the Dursleys were trying to have him shipped off to mental corrections or wherever was debatable.

"Well, I'm sure you'll do great at Herbology, then. Now there is the matter of getting you to Diagon Alley and gathering your school supplies, as well as making sure you can get to the platform on September first for the start of term." She reached into her dress and pulled out an envelope. "I've already given your Aunt the information she needs, so all that's left is for you to either come with me today or arrange something with your guardians."

Harry gingerly took the envelope, looking down at it and expecting to see some sort of doctor's orders to go to the hospital or something. He was rather surprised that it was, apparently, an actual letter (on parchment and sealed with wax, what the hell) for the supposed school of magic.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

There was also another piece of parchment with a bunch of different supplies on it, all of which seemed like some sort of massive prank. "Okay, this is a very funny joke, but you can stop pretending now. If Aunt Petunia wants to ship me off to mental corrections you can just come out and tell me." Harry watched as the expression on the professor's face tightened.

"Mr. Potter, I can assure you this is no joke." With that, she pulled out a stick (well, probably a wand, he guessed, if that list of supplies was correct) and pointed it at the meticulously maintained coffee table. A slight wave and suddenly instead of a table there was a pot-bellied pig that reminded Harry of his cousin. He glanced between the pig and the professor a couple of times before reaching out and patting the pig on the head. It huffed and pressed its snout against his palm., and Harry could feel the air moving.

"Um." Harry had no idea what to say. The woman was staring at him, and his Aunt was hyperventilating. All those times he had assumed that he was losing his mind, that there was no way what he saw was real. His teacher's hair, the glass at the zoo, that time he ended up on the school roof, the way he seemed to heal so much faster than any other kid, was that all magic? "But I can't be..." He thought it over for a moment. Sure, sometimes strange things happened around him. But if he was really a wizard, like this woman was saying, why hadn't he been able to stop the Dursleys from pushing him around? No, no, this didn't make any sense, what was going on, what was-

"I assure you, young man, you most certainly are. Have you not had any bouts of accidental magic?" Before Harry could respond, Aunt Petunia jumped in.

"Oh, he's had plenty of those freakish accidents alright. Ruining our lives, making scenes in front of his teachers, the neighbors, everyone!" Abruptly, he realized that none of this seemed to be a surprise to her.

"You knew." Absently, Harry noted that his voice had grown a bit cold. Everything was feeling detached and floaty and strange. "You knew what was happening and you- you- you tried to-" He cut off, still aware that he couldn't say more with someone else in the room. It was close, though, that detached sensation was making him feel like he should just say it.

"How could I not know, when my sister went and got married to some wizard-" she spat the title like it was the one neighbor girl who had dropped out and ran off after getting pregnant at sixteen, "and got herself blown up after ripping apart my family!" Aunt Petunia was in hysterics by this point.

"Blown up? I thought you said they died in a car crash!" Harry was matching her in volume, and while he knew he was going to get beat for it later, that didn't matter to him as much as getting answers now. He wasn't quite as detached anymore, but everything still felt off. There was too much happening, too fast, all the events that had happened to him that he'd been punished for, all these years when he thought he probably did belong in a mental corrections facility, and-

"Mrs. Dursley! Mr. Potter!" They both turned to look at Professor McGonagall. "What, exactly, is going on here?" Before Aunt Petunia could manage anything else, Harry started telling his point of view.

"They always told me that my parents were drunk layabouts who died in a car crash. All I can remember of the night is someone laughing, and then a flash of green." Harry was looking at his Aunt, hoping that his stare could burst someone into flames. That had to be a power wizards had, right? Well, it hadn't worked for him before, but now that he knew it was possible...

"I- I see." The professor's tone had gone from clipped but professional to something slightly dark with a hint of Scottish burr to it. "Mr. Potter, perhaps it's best if we went out to Diagon Alley without your Aunt." There was a slight pause as he stood up. "Get changed and meet me back in here." Harry stood up and stomped off towards his cupboard. "Mr. Potter, where are you going?"

"I'm getting changed." He ducked inside the cramped space and tried to pick out the best outfit.

"What are your clothes doing underneath the stairs?" Harry thought that maybe he should lie to her, say it was just where the washing machine was, but he was still, well, high or something from before. Either this was all real and maybe he'd be getting out of the Dursley's, or it wasn't and he was getting committed. Both cases ended up with him away from his Aunt and Uncle, so they wouldn't have the chance to punish him for whatever he said.

"This is my room." Harry still felt it was a bit of a risk to just say it, but he couldn't really think of any other way to actually make his point. Besides, he had always suspected that his Aunt and Uncle were lying about his parents, but to have it all but confirmed when an actual witch showed up to bring him to a magic school... This was probably the situation to say 'to hell with the consequences' and hope that a better life is coming around. And that floaty feeling still hadn't quite gone away, the one that was making it seem like the whole world was a bit out of sync, so maybe this was a dream anyway, if the other options weren't possible.

"I'm sorry, did you say that the space under your stairs was your bedroom?" She wasn't shouting, which Harry thought made the question all the more ominous. As he finished changing and ducked back out towards the sitting room, he saw that Aunt Petunia had gone white as a sheet.

"Well, yeah." He picked at one of the threads coming loose from the best shirt he had. "Freaks like me don't deserve a proper room, or so I've been told." This was apparently not the thing to say, as suddenly the lights in the room flickered and for just a moment Harry could have sworn there was something more, something dangerously like a lion suffusing the professor. It cut right through the floaty feeling of detachment while it lasted and he was a bit less sure that this was just a dream.

"Is. That. So." Professor McGonagall turned to look directly at Aunt Petunia, who promptly fainted dead away. "Rest assured, Mr. Potter, that you will not be coming back here tonight if I have to take you in myself. And perhaps I'll introduce your... guardians," Harry was impressed at how much sheer seeming hatred dripped off the word, "to a couple of fellow witches and wizards about how to properly care for a child." A quick wave of the probably a wand turned the pig back into a table, and Harry stepped out onto the street with Professor McGonagall. "Oh. Before we leave, was there anything you wanted to bring with you?"

Harry took a moment to think. Honestly, there wasn't much. Maybe one of the notebooks he'd doodled flowers in, but they weren't anything special and other than that, nothing came to mind. "I don't think so, professor."

She seemed quite a bit put out by that, before shaking her head and holding her wand in front of her. She seemed to swirl it before there was a small flourish and a red and gold beanie appeared out of nowhere. "Best for you to put this on, I think." Harry looked around, hoping that some of the neighbors would react to this, give him more of a chance to figure out if it was real, but as he glanced over the street it was as if they had all decided to look anywhere but Number 4. "Quickly now, the muggle repelling charm will wear off soon." He looked at the proffered hat before taking it and jamming it over his head. "Make sure you've got the scar covered up." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a- okay, this was just getting surreal. He had to be dreaming. She had an actual witch's hat? The same color as her dress? Actually, were those supposed to be robes? Harry was practically bursting with questions at this point, but long practice at the Dursleys had taught him to not ask any. "Be ready for a bang, Mr. Potter. The Knight Bus is rather loud." As she said that, she stuck the wand out over the street.

Even bracing himself, he wasn't quite prepared for the shock of a giant purple triple-decker bus popping into existence on the street in front of him, making a noise like a someone had just fired a gun. "Professor? Did that mailbox just jump out of the way?"

"Probably. Stick close to me, and unless you absolutely have to, don't tell anyone your name." She started walking up the stairs to the bus. "Two for the Leaky Cauldron."

"Right you are, Prof. That'll be four sickles." The conductor appeared to be a lanky man who was maybe just barely entering his twenties, wearing a uniform the same neon purple as the paint on the outside.

"Mr. Shunpike? Shouldn't you be getting ready for your NEWT year, young man?" Harry could hear the professor admonishing the conductor. He watched as she pulled a small pouch from the same pocket her hat had been in (how deep was that pocket, anyway) and started counting out silver looking coins.

"Ah, choo know me prof. I'm already set to pass 'em." He looked past her towards Harry. "And oo's this cheery young lad?"

"Just a muggleborn getting supplies, Mr. Shunpike. His guardians aren't able to make the trip with him." She turned back towards Harry, seeing that he still had yet to get on the bus. "Well, don't just stand there young man."

Harry hunched his shoulders and followed her towards the back of the bus. As he looked around the interior, he noticed that it was almost certainly larger on the inside. Finally, he couldn't hold back his questions. "Is this a magic bus? And is it safe? Also, where exactly is Diagon Alley anyway?" They arrived at a pair of what looked like overstuffed armchairs that had been loosely nailed to the floor.

"Sit down, and we'll get started. We shouldn't be there for a little while yet, so I'll be explaining some things to you during the ride." She pointed her wand at the chairs and a small beam of grey-ish blue light hit them. She sat down and Harry did as well, before he realized that it felt almost like he was sitting in maple syrup if he tried to stand back up or pull too far away from the seat. "Just a sticking charm. The Knight Bus is not the smoothest ride." As she said that, another bang heralded their departure and suddenly the whole bus was thrown from side to side, chairs sliding around to try and compensate for the motion. He was rather glad that she had made sure he wouldn't fall out of the seat.

After she had checked to make sure neither of them would tip off the chairs, she started speaking to him in a slightly sad tone. "Now, I'm not quite sure where to begin. I had hoped your wretch of an Aunt would at least tell you the truth about how your parents died, but since she hasn't, I suppose it falls to me." Harry leaned a bit closer. "When you were born, there was a sort of civil war going on in the magical community. And before you ask, yes, there's an entirely separate magical community. We separated off the muggles, those without magic, because of persecution and a desire to live free of their demands. The civil war started because a group of witches and wizards lead by, well, we call him either Death's Flight or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The actual name he had was-" She stopped for a bit, appearing to psyche herself up for a moment. "Voldemort. You shouldn't use the name, as there was a taboo on it that would instantly alert him to the location it was said in."

"What, so if anyone said Volde-" he cut off as she flinched. "Sorry, that name, he'd just come kill them or something?"

"Exactly that. Your parents were in a group formed to fight against him outside the standard governmental forces, as the ministry of magic was frequently hamstrung by insiders working for him. Since they didn't want to put you at risk, they went into hiding. Sadly, they were betrayed and what should have been a safe house was exposed to Death's Flight." She started dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "He went to the house on Halloween night, 1981. Both your parents died trying to hold him off, but when he turned his wand to you, his curse, the killing curse, was reflected back at him. The killing curse is a truly foul piece of magic, one that cannot be blocked by any shield or survived through any known means. Somehow, though, you lived, and the house was blown apart from the force."

Harry could feel a slight wetness gathering in his eyes, trying with all his might to contain the tears. It wasn't safe to cry, boys didn't cry, and he couldn't break that now, not with someone watching. The detached feeling from before was fading and he was trying to hold onto it, trying to keep it to hold back the sudden overwhelming tide of emotions. He had always thought that his parents had gotten themselves killed doing something reckless, if not exactly drunk driving, but to know that they had died trying to save him... "But-" Harry paused to try and stop his voice from shuddering. "But how did I survive?"

"No one is quite certain. Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts, is quite certain that your mother's love for you invoked an ancient piece of magic that could not be overcome by 'something so mundane as hate.' He's one of the most well-learned wizards on the planet, so his guess is the best we have." She waved her wand once more, and another handkerchief appeared in front of him. He grabbed it and began wiping his face free of the few tears that had slipped out. "Because you survived, though, you are something of a celebrity amongst magical Britain, and even further around the globe." Harry looked up at her, eyes going wide. "Yes, quite famous. That's why I've asked you to avoid using your name and cover up your scar while we're out."

"How am I famous, though? Wasn't my mother the one who did all the work?"

"Sadly for her, she was the daughter of two muggles, which caused her to be looked down upon by many members of society. Magical Britain has something of a problem with blood purism, where wizards and witches are convinced that the 'purer' one's blood is, the better. Purity, in this case, refers to having only magical parents. This was the primary cause of the war that took your parents. Your mother would be termed a muggleborn, and she married the pureblood scion House Potter. That would make you a halfblood." She looked around before giving him a serious look. "Understand, Mr. Potter, that blood status matters not one bit. Your mother was a brilliant, talented, and powerful witch who could hold her own against Death's Flight in a fair fight, and she rarely fought fairly."

Harry nodded, tears threatening to spill again as he heard more about his mother. "Are people likely to recognize me, though?" He tried to look at his reflection in the window. "I mean, I haven't been around magical people at all since then, right?" After all, no one had gotten him away from his Aunt and Uncle. No one had come to check on him. No one had sent him mail.

"You look almost exactly like your father, with your mother's eyes." She stared at him for a moment. "Aside from that, almost every child in Britain knows that you have a Sowilo rune as a scar."

"Sowilo?"

"The lightning bolt shape on your forehead." Harry pressed a hand to where the scar was underneath the beanie. "It's a curse scar, from where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's spell was reflected." He moved his hand away quickly. "Our stop is coming up shortly, we'll be on a street called Charing Cross." Another loud bang sounded, and suddenly London was flying by as the bus appeared to hop between cars to get through traffic. "Stick close to me and make sure to keep that scar covered. If I have to use a name for you, I'll use Mr. Evans."

/-|-o-o|-\

The Leaky Cauldron, Harry decided, was both the most amazing place he'd ever been and also something of a dump. There wasn't any dust, somehow, but the well worn tables and floors seemed to say that this wasn't anyplace grand. Aunt Petunia would have thrown a fit if she saw it. The torches, actual torches, acting as lights didn't do anything to offset this.

As both he and Professor McGonagall started moving through the pub, the bartender called out. "Minnie! Good to see you again, thought you'd have been done with all the muggleborns by now."

"Not quite, Tom, we just had to work out a different date for young Mr. Evans here." She looked down at Harry, who was a bit distracted by a portrait hanging above a fireplace that seemed to be moving. "Mr. Evans, come along now."

Harry started a bit before realizing that she meant him and hurried to catch up with her across the room. As they walked through a door at the back of the pub, he could have sworn that the fire turned green and a head poked through it. They were in a dead end alleyway. "Uh, Professor?"

"Hush for a moment, lad." She pulled out her wand again and started tapping bricks, seemingly at random. "There we go. Evans was your mother's maiden name, if you were wondering." The bricks seems to melt in front of him and started peeling back to form an archway emblazoned with the words 'Diagon Alley' at the top. "Don't make me hold your hand, Mr. Evans."

Harry started following her only to stop dead in his tracks as he gazed out at the alley. It looked sort of like something out of a medieval film, people hawking wares on a cobble street with shops lining either side. There were signs of magic everywhere, with signs that moved on their own, sparks shooting out of various places, and what looked to be an animated stone gargoyle leering down at people from above a shop called 'Stone Sentinels.' His head kept turning around trying to take it all in before he heard a sigh and felt someone grab his hand. "Wha-"

"I warned you, Mr. Evans. Our first stop will be the bank." She started leading him towards a massive white marble building at the end of the street. "The bankers are goblins."

"Goblins?" Harry responded, barely keeping his feet moving as they went by shops with names like 'Quality Quidditch Supplies' and 'Artificer's Armory.'

"Short beings that are a bit bloodthirsty and greedy. Expect them to try and fleece you, but they won't be offended by haggling. They'd probably be more offended if you didn't." She was clearly trying to hurry them along, but he didn't want to miss out on any of the activity around him. "You'll have time to browse later, Mr. Evans. More if you hurry up now."

Harry nearly tripped over the steps as they got to the bank, too absorbed in the building itself to notice where he was being led. The jolt of almost falling brought him back to watching Professor McGonagall. "Am I going to have enough for all my school supplies? And tuition?" She'd said that he had money, but from what little he'd picked up on about how much Smeltings cost and the fact that the Dursleys were probably not going to pay for any of it, he doubted that he'd really have enough to make it all the way through school.

She stopped at the top of the steps and brought him off to the side, earning suspicious glances from the guards. Harry took a moment to look over at them and almost shouted in alarm when he saw that they were actually goblins. Well, probably, he didn't exactly know what a goblin was supposed to look like. Still, the professor had said that they were short and bloodthirsty, and the guards were a full head shorter than him with neatly trimmed beards, long fingers and feet, and each was hefting an ax that was taller than he was. They were quite imposing in their polished armor. "Mr. Evans, your father was scion of a noble family. Your or your mother's defeat of Death's Flight also ensured that your vaults would gain a hefty number of bounties from a variety of sources. There exist fictional story books about your adventures, of which the authors have sent fully half the profits directly into your coffers." She took a moment to think. "If I had to guess, you are probably within our island's top twenty wealthiest individuals."

Harry's jaw fell open. "I'm rich!?" This was beyond anything he'd ever dreamed.

"Yes, you are quite well off." He was trying to absorb this information and failing. "Now, a quick overview of our monetary system. We use gold galleons, silver sickles, and bronze knuts. There are seventeen sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine knuts to a sickle. There are reasons behind this rate of exchange, but they're not that important or relevant unless you end up working for Gringotts. A galleon is worth around two-hundred and fifty pounds. A sickle is worth a little less than fifteen pounds, and a knut is worth just about half a pound." She looked him in the eye. "Understand, Mr. Evans, that this is not like the muggle world. While witches and wizards cannot make food out of nothing, we can duplicate existing food quite well. Expansion charms mean that we have more than enough space available, for much cheaper than otherwise. It is virtually impossible for a witch or wizard to starve or go homeless if they truly do not wish to. Everything else, however, is measurably more expensive than it would be in the muggle world, since we have no factories, no production lines, and no cheap disposable goods."

"Wait, even clothes?" Harry didn't know much about how clothes were made, but he knew that it involved factories and giant machines. "How does everyone get everything made then?"

She smiled softly at him. "Magic." He let out a huff. "We have plenty of artisans, and almost all magical goods will last a lifetime or several. And witches and wizards live longer than muggles, so that might mean a few hundred years for a robe." Harry's eyes went wide again, probably not for the last time that day. "I've had these robes for just over half a century, and they still fit and feel like I just bought them yesterday." He tried to process that before suddenly realizing that she had to be older than her early sixties if she'd had the robes for over fifty years. "Now, let's get inside the bank before the guards start poking us, hmm?"

They turned back towards the doors and Harry noticed a plaque with what seemed like a poem on it.

Enter, Stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Yes, Mr. Evans, it is not wise to attempt to steal from the goblins. They take bank security most seriously." He had a bit of trouble keeping pace with her as they went in and he started staring at everything around him again. There were high counters with goblins in vests sitting behind them. Torches and chandeliers were the lighting here as well, and some form of lamps that looked electric on the tellers' counters. When he tried to look up at one there wasn't a bulb underneath the shade. The shade itself seemed to be giving off the light. Was there a reason for the seeming lack of electricity? The bus seemed to work fine. Well, maybe not that fine, but it wasn't like it was breaking down or anything. Before Harry could get too caught up in figuring it out, they stopped in front of an open counter. The professor leaned close to the goblin teller and started whispering, so Harry stood on tiptoes to listen better. "Mr. Potter is here to access his trust vault. In addition, he would like an accounting of his finances in total." Well, he hadn't actually told her that, but it was something he wanted, so.

"Does the client have his key?" The goblin said, with what looked to be a sneer. A sneer with a lot of teeth, actually, that was kind of disturbing. But maybe that was just how they looked? Harry took a quick glance around and it seemed like most of the tellers had similar expressions, so if it was something bad at least it wasn't like they were being singled out.

The professor reached into her pockets again (and how much space was actually in those, really) and pulled out a small golden key that looked sort of like it would open a big wooden door in some tower or castle. Maybe not that surprising, come to think of it. She handed the key over. "We would appreciate some discretion in these matters."

The goblin took the key and examined it for a moment before placing it on a mat, which glowed purple briefly. "Griphook will take you to the vault. An accounting will cost ten sickles. This will be deducted from the primary vault." Wait, a simple check of how much gold he had was going to cost him over a hundred pounds? Was that even fair?

"Ten sickles? We would count it ourselves or bring someone with us who would do it for five." Um. She had said something about haggling, but this didn't seem like the sort of thing you'd haggle over. It wasn't even a physical item!

"Seven sickles, and it will be certified." said the teller. Was Harry going to have to do something like that every time he came here? Worse, would it be like this everywhere?

"Fine." The professor grabbed his hand again, and led him towards the back of the lobby where there were a few doors that occasionally had goblins and other witches and wizards coming in and out.

"Professor?" Harry said. "Is it normally so expensive to have vaults counted?"

Professor McGonagall turned towards him. "Well, Mr. Evans, it's dependent upon the size of the vaults and how frequently it's done. Since your vaults haven't been touched in a decade, and they're quite large, the price would be higher. It also costs more the less accurately you record things with the goblins when you make deposits or withdrawals." She looked up as a goblin started heading towards them. "Griphook?"

"Follow me." The goblin turned around and walked back through the doors. Harry and the professor hurried after. "Keep all appendages inside the cart at all times."

They were in some sort of giant cavern, with what looked like old fashioned mine carts from American wild west television programs on haphazard rails. The group climbed in, and Harry was surprised to find that the cart could hold all of them comfortably. It must have been like the professor's pockets, he guessed. Just as he was about to ask about it, Griphook pulled a lever on the front and the cart took off down the rails. It was relatively smooth at first, until suddenly they were out of the twisting shafts that they had started in and had gone into what seemed like mid-air, a huge cave stretching below them with spindly wooden supports holding up the track. Stalactites and stalagmites flew by, and Harry was fairly certain that this was what a roller coaster felt like whenever the track dipped or turned sharply. After a few minutes he couldn't keep track of where they had been anymore. If he was being honest, the ride was kind of fun. Shortly, however, they came to a stop outside a massive vault door made out of what looked like iron built into an outcropping of rock.

"Watch your step." The goblin hopped out of the cart and onto the stone, while Harry and Professor McGonagall carefully climbed out. Griphook took out the key from before and pressed it against the door, which upon closer inspection did not actually have a keyhole. He muttered something too quietly for Harry to hear before running a finger in a circle at goblin height on the metal. A hole opened up and the key was put in and turned, with a creaking sound accompanying the door rolling out of the way. "The vault will be refilled to one-thousand galleons twice annually, on June thirty-first and December thirty-first. This will come from the main family vault. Any non-monetary objects that are stored here on those dates can be moved into the family vault for safe keeping."

Harry was barely paying attention to what Griphook was saying however, as he had just gotten a glimpse inside his vault. There was a decent sized pile of gleaming gold coins, more stacks of silver and a massive amount of bronze. "This is-" He managed to get out, suddenly lightheaded. "This is all mine?" It almost came out as a wheeze.

"Yes. Two hundred of the galleons are converted to sickles, and of the resultant thirty-four hundred sickles, a further half of those are converted into forty-nine thousand three hundred knuts." Harry abruptly sat down on the floor, eyes roving over the money. "If you require a money pouch, for three galleons we provide a mokeskin bag with space for ten-thousand coins in it."

"Three galleons?" He quickly did some math in his head. That'd be three times two-hundred and fifty, if he remembered the professor correctly. Seven-hundred and fifty pounds for a bag! Well, a magic bag of holding, but still. That was just too much, it had to be- wait, haggling, right. Right. She'd told him they expected it. "I'm, I'm sure that such a bag wouldn't go for more than-" he glanced over at the professor. "Two galleons." She gave him a slight smile.

Griphook grinned, teeth visible. It wasn't pretty, but it also didn't seem hostile. Almost like the goblin enjoyed haggling. "Two galleons and ten sickles, and we'll enchant it to only open to you."

Well, that was a good chunk off the price. Still, though, even if he had money now there was no reason to start wasting it. "Two galleons, five sickles. That's with the enchantment and-" he paused, trying to think of something that he could add in. "Can it be linked to the vault?" It seemed like something that'd be useful, after all. No need to keep running back to the bank when he got low.

If anything, that just made Griphook's grin wider. "It can be done, but that will raise the cost to two galleons, fifteen sickles."

"Two galleons, twelve sickles." Harry had no idea if this was a fair price, but he found that he did enjoy the back and forth.

"Done." Griphook pulled a small dark purple pouch out from the cart. "To key it to you, we'll need to place a drop of your blood on the drawstrings." Harry stood up and walked over to the goblin. "Hold out your hand, please." Harry did as asked, and before he could blink a dagger had made a small incision on his thumb, which Griphook then squeezed a drop of blood out of onto the strings. As Harry watched, a slight red glow suffused them, before fading out and leaving the strings in their natural gold color. He pulled his hand back and went to wipe his thumb on his shirt before realizing that the cut had already healed. Griphook then took the pouch and pressed the key against it, before whispering something at it. The pouch and key both glowed a soft silver, before going back to their original colors. "To access the money in the pouch, simply think of how much you wish to withdraw and in which coins you would like it to be, and the coins will appear in your hand."

Harry put his hand in the pouch and thought of the agreed upon two galleons and twelve sickles, waiting for just a moment before he felt a weight settle into his palm. As that happened, he noticed a few coins in the vault disappear. "Here you go."

Griphook looked over the coins for a few seconds before putting them in his pocket. "A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter."

/-|-o-o|-\

As Harry and Professor McGonagall were walking out of the bank, Harry stared at the piece of parchment in his hand. She'd been given it when they got back to the lobby, and she turned it over to him with a compliment on the haggling. There was some sort of legalese at the top and an interesting looking seal on the bottom, but all he could focus on were the numbers on the page. His trust vault now had 798 Galleons, 1688 Sickles, and 49300 knuts. There was enough money left in the vault to get him a small house somewhere. But that paled in comparison to the amounts listed for the family vault that he'd get access to when he came of age. 93092 Galleons, 365483 Sickles, and 1984234 Knuts. After doing a little bit of mental math, he came to the conclusion that he was a millionaire. Harry was still feeling lightheaded from the knowledge when he felt a hand on his back guiding him into a shop that had a sign with 'Madam Malkin's' on top, an animated display of various robes in the middle and a short blurb underneath that said 'Robes for All Occasions.'

"Quickly now, Mr. Evans. You'll need to be fitted and it'll be a bit of a wait before you can pick up the robes themselves." Harry shoved the parchment with the nice large numbers on it into his pocket opposite the one with the pouch (as he didn't want to risk trying to put it in the pouch), before pulling out the letter with his school supply list on it. "If you want, you can probably find some more muggle-friendly clothes as well." She sighed. "I'd offer to take you out into the muggle world after we were done here, but with you needing to be removed from those relatives of yours, we'll be spending quite a bit of time getting you accommodated for the rest of the summer."

"Will the store have regular clothes?" Harry asked, as he glanced around at the racks. He didn't see anything other than robes at the front, and the store hadn't seemed that big from the alley. As they continued walking, though, he realized that it was a good deal larger inside the building than it was outside. Were all magical buildings like this?

"Yes, although they might be a tad dated." They approached a counter with a small bell on it, and a woman wearing deep blue robes came out from behind a curtain. "We're here to get this young man fitted for Hogwarts, as well as a bit of muggle clothes shopping as well."

The saleslady looked at Harry. He knew he wasn't dressed that great, and the scrutiny wasn't helping. He was starting to squirm a bit when she finally responded. "I'll get Madam Malkin, just head over to the fitting stands." She pointed towards a few raised platforms at the back of the store, with curtains able to be drawn around them. As Harry made his way over, he heard the saleslady talking to the professor. "What sort of budget are you working with for him?"

"Assume that he can spend at least fifty galleons." Harry was unsure if he wanted to spend that much on clothes. It wasn't like the clothes could actually help, really. He just kind of hated his body, he guessed. He knew he was scrawny, and honestly he was more than happy to hide everything underneath the over-sized castoffs. He stepped up onto the platform in stall three, even though the other stalls were unoccupied. It seemed like the store was mostly empty today. It was only a short wait before a squat witch dressed in mauve appeared.

"Hogwarts, dearie?" She said, as she took out a tape measure. "Hold up your arms." Harry lifted his arms and watched as she brought the tape against one arm before letting go, where it started to move on its own. "Don't worry, this will only take a few minutes." She headed off to the side and he was left staring out at the store as the tape darted and wrapped around his body.

There looked to be a wide selection of robes, with what seemed like a few muggle items off to the sides. The section labeled 'Wizards' was fairly straightforward, the robes in neutral colors and only a few different cuts from what he could tell. He tried to figure out which would hide his shape the best, studying them and pointedly not looking at the rest of the store. It only took him a minute, though, before he started sneaking glances over at the section labeled 'Witches.' He couldn't tell if any of those were actually fashionable, since he was barely conversant in muggle styles, much less magical ones. But there were a lot more cuts and vibrant colors in that area, and- No. No no no. He shut down his train of thought, trying hard to avoid the idea that maybe, just maybe, he'd rather wear witch's robes than wizard's. Harry might be magical, but he seriously doubted that any sort of that thing would be tolerated. His uncle hadn't been the only one to yell at him over thoughts like that.

He desperately searched for a distraction, finding it in a part of the store that looked to be for Hogwarts' students. The robes were solid black, and there looked to be a set hat to go with them. Underneath a display case with four different colored ties (Red and Gold, Blue and Bronze, Black and Yellow, and Green and Silver) there was a rack with white ties that had a small sign saying 'Automatically changes to fit your house!' Harry wasn't entirely certain what that meant, but he guessed it had something to do with the colors. Could magic clothes change colors? That seemed like it would be neat, he guessed. There was also a rack with grey cotton vests on it, which seemed to match with a standard white dress shirt. As he swept his eyes over the section, they got caught on the skirts for the girl's uniform. Again he averted his eyes, deciding instead to just sit there and not look at anything until Madam Malkin got back.

It was another five minutes of waiting before the squat witch reappeared, carrying a black bundle of fabric. "Now, I'll need you to hold still for this part. It'll be over quickly, just don't flinch or the pins might nick you."

"Um, what does that-" The fabric was tossed over his head, unfurling into a robe. As he watched, a small swarm of clothing pins flew out of a tin in Madam Malkin's hand, darting about him and bringing the robe in against him.

"Don't worry dear, they're perfectly safe. Charmed against breaking skin. Still stings a bit, so I recommend just staying still and letting them work." The pins continued to circle him, letting the robe out more towards the bottom while still keeping the hem just high enough to walk in. It wasn't that hard not to flinch, Harry had long since learned how to stay composed when things were flying at him. 'Two for flinching' was a fairly common game with Dudley. "Alright, I think you're all set! How do they look?"

He turned to the mirror in the stall, fighting down the usual bit of revulsion at seeing his reflection. "They're great, thanks." He honestly had no idea if they looked good or not, but they fit and he could move about freely in them. The robe would probably be the best article of clothing he owned.

"Oh, you're welcome. Now, you wanted to see some of the muggle clothes as well?" She asked, as she helped him get the robe back off.

"Yeah." Well, no, not really, but if he was rich and already here, not much point avoiding it.

"Right this way then." She walked towards the side of the store with mostly wizards' robes and kept going towards the wall. "Here you are! If you see something you like, don't worry too much about the size. We can resize it for you while we do your robes." Madam Malkin promptly disappeared behind several racks of muggle coats, most of which were in bizarre colors that looked like they belonged in the sixties.

/-|-o-o|-\

It was three hours later that Harry and Professor McGonagall started heading towards the wand shop. Harry had picked up a decent selection of muggle clothing and a few non-uniform robes, and had worn a new outfit out the door of Madam Malkins. The professor had then burned the old clothes in a side alley, before making the remains disappear. He thought it might have been a bit much, but he was a little happier knowing that the clothes he had on were just for him. After Madam Malkins, they had picked up a trunk (with three separate compartments, one for clothes, one for books, and one for everything else) and were using it to store the rest of the purchases. It had an auto-shrink feature, making it much easier to carry around than a bunch of bags. They only had a wand, the books, and maybe a familiar left to get.

"After we pick up your wand, we'll get some lunch and then go to the book store." Professor McGonagall said as they walked down the alley. Harry had wanted to save the book store for last, since there wouldn't be any worries about how long he looked around for. The library had been a frequent refuge from Dudley and his gang, since they were loud and mostly illiterate.

"Lunch?" Harry said. He was still occasionally getting lost in the sights of the alley, but he wasn't doing so bad that the professor needed to keep holding his hand. "Where are we going to go for that?"

"We'll be stopping by a small cafe near the ice cream parlour. If you feel up to it and behave yourself, we'll get some ice cream afterwards." The professor sounded stern, but there was an undercurrent of softness to it.

"Is it magic ice cream?" he asked, getting more comfortable with Professor McGonagall as the day wore on.

"There's a few kinds that are magical, yes, but I wouldn't recommend them. They have a habit of getting messy." What did that mean? Would it leap off the spoon or something? "In any case, Mr. Evans, we're here now." She glanced down at him. "A word of warning: Mr. Ollivander will probably try and surprise you, and don't be alarmed if he knows your name without even glancing at you."

Harry focused on the shop in front of them, and wasn't all that impressed. It was narrow (although that wasn't a real indication of size, he supposed) and shabby, the gold lettering over the door that said 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' peeling. Then again, if the shop had been in business that long, maybe it was supposed to look a little worn down. Peering through the window, Harry was able to catch a glimpse of a single wand lying on a purple cushion behind a thin layer of dust. They entered the shop and a small bell rang somewhere deeper within. Inside the shop didn't appear much better than the outside, a tiny empty space with a single spindly chair the only furniture that wasn't a shelf loaded with thousands of narrow boxes. There was an odd tingly sensation in the air, and Harry could almost taste ozone if he was focusing on it. The whole place seemed to whisper just below his hearing, and while he couldn't make out any words he got the distinct impression that there was magic completely suffusing the place.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I had wondered when I would be seeing you." Harry jumped at turned around, seeing an old man standing behind him with wide pale eyes. "Yes, yes. You have your mother's eyes, you know. I could have sworn she was just by yesterday, picking out her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, willow. Practically made for charms work." Harry kept his eyes on the man, who could only be Mr. Ollivander, as he walked towards the shelves of wands. "Mmm. But your father, he preferred an eleven inch, mahogany wand. Peryton Antler core, most unique. Pliable, good power and a quick learner for transfiguration. Well, I say he preferred it, but it's rather the other way around. It's the wand that chooses the wizard, you see."

Harry took a step back. "The wand... chooses the wizard?"

"Yes, very much so. They aren't sentient, not truly, but enough to refuse to work for some people and give their best for others." Mr. Ollivander leaned closer to him. "And, if I may be so bold-" He gestured towards the red and gold beanie on Harry's head (which had since learned were the house colors for Gryffindor, whatever that was). Harry pulled back the beanie, and Mr. Ollivander traced the scar. "And that's where..." There was a pause, as they both pulled away from each other. "I'm most sorry to say that I was the one who provided the wand that did it." There was a softness to the man's voice, and Harry wasn't sure if he should say anything or not. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, and one of my finest. But if I'd known what it was going out into the world to do-"

He was interrupted by the professor clearing her throat. "That's very well, Mr. Ollivander, but we're here for Mr. Potter's wand, I believe."

"Quite right, Professor McGonagall. Quite right. No troubles from your wand, though?" Ollivander asked, seeming to already know the answer.

"None whatsoever."

"Well, let's get started with Mr. Potter then, shall we?" He took a measuring tape with silver markings out of his pocket, one that seemed similar to the one in Madam Malkins. "Which arm is your wand arm, young man?"

"Well, I'm right handed, if that's what you're asking." said Harry.

"Alright, hold out your arm and stand still." For the first few measurements, Ollivander was holding onto the tape, looking carefully at each number, but as he continued speaking, the tape measure seemed to get a mind of its own. "Every one of my wands has a powerful core, Mr. Potter. A dragon heartstring, a phoenix feather, or a unicorn hair, and some others beside. They all have different temperaments, but there's no way to say any is better or worse than the others." Ollivander started pulling boxes off the shelves, the tape measure still flitting about. "That will do." Suddenly the tape fell in a heap on the floor. "Now, just pick up a wand, and let me know what you feel."

A couple dozen wands later, and Harry was starting to wonder if he would ever find his. Half the time the wandmaker would snatch a wand out of his hands before he'd even gotten a good grip on it, and on a few rare occasions there were bangs and odd happenings around the shop. While Harry was getting more annoyed, Mr. Ollivander seemed to be getting progressively happier.

"Tricky fellow, aren't you, Mr. Potter? No matter, I'll find the wand for you, don't you worry." He walked further back in the shop, ducking behind multiple shelves until he was out of sight and just barely in hearing range. "I wonder- well, why not." He came back with a box containing a beautifully crafted wand, one that Harry could practically hear calling to him. "Holly and phoenix feather, not a common combination, eleven inches, quite supple. Give her a wave."

As Harry picked up the wand and waved it, he felt something warm in his hand that spread up his whole arm. Just as he saw sparks come out the end of it, though, he felt something off. It was as if the wand had looked at him and found him wanting? But it was willing to wait for him, also. Harry wasn't entirely certain how he knew it, but he could tell that he was right.

"Mmm. That's the wand for you, I'm quite certain of it, but you'll need to be more confident before it gives itself fully to you. When you can stand before the world and tell them without a doubt who you really are, I suspect that's when the wand will be in tune with you." Harry looked down at the wand, which was still giving him a warm feeling. It wasn't quite perfect, but it could get there. "Curious, though."

"What's curious?" Harry almost immediately regretted asking. He knew by the expression on the Ollivander's face that he didn't want to know.

"I remember every wand I've sold, Mr. Potter." Wait, how many was that? How old was he anyway? "Every one. The phoenix that gave the feather for your wand has only given me a feather once before." A sudden churning picked up in Harry's stomach as the earlier discussion in the shop came to mind. "It is odd indeed that you should be chosen by this one, when the brother to it gave you your scar." Harry looked down at his wand again. What had he gotten himself into?

/-|-o-o|-\

AN: Minnie might be a bit biased in terms of "it's practically impossible for someone to go homeless," since it can and does actually happen, but it is rarer than the muggle world by a substantial amount.

Harry is reasonably wealthy, but "never have to work again" wealthy instead of "buy an island and a private jet" wealthy.

No Draco? The current timeframe is July 15th or so, with the muggleborn orientation trip having occurred on the 7th. That date is specifically chosen because it's 7/7, and magic number 7 whatnot.

There's a bunch more wandcores, but Ollivander is primarily noted for Dragon/Unicorn/Phoenix wands, since those are the ones he makes most frequently.

A peryton is a winged deer that supposedly came from Atlantis.