I'm sorry for the long delay. I realized I had bled my plot bunny dry, and was struggling to squeeze more out of it.

The next few years flew by, and as Harry grew, so did his abilities.

His cupboard (protected by a Someone-Else's-Problem field, inspired by Douglas Adams) was as big as the lower story of the house (He'd wanted to try this trick since reading a Doctor Who novel, but the effect was from reverse-engineering a wizarding tent). He had forged a portal to the outside of the house through which Gringotts owls could reach him without alerting his relatives.

There had been little progress on the horcruxes, but the one in his head had yielded the whole of Tom's education at Hogwarts, and his forays into the Dark Arts, much of which Harry would have loved to skip over. Despite the redundancy, he had decided to accept attendance at Hogwarts, if nothing else to keep the wizards from getting too suspicious. If they would deny a trial to a Sirius Black for being at the wrong place and time, then being another Voldemort, however much more morally sound, might well get him the death penalty!

Finally, in mid-July 1991, the Hogwarts acceptance letter arrived. For the first time ever, Harry anticipated happily watching his uncle's temple throb.

On second thought, given the eerily specific address on the envelope ("The Cupboard Under the Stairs" was part of it) maybe he should just keep the letter to himself. He rather liked all the improvements on his cupboard and didn't want to be forced to leave.

Harry didn't bother to mind-trick his aunt into forgetting about him for the day. He figured that the sooner she realized that her campaign to shove suburban mediocrity down his throat had failed, the better. So after a quick apparition to the rear of the Leaky Cauldron, he was ready for a day of school shopping. After a quick stop at the bank for cash, he stepped into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"Hogwarts, dear?" said the lady behind the counter. Upon his nod, she continued, "We have another one in the back getting her robes fitted as well. Just go back there and we'll get you sorted out."

The other customer had a mane of bushy brown hair and a set of braces on her teeth. Definitely a muggleborn.

"Hello," said the girl when Harry stepped onto the stool next to her. "I'm really excited for the coming term. I never knew all the strange things I could do were magic until recently. I thought maybe a Q had meddled in my development. It seemed as good an explanation as any. I'm Hermione Granger. Who are you?"

"Harry Potter. Yes-" he said to the shopgirl measuring his torso "-the Harry Potter. Please don't examine my forehead with the hand holding those needles." Harry turned back to miss Granger. "I've been training myself as a Jedi. Could have known the truth earlier if a certain society of recluses had actually told me the truth in a timely fashion."

"My mother said something similar to Professor McGonagall, and she alluded to a secrecy law. Though if they would have told us eventually anyway, why keep our families in suspense for a decade?"

"Must be because they want a big dramatic reveal. Or maybe the purebloods want the muggle-raised to have as little involvement in their culture as possible."

"Pureblood?"

"Ancestry means as much in this culture as it did in Feudal England before the renaissance. Those with the longest magical bloodlines have a leg-up in this society. Most are simply going about their lives and don't really care about who their great-great-great-great-grandpappy was. My pureblood father married a muggleborn. Unfortunately, there are some for whom blood is everything, like the twit who murdered my parents for being a 'mudblood' and 'blood-traitor'"

Hermione's face took on a look of sympathy, but one could tell she was also glad she hadn't experienced something similar.

"That's you done, miss," said the girl taking Hermione's measurements.

"Bookstore next!" she quipped, her enthusiasm quickly returning. Harry noticed she picked up a well worn three-inch-thick novel off the table by the door on her way out.

She was still browsing Flourish and Blotts bookshelves two hours later.