Contrary to popular belief, Vernon Dursley was not a stupid man – at least when it came to his own comforts. If his nephew wished to attend that freak school, he would not stand in his way. Let him go, let him learn freakish ways. It did not matter to him.

Once it would have. He could admit that, to himself, if not to anyone else. He still shuddered at the thought of magic – such an abnormal thing! He wanted no truck with it, not in his house. He and Petunia had done their best to stamp out any unnatural tendencies the boy had displayed, even going so far as to force him to live in the cupboard under the stair.

And then that Drake fellow had moved into No. 6. Vernon gritted his teeth just thinking about the man. He had stuck his nose into the Dursley's business, taking an interest in the boy and suddenly, Vernon had found himself giving the boy poor Dudley's second bedroom! It was almost unconscionable! Only his fear of appearing abnormal had kept him from not following the carefully worded suggestion (threat, if Vernon was honest) that Drake had given him.

Now, almost two years later, he had to admit that he had gotten a good bargain. Yes, Dudley had lost his second bedroom, and he and Petunia had had to assuage his tantrum with a few new toys, but his own aggravation with his nephew had all but disappeared. The boy stayed at No. 6 more than he did at the Dursleys. When at No. 4, he quietly did all the chores they asked of him, and stayed quietly in his room. More importantly, Vernon had observed a marked decrease in horrible freakish behavior.

Petunia did not understand his growing sanguinity towards her nephew. She truly hated the magical world, blaming it for taking away her parents - and even her sister. Vernon did not care for it much either. At the same time, he did not oppose the boy attending the freak school.

A casual observer might ask why. Simply put, it kept the boy away from the Dursley's home for ten whole months. Drake had given them a taste of what life without the boy was like. Oh, he still spent at least two or three days and nights at No. 4, but for all intents and purposes, he lived at No. 6. Vernon did not think that would change, if the boy went away to school for ten months.

Another part of Vernon gleefully hoped that the boy would tell Drake about magic, that he was a wizard. Drake's casual superiority and championing of the boy grated at Vernon's nerves. No normal person could believe in magic. It would be worth having to put up with the boy living full time with them, if it meant that Drake no longer looked at the boy with pride, or sought to protect him, or mentor him.

So no, Vernon would not keep the boy from the freaks or the freak school. Let him attend. It would give him more peace.

***

Harry followed Miss McGonagall through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley. Before they had entered the pub, she had warned him to keep his head covered. When he had questioned why, she had simply said she would explain later. Considering that covering one's head did not seem a requirement for the witches and wizards he saw within the pub, he assumed she had another reason for her instruction. He made a note to investigate on his own her reasoning - if she failed to tell him.

Diagon Alley did not resemble any of the shops he had visited before. Well, the basic idea remained the same, but the goods and merchandise enclosed within the shops did not look like anything he had seen before in his life. His guide strode down the street, narrating as they went along.

"We'll stop by Gringotts – that's our bank – first. Then we'll get your supplies," she informed him. "Gringotts' employs goblins. Don't stare too much."

After they reached the bank, Harry understood the warning. The goblins looked mean and dangerous. He knew instinctively that he did not want to mess with them. He followed Miss McGonagall to a teller, and watched as she produced his bank key. He wanted to ask why she had it, but remembered to hold his tongue in time, afraid he would sound as if he was accusing her of something nefarious. Mr. Drake had always told him to wait until he had all his information before accusing someone. And while Mr. Drake had not joined them on this trip, he knew his minder well enough to realize that the two of them would return to Diagon Alley at a later date. He would wait until then to ask the goblins about his key and account.

Harry swiveled his head, trying to take everything in as they walked through the street, his companion taking him into the necessary shops and helping him pick out his supplies with an efficiency that reminded Harry of Mr. Drake. She did not give him time to dawdle, though she did let him take some time in the bookstore. She had gotten a small smile on her face when he had asked her for some recommendations. "Your mother asked the very same thing," she commented. "You might look like your father, but maybe you have more of Lily in you than her eyes."

Conscious of her observing eyes, Harry made sure to only pick up the books she recommended in addition to his school books. He did, however, make note of other books of interest. Mr. Drake would not begrudge his purchase of them when they returned. After all, his neighbor constantly encouraged his habit of reading, deeming it one of the best ways to discover information. Mr. Drake believed in gathering as much facts as possible before making a decision.

The only uncomfortable moment in this trip came when they went to get his wand. Mr. Ollivander had surprised him, stepping out of the shadows as he did. It had taken a while to find his wand, and Harry kept glancing at his escort, worried she might get angry at the delay. She must have read his fear, as she hastened to reassure him. "Buying a wand can take a while, Mr. Potter. I will still return you to your aunt and uncle in time for the evening meal."

"Never fear, Mr. Potter. I love tricky customers. Keeps me on my toes," Mr. Ollivander chimed in. And so they continued, looking for the proper wand for Harry. It took a while, but eventually the wandmaker found the "perfect" fit for Harry.

"Curious… most curious…" Mr. Ollivander commented, almost absently as he took Harry's money for the wand.

"Excuse me, but what is curious?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"I remember every wand that I ever sold, Mr. Potter. The phoenix that donated the feather for your wand, donated only one other. It is curious that I should sell to you this wand, when its brother gave you your scar."

"My scar?" Harry asked confused. "How do you know about my scar?"

"That's enough, Mr. Potter," Miss McGonagall interrupted. "We've taken enough of Mr. Ollivander's time."

Harry froze as the two adults stared at each other. Obviously, Mr. Ollivander knew something about him that Miss McGonagall did not want Harry to know. Therefore, Harry wanted to know. But, having grown up with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, he knew better than to push for answers. He would wait until he returned to Diagon Alley with Mr. Drake to find his answers.

"You mean to let him go to Hogwarts without telling him anything?" Mr. Ollivander asked.

"Of course not! But there is a time and a place. This is not it." She grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him out into the street. She sighed heavily, as she caught Harry's curious gaze. "You have questions," she stated.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry opted for honesty.

"Very well. We have finished shopping, and have enough time for tea before I return you home. Come along."

They returned to the Leaky Cauldron, and Miss McGonagall procured an isolated table for them. After their ordered beverages arrived, she began. "The wizarding world is much like the muggle world. Magic does not take away war, or bigotry. When your parents were in school, a wizard rose up – we call him You-Know-Who – very few people can say his name. He was a terrible wizard, steeped in the Dark Arts. He drew a following of like-minded wizards. They all believed in the purity of blood. They believed that witches and wizards like your mother, who was muggleborn, did not belong in the wizarding world. After they graduated from Hogwarts, your parents and their friends joined in the fight against him. The war was quite terrible, until one night, it suddenly ended. You-Know-Who attacked your parents, and killed them. Somehow, when he tried to kill you, the spell backlashed and you defeated him. Headmaster Dumbledore brought you to your aunt and uncle to raise, because he feared you would not have a normal childhood, if you were raised in the wizarding world. You're known as the Boy-Who-Lived, Mr. Potter, because You-Know-Who cast the Killing curse at you, and there is no way to defend against it. Yet, you lived and he did not. The only evidence of it, is your scar, the one Mr. Ollivander noticed." She took a deep sip from her mug of tea.

Harry looked at her in growing astonishment. On the one hand, he felt angry that someone had simply left him with his aunt and uncle with the assumption that they would give him a better childhood than growing up in the world of his parents would. He also couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Ollivander had not mentioned his scar, whether Miss McGonagall would have mentioned his past. It bothered him, in part because of the effect it had on him. "What is You-Know-Who's name?" he asked.

She frowned. "It is considered bad luck to say it, Mr. Potter." He stared at her stubbornly. "Fine. It is… Voldemort," she whispered. She finished her mug of tea. "Are you ready to return home?" she asked. Harry nodded. He had a lot of information to digest, and a lot to tell Mr. Drake. The sooner he returned home, the sooner Mr. Drake could help him put it all together.

***

Miss McGonagall left Harry at the front door of No. 4. She had unshrunk his purchases, and even cast a featherweight charm on the goods, to make it easier for him to bring to his room. He knew better than to show them to his aunt and uncle, and figured that secreting them away as soon as possible would make them happy. "Thank you for taking me to buy my supplies," Harry told her.

"Mr. Potter, I look forward to seeing you on September 1. Remember, Platform 9 and ¾, in King's Cross Station. You will walk through a pillar located between platforms 9 and 10. This will take you to the Hogwarts Express, which will bring you to Hogwarts." She gave another stiff smile before leaving.

Harry entered No. 4, and quickly brought his purchases up the stairs, careful to avoid hitting the walls with his trunk. He did not need to antagonize his uncle by accidentally scuffing the paint. Especially since he would have the job of fixing it. Only after he had put his new things away did he go downstairs.

"Hello Aunt Petunia," he greeted. "Do you need help with dinner?" He had learned it best to volunteer his help rather than wait for her to ask. It meant he did not have to do nearly as much, and made his relatives happier with him.

"Got all your things then," she sniffed.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied cautiously.

"Keep it away from Dudley," she ordered. "Go and set the table. We'll be eating soon."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He knew that no one else in the house would ask about his day, or what he had bought today. He kept quiet, content to wait until he visited Mr. Drake to discuss what he had learned. This was life with the Dursleys. He could live with it, if it meant he did not have to live in the cupboard under the stairs, or wear overly large, hand-me-down clothes. The Dursleys could ignore him as much as they wished, if it only meant he could still spend the majority of his time with the one adult that cared for him, that looked out for him, that nurtured him. The Dursleys might be his legal guardians, but most everyone acknowledged that Mr. Drake raised Harry.

***

"Did you enjoy your day with the school representative, Harry?" Drake asked the next day. Harry had dashed over to No. 6 early in the morning, carrying several of the books he had purchased for Mr. Drake to review. "Did they convince you magic is real?"

"Oh yes," Harry replied. "I asked Miss McGonagall to demonstrate some magic for me. First, she turned a table into a pig. She made a biro float too! Then she turned into a cat."

"Really? How extraordinary!" Drake commented, eyebrows rising at his descriptions. From what Harry described, it did, in fact, appear that magic was real. "And did you enjoy your excursion into the wizarding world?"

For the most part," Harry replied. "The wizarding world is… strange."

"You can tell me all about it, after breakfast."

After their meal, Drake and Harry went to the living room, where Harry showed his purchases to Drake. "It seems as if most of your classes correspond to ones you would take at a normal school," Drake commented, as he looked over the books.

"Yeah, but no English or maths."

"You'll have to study it during the summer."

Harry nodded, having already figured that Drake would say that. "Miss McGonagall told me some stuff," he began hesitantly. "About my parents and me."

Drake looked at his unhappy young charge. "What did she say?" He listened with growing concern as Harry related the information Miss McGonagall had told him. "We'll need to find out more information about this. I won't feel comfortable with sending you to Hogwarts until we know more of what to expect."

"I knew you would say that!" Harry grinned cheekily.

"That's because I've taught you well."

***

Drake and Harry didn't visit Diagon Alley until they had both read the books that Harry had bought. Truthfully, Drake did not know if he really believed in magic, despite Harry's assurances to the contrary. He wanted to see it at work himself. From what Harry had said about Diagon Alley, he knew he would see examples of magic if he visited. Thus, two weeks after Harry had first been re-introduced to the wizarding world, he and Drake made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. They followed the same strategy as McGonagall had suggested the first time, by covering Harry's scar before entering. Their first stop was to the bank. Drake thought it a good idea to make sure that no one else had a key to Harry's account, as well as to find out if he had any other accounts. "It's suspicious that she had possession of your key, Harry. Let us see if she hides anything else from you."

"Excuse me, sir," Harry asked politely. "I had a question about my account. Is there someone else I should ask, or can I ask you?"

The goblin looked down its long nose at Harry, seeming to take his measure, before snapping out an answer. "Down the hall, and to the right. See Grabsnuck."

"Thank you," Harry replied, bowing his head a little.

Grabsnuck had a tiny office, one that clearly illustrated how busy he was, if the piles of parchment that towered over most of it indicated anything. After seating the two, he stared at them. "Well. What did you want to know?" he finally asked.

Harry started at the abrupt question. Drake decided to take charge for the moment, since he was the adult. "Our apologies," he smoothly said. "My young charge here has a few questions regarding his account."

"Yes, yes. What is it?"

"Harry is an orphan, and was not aware of his account here until he visited two weeks ago. His guide held his key. We want to make sure no one else has access to his account, and would like to see his account activity for the last decade. Additionally, he wishes to know whether that is his only account in this fine establishment."

The goblin stared at the two of them, before grunting. "Key please." Harry handed him the small golden key Miss McGonagall had given to him. "I need a drop of your blood," the goblin stated, handing over a small knife. Drake took it from the goblin and made a small slash in Harry's hand. Harry then dripped it onto a parchment that the goblin held out to them. After wiping the knife with a handkerchief, Drake handed it back to the goblin.

The goblin placed the key over the parchment and mumbled some words in a language Drake did not recognize. He assumed the goblin performed some sort of magic as there was a flash and a bang; the previously blank parchment appeared to have some writing on it.

"You now have the only key. This key accesses your trust vault. You cannot access your main vault until you are 17. Do you wish to allow anyone else to access your vaults?" Grabsnuck asked.

Harry looked to Drake, who correctly guessed his charge's question and shook his head slightly. He had no need of Harry's money. "No one else, sir," Harry confirmed.

"Very well," Grabsnuck said, before placing a clawed hand over the parchment and muttering some more words. "There you go," he said, handing the key back to Harry. "Come to us when you're 17, and we'll give you access to your family vault." He pulled out another piece of parchment that Harry realized was probably his bank statement, a supposition Grabsnuck confirmed. "Your statement."

Peering over the parchment, Harry did not know what to make of the numbers. He looked towards Mr. Drake, and handed the parchment over to him. "Can you tell me what this means?" he asked.

"Of course," Mr. Drake agreed. It seemed fairly straightforward, with the account number on top, and a figure he assumed represented the starting amount of the trust. He raised an eyebrow at the amount. It seemed the Potters were quite wealthy, if this represented a mere trust fund. To his relief, the account did not show any withdrawals in the last decade. "Everything seems in order," he commented. "Thank you, Master Grabsnuck."

Harry picked up on Mr. Drake's cue, and followed suit. "Thank you for your help, sir," he piped up. The goblin looked at them with a mixture of surprise and impatience. He nodded, muttered something that must have been goodbye, and bent his head down towards the papers on his desk. Clearly, the goblin had dismissed the two of them, so they left.

"Do you need any money, Harry?" Drake asked, once they were once again in the lobby.

Harry nodded. "Miss McGonagall allowed me to take only a little over what the school supplies cost. I only have a little bit left. If we're going to the bookstore, I should bring more."

"Very well, let's go."

***

Flourish and Blotts looked exactly as Harry had described. Drake and Harry made their way slowly through each section of the store, choosing a cross-section of books, from introductory to more advanced. They paid particular attention to the history section, especially given Harry's particular status.

"Excuse me, is there anything specifically for those new to the wizarding world?" Harry asked one of the attendants. She showed them the small section designed for muggleborns and even gave them some advice as to which books were worth purchasing.

"Some of these are really unhelpful," she commented with a shrug.

"Thank you," Harry said, before he and Drake browsed the selection she pointed out. They took their time, choosing the ones she had pointed out as helpful, and a few of the ones she had dismissed.

By the time they made it to the counter to pay, their baskets were full. The cashier chuckled as they took the books out. "Replacing your library, then?" he asked.

"Quite," Drake commented.

"I'll give you a catalogue, in case you need to update your books," the cashier stated as he rang up their total. Harry paid the merchant and thanked him, as he also placed a voice-activated unshrinking charm on the books.

Once they left the bookstore, Drake guided his charge towards a pet store. "Since your books indicate that wizards communicate with owls, I thought it prudent for us to purchase one. I will not leave you in the wizarding world without a means of communicating with me."

Harry broke out in a smile. "Thanks, Mr. Drake." He had worried that he would not have Mr. Drake's advice to count on, once he got to Hogwarts. And while he knew he would have to learn to make his own decisions, without approval from Mr. Drake, he also liked knowing that he could rely on it for a while longer.

Together, the duo looked over the owls on display. A pure white snowy owl attracted their attention, and before long, they had purchased her and the necessary supplies to see to her care. "You can keep her with me," Drake announced, before Harry could ask. He smiled in relief, knowing that the Dursleys would not care to have an owl living with them.

Harry tried to give them as little to complain about as possible. It made his life easier.