A/N: I took a bit to post this chapter because I couldn't figure out a good way to end it. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I hope it'll do. Hope you guys enjoy it and let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: Since this is a sort of retake on J.K Rowling's Harry Potter series, you will find many things that sound familiar. So no, I don't own this-except anything you don't recognise. That I do own...well kinda.

Chapter 3: Diagon Alley

Almost six years had passed since that Hallowe'en night and Harry had grown up into a handsome young boy. He had inherited James' untidy jet-black hair, knobbly knees, and mischievous nature. He was also rather short for his age, like James had been at his age. Everyone always told him he was a spitting image of his father. Except for his eyes. Instead of James' soft hazel eyes, he had inherited Lily's bright green ones.

He was a rather lively and cheerful boy and had an air around him of being well-kept and loved dearly. But instead of being a spoiled child, Harry was rather modest, as one usually is when they've tasted responsibility from a young age.

Although Lily had tried her hardest to allow Harry to have a problem-free childhood, ever since James' death Harry had felt as if the responsibility of caring for their little family had fallen on his shoulders. Lily worried about it, but Harry didn't mind in the least; he actually enjoyed the responsibility.

And then there was his scar, a very thin, lightning bolt-shaped one on his forehead. Harry never understood why people always seemed so fascinated by it. To him, it was like a little reminder of how much his father had loved him. To everyone else, it was an icon, their own reminder of Voldemort's defeat. To them, he was 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. But all Harry wanted to be was Harry. Just Harry.

He was standing in his mother's little room, early one Saturday morning, fully dressed, thinking all this. His mum seemed to be the one of the only people to see him as he really was: just another normal boy. That's all he ever wanted to be.

He walked towards her, careful not to make a sound and peered at her. She looked peaceful in her sleep, her red hair matted around her handsome face. Harry liked to see his mum sleeping; she didn't have that look of worry in her eyes that never left them, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

Pushing his large, round glasses up the bridge of his nose, he leaned closer. She had a small smile on her face and Harry grinned before jumping on her bed.

"Mum, wake up! Wake up! You promised you'd take me today!"

Lily let out a small groan, laughing softly. She rolled over, brushing her hair out of her face, smiling at him. "Five more minutes, love," she said falling back to the bed, pulling the sheets over her face.

Harry jumped off, pulling the sheets off her. "But Mum. You promised," he said looking at her pleadingly.

His mum looked at him, smiling. Harry had received his Hogwarts letter earlier that week and it was all he had talked about since. When his mum had promised to take him to Diagonal Alley that weekend, he had been ecstatic. After years of having grown up hearing all those stories about Hogwarts Sirius and Remus had told him, it would finally be his turn. And Diagon Alley was the first stop.

"Fine," she said, sitting up. Harry broke out in a grin and rushed for the door. "Love? How about a good morning hug to your mum first? And a good morning kiss doesn't sound too bad, either."

Harry rushed back, throwing his small arms around his mother and kissing her in the cheek. Lily ruffled his already messy hair, making him smile.

"Hurry up, mum. I've already got breakfast ready."

"Oh, isn't that lovely. My little boy has got breakfast ready for his mummy."

"Mum, I'm not a boy anymore. In a few days it'll be my birthday and I'll finally be a man," he grinned proudly.

She smiled. "Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten?"

Harry rushed out of her room and down the stairs. In the kitchen, he took a seat in his usual spot at the breakfast table, waiting impatiently for his mother. She finally made her appearance ten minutes later, wearing not her usual muggle clothing, but a pretty green robe that brought out her eyes.

"Mmm, Pixie Puffs, my favourite."

She walked over to the counter and served herself a cup of coffee, before taking a seat next to her son.

"Have you got your letter, love?"

"Yes. Mum, are Remus and Sirius coming with us?"

"I'm afraid not, love. Sirius' got something at the Ministry going on and Remus isn't—er, feeling well."

"And Ron?"

"Molly said they'd meet us there. Can you get that for me, love?" his mother asked, signalling to the owl that had suddenly appeared, rapping its claw on the window, a copy of the Daily Prophet held in its beak.

Harry rushed to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper onto the breakfast table, before flying out the window again.

"Mum, can we please go already?" Harry groaned as he watched his mother pick up the newspaper.

"You are so much like your father. He was always so impatient," she said laughing. "Fine, love. We can go."

"How are we getting there?"

"Apparition."

Harry groaned. Although he had Apparated loads of times, he could never really get used to the nasty sensation that came along with it. He walked after her, reluctantly. She held out her arm and he took it, holding it tightly. Everything went dark and Harry felt as if he was being pressed very hard from every direction, making it difficult for him to breath.

Quite suddenly, the sensation went away and Harry let out a shaky sigh of relief as they landed on the front steps of the Leaky Cauldron. He stood there for a moment, trying to regain his posture before walking into the dark, shabby little pub after his mother.

He noticed a few old women sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. Quite suddenly, the pub became rather silent, as people were made aware of their presence.

Then there was a few muttering among those present:

"Is that?"

"Can it be?"

"Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter!"

"Very pleased to meet you, Mr Potter," the little man said rushing towards him, shaking his hand gleefully. By now, Harry had gotten used to people seeming delighted whenever they caught a glimpse of him when he was out shopping with his mum, although it did make him feel rather awkward.

His mother sighed besides him. Although Lily had never hidden from him the fact that he was a wizard, she had tried her best to shield him from the wizarding community, as means of trying to avoid situations like that. Harry found himself continuously shaking hands with everyone present.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. Harry could tell one of his eyes was twitching. "P-P-Potter," the young man stammered, grasping his hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you. I'm P-Professor Quirrell, a t-t-teacher at Hogwarts."

"What class do you teach, Professor?"

"D-Defence Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

After ten minutes, his mother was finally able to get them out of there, much to Harry's relief. They made their way out of the pub into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

"Alright, let's see," his mother said, taking out her wand. "Three up...two across. Alright, stand back, love," she said, tapping the wall three times.

The brick she had touched quivered and in the middle a small hole appeared, growing larger and larger until it was big enough to let them both through. The archway led out onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Well, love. This is it. Diagon Alley."

Harry grinned widely, turning all around him in amazement, wishing for extra pair of eyes. There was just so much to be seen: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

Harry grinned as a plump, redhead woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad." She was surrounded by five children—an older boy, two twins, a boy about his age, and a small girl—all with flaming red hair.

"Aunt Molly!"

"Oh, Harry dear! We've been waiting for you." she said engulfing him in a warm hug.

"Morning Aunt Lils! Wotcher, Harry!" said one of the twins, grinning widely at them.

"George! Where's Ginny? She was standing next to you."

"I'm right here, mum," the small redhead girl said.

"He's not George, I am," the boy's twin said. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell he's Fred?"

"I'm sorry, dear."

"Just kidding, mum. He's George," Fred said grinning.

Molly shook her head exasperatedly at the two boys.

"Hello, Aunt Lily," the oldest boy said pleasantly. "Mother, can we start on our shopping now? I really should get to my studying, after all I am a prefect," he said proudly.

"Oh, Percy dear! You've been made a prefect! That's wonderful," Lily said, congratulating him.

"You're a prefect, Perce?" Fred said, feigning surprise. "Blimey! I had no idea!"

"A prefect you say?" George piped in. "Why, you should've mentioned it sooner!"

"Wait, wait. I distinctly remember him saying something about it. Maybe once—"

"Or twice—"

"A minute—"

"All week—"

Percy scowled at them, while the others, except for Molly, laughed and even his mum couldn't hide her smile.

"He's been boasting about it all week," Ron whispered to Harry. "Bit annoying actually. So, ready for Hogwarts, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned excitedly.

"Should we get started then Lily, dear?"

"Sounds good to me. I just need to go to Gringotts first."

"All right, we'll be at Flourish and Blotts."

Harry and his mum made their way down the street, towards Gringotts, a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a goblin and next to that goblin was a rather tall, bearded man, waving merrily at them.

"Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed, running towards the gentle half-giant.

"Harry! It's good ter see ya. Alrigh' there, Lily?"

"Never better. What brings you here, Hagrid?"

"I'm here on Hogwarts business. Professor Dumbledore sent me," he said, throwing out his chest importantly as they made their way up the steps.

They walked in through the bronze doors, the goblin bowing them in. They were then faced with a second pair of silver doors with words engraved upon them:

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.

"What does that mean?"

"That yeh'd be mad ter try ter rob it. Ain't no safer place than Gringotts. Except Hogwarts. See ya later, Harry, Lily," Hagrid said as they each made their way towards a free goblin.

"Good morning," said Lily. "I'd like to take some money out of Vault 687."

"I assume you have the key?" the goblin asked, peering at them over the counter.

His mother extracted a small handbag from her robes, removing a small key from it, before handing it to the goblin, who examined it closely.

"Very well. Everything seems to be in order. I'll have somebody take you to your vault, Mrs Potter. Griphook!"

Griphook, another goblin, appeared besides them. He bowed to them, before escorting them through one of the doors leading out of the hall and into a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook let out a whistle and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them.

"Hold on tight," Griphook said, rather nastily after they had climbed in.

Harry was about to ask why, but he got his answer as the little cart took off at full speed, through a maze of twisting passages. They seemed to be getting deeper into the ground and the air became colder around them. Finally after much twists and turns, the cart came to a stop.

"That was brilliant," Harry grinned, as they climbed out.

"That's one way to put it," his mother said, looking rather pale.

Griphook reached for the key, before unlocking the door. Harry's mouth fell open as he caught a glimpse of the inside. Everywhere he looked there was mounds of gold, row after row of silver, and heaps of bronze. He had always known that they had enough money so that his mother didn't have to work, but he had never imagined that they had this much.

"Close your mouth, love. You'll let a fly in," Lily said, laughing gently as she scooped a handful of gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts into her small handbag. "Alright I think we're all set."

After one wild cart-ride later, Harry and his mum made their way towards Flourish and Blotts, were they were supposed to meet the Weasley's. He was walking behind her, when something caught his eye. Awestruck, he joined a crowd of gaping children around a shop window, forgetting all about his mother.

"Love, have you got your letter? Love? Harry?" Lily whipped around rapidly, fear gripping her as she scanned the crowd for Harry. She finally spotted him amidst the crowd of excited children standing outside of the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop. She sighed in relief as she made her way towards her son.

"What are you looking at, love?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's the Nimbus 2000, mum," Harry said excitedly. "It just came out. They say it's the fastest ever. I would give anything to own one," he said, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"Oh no, love. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that you're going to have to wait. Your letter specifically says that first-years are not allowed their own broomsticks."

Harry's face fell. "I suppose your right."

"Come on, I know what'll cheer you up. How about I treat you to some ice-cream from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour after we're done shopping?"

Harry had only ever had ice cream from Fortescue's shop once and it had been by far the best he had ever tasted.

"Deal," he said happily as he followed his mum into Flourish and Blotts.

Two hours later, the Potters and the Weasleys parted ways, the latter having finished their shopping and headed back home. Harry and his mum, on the other hand, made their way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"Love, would you mind going inside by yourself?" his mother asked. "I just remembered I need some ingredients from the Apothecary, for the potion I'm brewing for Uncle Remus."

Harry felt nervous entering the shop alone, but he understood that this was just another step for becoming a man.

"Sure, mum," he said, stepping into the little shop.

A squat witch walked over to him and smiled.

"Hello, dear. Hogwarts, too?" she asked, leading him to the back of the shop. "Got the lot here. Matter of fact, another young man's being fitted right now."

A young pale boy of about his age was standing on a stool, being fitted by another witch. Madam Malkin's led Harry to an adjacent stool, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

The boy looked over at Harry and smiled, although it did not reach his eyes.

"Hello. Hogwarts too I assume?" the boy asked.

"Yes."

"My father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street at the Apothecary," said the boy. Harry noted that he had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Like Harry, the boy had an air of being well-loved and cared for. But unlike Harry, he was rather arrogant and spoiled. Harry couldn't help but taking an instant dislike towards him.

"Have you got your own broom?"

"No."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Yes."

"I do too. Father says it would be a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," Harry said, slightly bored.

"Well, of course no one really knows what house they'll be in, until they get there, but I just know I'll be in Slytherin—all of the Malfoy family has been. What house were you're parents from? I mean, they aren't muggles are they?"

"No," Harry said coldly, irritated at the boy's tone of voice—it seemed to imply that being a muggle was a bad thing.

"Good. I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? I mean half-bloods aren't that bad, but Muggle-borns? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old, pureblood wizarding families. Don't you? What's your surname, anyway?"

"You're done, dear," Madam Malkin's said before Harry could respond. Relieved, he jumped off from the stool, not sorry at all for having to leave.

"I'll see you at Hogwarts, then," the boy said in his drawling voice.

Harry walked out and spotted his mum walking hurriedly towards him. As she got closer, he could tell she was a little flustered, although she tried to hide it as soon as she saw him.

"What's wrong, mum?"

"Nothing, love. I just—er—ran into someone I would much rather have avoided. Did you get the robes?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah."

"Great. One more thing left then, love. Well, two actually."

His mum led him to the Eeylops Owl Emporium, were they spent twenty-minutes choosing an owl. Finally, Harry decided for a beautiful snowy, white owl. Once again outside, Lily led them to their final stop: Ollivanders.

They walked into the little shop, a tinkling bell sounding in the depths of the shop as soon as they had stepped inside. It was a rather tiny, gloomy shop, with only one spindly chair on which to sit on. His mum waited beside him, one hand placed on his shoulder, as the other drummed softly against the counter.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice all of sudden, causing Harry to jump.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry rather awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." He turned to Lily. "Lily Potter! Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr Ollivander nodded and turned his attention back to Harry, moving closer to him. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"James, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it—although, it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where…"

Harry could feel his mum shifting uncomfortably besides him; Harry was feeling more than a tad uncomfortable himself at the moment. Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I was the one who sold the wand that did that," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands...well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

Lily cleared her throat uncomfortably, bringing Ollivander back to the present.

"Hmm, which would be your wand arm, Mr Potter?" he asked, pulling out a long tape measure out of his pocket.

Confused, he looked over to his mother.

"His right hand," his mother answered for him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Mmm, stick out your arm then, Mr Potter." Harry obeyed and soon he was being measured from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. 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," said Ollivander, allowing the tape to continue his measurements as he proceeded to walking around the shop, taking down boxes from the many shelves.

"I think, that's enough," he said and the tape measure suddenly stopped, falling into a neat pile on the floor. "Beech wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave, if you will, Mr Potter."

Harry once again looked at his mum, who gave him an encouraging nod. He took the wand and gave it a flick, feeling rather foolish. Nothing. Ollivander snatched the wand from his hand and handed him another one.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try this one."

Again nothing. Ollivander eagerly snatched the wand and replaced it for a third.

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

But again, nothing. Wand after wand came off the shelves. Harry tried all of them, without much success; he had no idea what it was that Ollivander was looking for. As the pile seemed to grow larger, Harry became more worried, while Ollivander seemed quite excited.

"Tricky customer, eh?" he said with an overenthusiastic grin. "Not to worry, Mr Potter. Not to worry. We'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

He eagerly thrust the wand into Harry's hand, waiting expectantly. At once, Harry felt a warming sensation running throughout his entire arm. He gave the wand a single flick and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. He looked up at his mother and she smiled at him.

Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

"I'm sorry, but what's curious?"

"Ah, I remember every wand I've ever sold. 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 gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed hard and he felt his mother's grip tighten on his shoulder.

"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 shivered and he felt his mom stiffen besides him. He wasn't sure whether or not he liked Ollivander. His mum hastily paid for the wand and rushed him out the door. Once outside, she sighed in relief and, remembering her promise, led him to Fortescue's little ice cream shop. After ordering, they took a seat in one of the outside tables. Harry remained quite silent, lost in thought.

"What's wrong, love?" his mother asked concernedly after a while.

"Nothing. It's just—who are the Malfoys?"

His mother looked rather alarmed at the mention of that surname. "Why'd you ask?"

Harry proceeded to tell his mother about his encounter with the pale boy.

"And then he went on saying something about purebloods and how muggleborns shouldn't be allowed into Hogwarts. What is a pureblood, anyway?"

His mother sighed. "Well, love, pure-blood is a term coined by many old wizarding families to describe their 'blood purity', which is to say, they claim not to have anybody from muggle descent in their families. They feel that this gives them a sort of superiority to muggles and other wizards. The Malfoys are just one of the many families that believe this to be true. But not all pure-blooded families think alike. The Weasleys are considered to be pure-bloods, yet they reject the values upheld by many pure-bloods."

"But why do they look down on muggle-borns?"

"Well, it's hard to explain, love. But basically, it's because they see our blood as being 'impure'. Dirty. They feel that muggle-borns aren't worthy of magic."

"Which is absolute rubbish. You're mum's a muggle-born and she's one of the best witches I've ever met," said a voice behind them.

"Sirius!" Harry ran to greet his godfather. "What're you doing here?"

"Well, it's my favourite godson's birthday later this week and I figured I should buy him something."

"But I'm your only godson," Harry said, grinning.

They stayed there, chatting with Sirius for a few minutes before his mum led him away again. They Disapparated once again and landed on the steps of their little home. Exhausted, Harry fell onto the little chaise lounge in front of the fire and fell asleep instantly. Lily smiled at the sight of her sleeping son and thought better about rousing him for supper. With some difficulty, she carried him upstairs to his room and laid him on his bed. She stayed there for a while, leaning against the doorframe, looking at her son.

A few years ago, he had seemed so fragile and needing of her. But now, she had to admit that her little boy was finally growing up. Soon, he would be leaving to Hogwarts and starting a new life on his own, separate from hers. It's not that she hated the idea. No. She loved the idea of Harry having the opportunity to grow up and experience everything life had to offer. It was the idea of him having to face the cruel realities of life that tormented her. She would do anything to shield him from the misfortunes that she knew would soon be coming their way. But she knew it was something that had to happen. But Harry didn't have to do it alone. She would make sure of it.