Harry reached into his pocket to feel the soft velvety fabric of the coin pouch again, just to check and make sure it was still there. Amazing. Bloody amazing. Not only was he some kind of wizard, but he was practically swimming in...well, whatever those big coins were. Not like normal money, but Harry supposed it worked to the same effect.

But it wasn't the money.

He'd have thought that would have been it. But the money didn't just appear there in that vault with those wrinkly short people guarding it. His parents had left it there. His parents, people he hadn't thought of in so long. Years ago, when he was just a stupid kid, he'd lie in his bed on his birthday, down in that pathetic cupboard under the stairs, and wish with all his heart that everything would change. His parents wouldn't really be dead and they'd somehow come back and find him...and he'd have happy birthdays with presents and kisses and cake, and all those warm fuzzy things that he guessed normal kids got to have. But he got older. He gave up those childish longings and learned to take what he needed. And now these mysterious parents had returned, and all of his old questions and longings and needs that couldn't be filled with pocket money came back with them. Who were his parents? He'd never even seen a picture.

They were wizards. It was like a piece of a puzzle, and he found himself preoccupied with picturing them in his mind, standing in the very bank he had stood at not fifteen minutes ago, making an account that would later be put in his name. The Potters. James and Lily Potter. Complete and utter strangers that just happened to share his last name.

Dumbledore walked him through the decrepit looking bar, through the moving bricks, into the center of a part of town Harry couldn't remember ever seeing before. Had shown him the vault, and was now taking him, store by store, through 'Diagon Alley', waiting patiently when Harry stopped to stare into each and every shop window, mesmerized by strange and wonderful things like large, fluffy owls and long robes, and then there was the sleek-looking broom that caught his eye for some reason, though he couldn't explain why. It called to him like something out of a dream.

Dumbledore steered him towards a dusty bookshop, and helped Harry pick out his books. So many that Harry couldn't carry them all, but a second later they had disappeared into thin air and Dumbledore smiled.

"You promise I don't have to go to class with the little kids?" Harry asked one last time, hating the genuine nervousness he felt in the pit of his stomach at the thought of a new school.

"You will sleep in the dormitory of whichever House you are placed in, and will come to me every morning after breakfast." Dumbledore replied cheerfully, as if this weren't the third time he had repeated this information. "We will try to catch you up with the rest of your class, though I must tell you, Harry, it will be very hard work."

Dumbledore lead him to a small wand shop, but stopped before reaching the door. "It's a shame about Mr. Olivander's disappearance, but I know Jim Tolken personally, and I'm sure he will help you find the perfect instrument." As he rose his arm to gesture to the door, the long sleeve of his weird-looking suit was pulled back to reveal a sickly black, withered hand. Harry winced, but kept his questions to himself and walked stoically into the unfamiliar store.

A portly-looking young gentlemen rushed behind the desk, a pair of glasses lopsidedly resting atop his head. "May I help you..." He trailed off as he caught sight of Dumbledore and flushed. "Oh, Professor Dumbledore! It's wonderful to see you again! Have you come for a new wand? Or maybe you'd like to have it cleaned up a bit, wand maintenance is key for peak magical performance, you know, and-"

"Please do remember to breathe, Jim. And I wish you would call me Albus. 'Professor' really isn't necessary after graduation."

"Of course, of course." Jim blustered as he made a frenzied attempt to clear off the counter space. "And who is this? One of your students?" He brought his eyes up to look at Harry, then let out a small gasp. "Is this him? Harry Potter! Oh, welcome to Tolken's, Mr. Potter, anything I can help you with, anything at all!"

Harry cleared his throat nervously. "Err...I'd like a wand?"

"Of course!" Jim shouted, as though the thought had just occurred to him. "Let's see what we can find..."

Wand after wand of fizzled hisses and feeble puffs of grayish smoke until Harry found an 11 inch holly wand with something called a phoenix feather. He couldn't help but notice the small smile that had crept up on Dumbledore's face, and found that he was becoming annoyed with the constant feeling that there was some joke going on he wasn't wise to. He tucked the wand partially up his sleeve, clutching the end possessively. This was it. The tool he could use to focus his powers. The rush of it seemed to flow through every centimeter of his body, thrilling him with its sense of oncoming adventure. Dumbledore exited the shop behind him, stopping for a moment as Jim Tolken came running up to him to whisper something sharply in his ear. More secrets. "Well, Harry, you have found yourself an excellent wand. If that is everything, please do hold on tightly. No, Harry, the other hand. Yes. That will be fine." A quick flash and Harry was spinning, or rather, the world was spinning around him, under him, over him, everywhere. And then he was at King's Cross Train Station.