According to a rule that I recently found out about, we are not allowed to reply to reviews in our fics. Bummer. Since I had only heard rumors about this rule before and, though I checked in the rules, I found nothing so I allowed myself to have a few nice chats through reviews that I've now had to get rid of out of fear for my fic and all the pretty reviews. Anyhow, I'll be answering questions which reviewers brought up and that I feel are important right here. I don't believe that this counts as review responses, just answers to general concerns that I don't want brought up again and again.

Will Snape and Draco find out that Harry was the one that saved them? Will a friendship form?

Yes, eventually they find out that Harry was the one that formed and there will definitely be a friendship of some type between them.

So Harry is a dark angel? Or half? What kind of power does he have? Are you going to explain what sin he has committed because I don't grasp this one…So, are Harry and Snape going to have a relationship Father/son, friends, mentor, apprenticeship…? Please explain why Salazar is now Harry…it's because about the suicide or something?

Harry is half dark; he hasn't turned completely dark yet, I've got too much angst planned for him for that (evil grin). As an angel he's connected to the earth, so his powers revolve mostly around nature but I'm not saying anything else yet. Harry didn't commit a sin; it's the people who stole his innocence who committed the sin, get it? I haven't really decided Snape's and Harry's relationship, because it changes…mentor/friend/father-son. Harry being Salazar doesn't really have an exact reason yet; something about him being an angel and killing himself on his birthday or something.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

:Mindspeech:

-Parseltongue-

Chapter Two: A Visit to Diagon Alley

"Why isn't he awake yet?"

"Apparently whatever's doing this didn't have enough energy to bring both of you here by itself. Somehow, it used Mr. Malfoy's magic to boost its own and transport the pair of you to the infirmary."

"And we have no idea who or what is doing this?" Meaningless sounds washed over Draco Malfoy as he slowly returned to consciousness, wincing at the bright light in his eyes. He tried to ask where he was but couldn't form the words, so it came out as a sort of moan. "Draco? Can you hear me?" The voice sounded vaguely familiar, teasing at his brain, which didn't seem to be processing information properly at the moment. He felt his mouth pried open and an overly sweet potion poured down his throat, a murmured spell causing him to swallow it. It seemed to give him more energy, and he opened his eyes to see Professor Snape standing over him.

"Professor?" He managed to rasp out, "Where are we?"

"We're in the Hogwarts infirmary," Snape replied, his tone neutral.

"Why-" He started to ask hoarsely, but as he spoke the memories of the night before came flooding back to him in a sudden, nauseous wave. "Oh," he said quietly, and then stronger, "Who was that?"

"We're not sure. For the past couple of weeks, victims of the Dark Lord have been disappearing and re-appearing it the hospital wing. We don't know who or what is doing it at present but are working on finding out."

"He spoke to me," Draco muttered, as much to himself as to anyone else, as he considered this new information.

"What?" Snape asked sharply.

"He told me that he was getting us out of there. He said that I needed to get close to you for it to work." Draco said, "Hasn't he talked to anyone else?"

"Not that I know of," Snape said, looking thoughtful, "Are you sure it was a male?"

"Pretty sure. He sounded familiar, but wouldn't tell me who he was when I asked."

"You asked? How did you do that?"

"He told me to direct thoughts towards him."

"He's a telepath then, and apparently quite a strong one. That would explain how he managed to use your magic." The professor thought out loud, "I need to tell the headmaster about this before I do his errand." He had a look of distaste on his face; whatever his errand was, it seemed to be quite a nasty one. With that, he swept out of the room, leaving Draco with a lot to think about.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Harry felt a tingling as he left number four, Privet Drive. Swearing under his breath in Parseltongue, a habit that he had picked up from his time as Salazar Slytherin, he turned to see a shimmering, multicolored dome, a huge basket woven out of hundreds of threads of magic. He had completely forgotten about the wards surrounding the house. Not that he could have done anything about them if he hadn't; the wards would tell Dumbledore if he used any magic, wandless or not.

Reaching out with his wandless magic, something he had learned in his past life, Harry prodded at the dome, adjusting it until he was sure that the wards wouldn't report to Dumbledore until around ten o'clock; the latest that he could put it off as weak as he was from transporting two people the night before. He had plenty of time until Dumbledore noticed. Finding his guard, Mundungus Fletcher, Harry cast a small sleeping spell on him and obliviated away the last few minutes.

Smirking at the poor security – if he could break out this easily, how long would it take Voldemort to get in? - Harry walked down the street. He had quickly found that his shapeshifting wasn't limited to wings, fangs, and ears. He had grown his hair out, made it lie flat, changed its colour to every hue that he could think of, made himself taller, changed his skin colour, changed himself to a girl (he hadn't actually expected that one to work), covered his skin with feathers and then with scales, changed his voice, un-fixed and re-fixed his eyesight, changed his scent (well, he thought he did; it was sort of hard to tell), and (getting braver) changed into a phoenix, dragon, lion, cobra, and flamingo. The animals were all black and silver with green eyes and black and white wings, unless he specifically pictured it a different colour. No matter what he did though, he couldn't change the color of his wings without giving himself a completely different set altogether.

His hair was now flat and shoulder length, the way he had worn it as Salazar, and his once-emerald eyes were now silver with no glasses hiding them. He couldn't get rid of his scar, but managed to move it a little, hiding it under his hair. He changed his voice and scent too, as he wasn't yet sure that the rumor that werewolves had excellent senses was true or not and was not going to let himself be caught over something as trivial as that.

Harry had also made himself a little taller and slightly adjusted his facial structure, as if he didn't one of his friends would probably recognize him if they happened to see each other. As an extra precaution, he manipulated his aura a bit, making it seem less powerful and hiding the magical signature for a few of his rarer abilities such as Parseltongue. Only very powerful wizards could read auras but, even though the knowledge of aura reading was said to be long lost and very dark magic, he was sure that Dumbledore and Voldemort possessed both the skill and the knowledge to do so and was not going to take any chances. Though he was pretty sure that Dumbledore had a way to read auras, Harry was sure that Dumbledore didn't use the actual spell and was interested to see how the headmaster did it.

The student was stumped as to how he had managed to read Draco's aura the night before, but vaguely remembered reading a book on the subject about a thousand years ago; spells that someone learned were never truly forgotten, not even with the use of extensive memory charms, the knowledge of the magical patterns needed to use the spell were merely locked away unless the person was in need of them. The same presumably went with his teleportation skills. Teleportation was a type of apparation that allowed you to bring more than one person and was considered dark magic because it, like all other 'dark' spells had a price that went beyond fatigue; in this case, pain.

Contrary to popular belief, using dark magic and being a dark wizard did not make you evil. Dark wizards were wizards who used dark magic: spells (or potions) that the ministry banned or discouraged. The one characteristic that linked all dark spells was that they all commanded great power at a price, most being able to inflict considerable damage in some way. The ministry, however, had classified many other spells and potions as dark for political reasons, such as ones that were often used to violate one's privacy. Evil wizards, like Voldemort and his Death Eaters, used these magics for evil, and most evil wizards used dark magic, presumably because of this power.

Harry smiled suddenly. His 'family' had left for the day and it really was a perfect opportunity to pick up a couple of things. He really did need to get some new clothing and was eager to learn some spells and potions that hadn't been around in Salazar's time. Even though Dumbledore would probably let him visit Diagon Alley briefly or have someone buy the necessary supplies for him, Harry did not want to be watched, especially since he was planning a short visit Knockturn Alley.

When he was quite a distance away from Privet Drive, Harry flagged down the Knight Bus. Stan stepped out of the bus and began his speech.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus-"

"Yes, yes, that's all very nice, but I'm in a hurry," Harry interrupted, grabbing Stan's hand and shoving a couple of Galleons into it, "Just take me to Diagon Alley." Striding past Stan, Harry, guided by Slytherin paranoia, chose a small seat near the door that was blocked by a massive armchair. He could easily see who was coming and going, but they would have to look closely to see him. He didn't see anybody worth noticing by the time that the bus got around to Diagon Alley, but such alertness had saved his life many times as Salazar.

Nobody gave him a second glance in the Leaky Cauldron or Diagon Alley. At the beginning of the week, Harry had asked Dumbledore for some money; after all, anything might happen. Dumbledore, trying to get back on Harry's good terms, had sent Harry a small bag that would give him as much money as he needed; wizarding or not.

Harry's first stop was Madam Malkin's, and, when nobody was looking, he quickly willed himself back to normal size - it wouldn't do to get robes that wouldn't fit him when he returned to his usual form.

"Can I help you?" the girl behind the counter asked.

"Yes, I need Hogwarts robes, potion making robes, dress robes, casual robes and" he paused, "you wouldn't happen to have any battle robes, would you?"

"No sir, I'm sorry, we don't; not very many people make them any more. There are probably a few stores beginning to stock them now, although I don't know of any around here."

"Oh, well, I have plenty of time to look around," Harry said, somewhat disappointedly. Much later, he left the shop, staggering a bit under the weight of all of his purchases. He shrunk the bags wandlessly when nobody was looking and stuffed them into his pockets. He had almost forgotten to remove the charms on the moneybag that sent information to Dumbledore on his withdrawals and purchases, but had remembered to do it quickly before he paid for the clothing.

Walking out of the store and back into Diagon Alley, Harry internally debated over what to do next. After deciding that he would need a better trunk, Harry found a small luggage store fairly easily. After all, he had spent a couple of weeks in Diagon Alley three years ago and therefore knew his way around pretty well.

Harry pushed open the front door, causing a little bell over it to ring. The shop smelled of leather and was filled with all sorts of trunks, each as interesting as the last. Harry wandered around, reading the tags; it was amazing what some of the suitcases were capable of doing.

"Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?" A man whom Harry could vaguely remember seeing sitting behind the counter asked, coming up behind him. The teenager considered this for a moment before replying.

"Hmm...Well, I'd like something that has a lot of room...a hidden compartment would be nice...yeah, something big where I could hide stuff..." Harry decided, remembering that he would probably need to hide a couple of things from his roommates when he got back to Hogwarts, but trailed off, not sure of what else he would need, "but not much of an idea apart from that. Actually, I guess I have less of an idea than I thought I did."

The man laughed, "That's fine; a lot of people come in here with no idea what they want at all. So, a hidden compartment? How big do you need it to be?"

"I'm not sure...Hey; do you think that you have something that I can brew potions in? I don't have much room at home, and I'd rather not spend much extra time in the potions classroom; I don't like the teacher very much." Salazar loved potions, and had taught it at Hogwarts before he had been forced to stop, a couple of weeks before his banishment...A lump formed in Harry's throat and he swallowed, forcing down the tears. The man must have noticed Harry's sudden depression, but kept quiet.

"Well, we could think about one with a hidden room. If you're planning on brewing potions in it, we'll have to find a fixed room; one that doesn't move around if you move the trunk. That means that you can't move it while it's open, though. That could be your hidden compartment, but then you'd need another room, too, or the fumes from the potion might ruin whatever you're keeping in there. We have a couple of trunks that'll open to a room or two like that if you touch a certain place and say the password."

"Err...right, that sounds good, where are they?" Harry asked.

"Right over here," the man said, leading Harry over to a couple of trunks, "for most, like this one, you can choose a room size and add anything you want to it. This one though, already has a room and furniture in it. Although this particular one is not of much use to you because it's a living room and there's really no place to brew potions..." But Harry wasn't listening; he was looking at a trunk tucked away in a corner.

It was dark green with silver fastenings and was decorated with silver snakes, but, unlike the other trunks in the store, it had Helga's magical signature. Harry's breath caught in his throat. It couldn't be; what would it be doing here? But it was: there, behind some bright pink trunks was his old suitcase, the one that Helga had made him for his birthday before his fifth year (When he turned twelve. Back then, children started magical education when they first showed signs of magic. In Salazar's case this was when he was eight, which was quite young, and there were only six school years, although students were usually apprenticed to someone after they graduated). Helga had noticed how ashamed he had been of his cheap things; he didn't have much money after his mother died.

The kindly witch had enchanted the hidden compartment to have anything he needed, although it was all an illusion. You can't bring something that came from there out of there, and you can't survive in there, because food, and everything else that appears in there, is all an illusion.

Now that he thought about it, of course the Room of Requirement was Helga's secret room (every founder had a secret room hidden somewhere in the castle; it was a game they played, to try and guess where each other's room was); she had always liked helping people when they needed it, even if the room was only full of illusions. Was our friendship an illusion, too, Helga? Harry asked silently, did you only give it to me because you saw how desperate I was for acceptance?

Helga's rejection had, surprisingly, hurt almost as much as Godric's. Helga had always been loyal to her friends, and never believed nasty rumors about them, even when all evidence pointed that way. What had changed? When had Helga's loyalty been lost? The tears came back and he fought them down forcibly.

It was his fault, he knew; his fault that his friends had turned on him. He shouldn't have kept so many secrets from them, but he did, afraid of their rejection. They had been patient with him, but eventually it was too much. A single tear made its way past his defenses and landed on the floor. That jerked him to the present, and he noticed the shopkeeper standing quietly, studying him.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, the lump in his throat came back, and he cleared his throat before continuing, "That trunk reminded me of a friend. We had a big argument and I left. I can't go back, though, and there's no way to communicate with them."

"Sometimes, the best thing to do is forgive and move on with life," the shopkeeper replied wisely, "but who am I to say, my job is to make and sell trunks, I'm no philosopher."

"Thanks" Harry said, "For listening to me, I mean. Can I get that one?" He asked, pointing towards his old trunk.

"I'm afraid that that trunk isn't going to be of much use to you. There's a mighty powerful locking charm on it, and I can't get through it."

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, smiling at the trunk, "I'll take it anyway. How much does it cost?"

The shopkeeper studied Harry for a minute,

"Just take it."

"What?" Harry asked, "I can't do that! I've got enough money to pay for it, whatever the price is."

"No, no," the shopkeeper said, "I couldn't take any money for it; I've got enough money as it is. It's worthless to me anyway, but it obviously means a lot to you. Just take it." Harry was reminded of the time that he had given the Triwizard winnings to Fred and George.

Struck by a sudden inspiration, Harry asked, "How much would the trunk be, just out of curiosity?"

The shopkeeper looked at him warily, as if he expected Harry to find some way of leaving him the money if he told Harry the price,

"Around a hundred galleons."

"Then I'm giving that money to St Mungo's," Harry stated, "Thanks for all your help." Harry left the store smiling, leaving a thoughtful storekeeper behind. That young man had been odd. He was obviously suffering, grieving even, but he was still so innocent. But how long would children stay innocent at a time like this? That dark thought haunted him for the rest of the day, casting a dark cloud on the happy, sunny day, which suddenly seemed false. How long would this happiness last?

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Harry finished haggling with the man behind the counter of a bookshop and shrunk a humongous bag of books, putting it in his pocket. He hadn't gotten anything else; he thought that he had better check what was in his trunk before buying more. He had managed to get many new books, on both light and dark magic, though he had had to step into Knockturn Alley for the latter.

Harry's final stop for today was Ollivander's. It would be nice to have another wand, as many things could happen to a wand, particularly if a dark lord wanted your head on a plate. Putting on a nervous face and willing himself to look much younger, Harry walked into the store.

"Good morning," Said a quite, calm voice from behind him. Harry did his best to pretend to jump; he had heard Ollivander walking up. Turning around, Harry came face to face with the proprietor of the shop.

"Is this the place we're supposed to go to get wands? I'm Evan Silverstone" Harry pulled the name out of thin air and tried his best to sound confused and lost. It apparently worked, for soon Harry found himself measured by the tape measurer and trying out wands. Harry had tried out what appeared to be every wand in the store, and was getting very worried about getting back to Privet Drive on time. Even Ollivander looked stumped.

"You cannot get in here unless you belong or belonged to a wand here, Mr. Silverstone, but I do not know how to help you. The only way I can think of is for you to try to reach out with your senses. That is how I make my wands." Harry was suddenly nervous. He had bought his wand here, so maybe he didn't belong to any others in the shop. He tried to calm down and do what Ollivander said. The place was filled to the brim with the magic from hundreds upon hundreds of wands but there was the faintest pulling sensation coming from somewhere.

He stood there for a long time before he took a tentative step towards the door to the back room. Ollivander opened it, and Harry walked slowly to a small shelf. Harry took one of the many boxes off the shelf and picked up the wand inside. Looking at it, he gasped. It was his wand; the one that he had used while he was Salazar! Waving it, Harry was filled with a sense of rightness. He had his wand back! He was fully and totally himself again.

"That wand was destined for greatness, Mr. Silverstone," Ollivander said, "It was passed down in my family for generations, and has been waiting for its rightful owner. I cannot tell you what it's made of, for nobody knows, just as nobody knows where it came from. It is part of a set of four, and they are said to have bound destinies."

"That's a little weird..." Harry said, doing his best to keep up the illusion of cluelessness and not start skipping for joy. But three other wands…it couldn't be a coincidence, could it?

"Indeed it is, Mr. Silverstone, indeed it is..."

"May I see the other wands?" Harry asked, wanting to make sure.

"Of course," Ollivander took the three closest boxes off the shelf and opened them. The first wand was a warm honey color, the second a bronze-ish color, and the third a deep brown; Helga's, Rowena's and Godric's. There was no mistaking the wands; they had made them themselves, as was custom back then. They had gone into a nearby wood, much like the forbidden forest at Hogwarts, together to gather the necessary components

Harry's eyes burned and he fought back tears once again; he wanted to leave as soon as possible, but he couldn't just leave them there. No, Harry promised himself, I'm going to try and find as many of our things as possible.

"I…Is it possible that I can get those wands to?" Harry asked, trying to force his emotions behind a large wall of Occlumency. What had happened to his masks and self-control?

"It is illegal to sell a wand to someone who already has one," Ollivander said. Harry's hart plummeted and he wasn't sure what to do, "So that is why I'm giving them to you as a gift."

"But I couldn't, I mean," Harry said. Slytherin or not, he didn't want to just take something this valuable from another person; he did have certain morals, after all.

"Pay me by finding the rightful owners and giving the wands to them," Ollivander said. Harry took a deep breath, knowing that such a commitment would mean facing the other founders.

"I promise I'll try my best," Harry said, "How much does mine cost?"

A couple minutes later, Harry was walking back out the Leaky Cauldron. Glancing at his watch, he decided that he had time to get some Muggle clothes to wear underneath his robes and hurried off to find a store.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Snape apparated as close to the house as the wards would allow. He looked around, grimacing, as he took in the identical houses, all lined up in a perfect row. How could Potter stand to live here? He probably likes it here, Snape decided as he rung the doorbell, he can probably move if he wants to. He rang the doorbell again, noticing that the car was not in the driveway. Perhaps they had left for a while? But no, Potter was not allowed to leave the house. He rang it again impatiently, if nobody answered the door, he would leave. It wasn't his fault if Potter thought that he could break the rules.

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Thank you for all your kind words and generous reviews! I was completely shocked as so many reviews, and they really did make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside…as well as insanely happy-hyper.

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