AN: I'll be moving towards a weekly update schedule from now on, posting new chapters over the weekend. Thanks very much to everyone who has followed or favourite'd this story, and a very special extra-warm thank you for those readers that took the time to post a review. It's very much appreciated, I love finding out what you think about the story!

"I see you've made the acquaintance of Mr. Malfoy already," said Professor McGonagall, as they made their way through the Alley.

"You know him?" Harry asked curiously, then pointed at the cauldron Professor McGonagall had slung over her arm. It was filled with carefully wrapped packets of ingredients from the Apothecary. "Do you want me to carry that, professor?"

Professor McGonagall glanced at Harry's thin frame, and shook her head. "Thank you Mr. Potter, but I will be fine. And while I haven't met Mr. Malfoy in person before, I do know his father and mother."

Harry noticed that Professor McGonagall's lips had gone rather thin when she mentioned Lucius and Narcissa. "You don't like them?" he asked, as they stepped inside one of the luggage shops. He'd gotten his trunk from another shop in the other timeline, and didn't recognise this place. It seemed to be more up-scale, and aside from standard school trunks, the shop had several chests on display that looked like they had some interesting features.

"Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy head one of the most powerful families in wizarding society," said Professor McGonagall quietly. Harry could tell she was choosing her words carefully, and wondered if she was weighing up whether to tell him that they'd been Death Eaters. "They are wealthy and very influential, and put a lot of importance on heritage and traditions. They also belong to a faction of wizards that thinks the purity of a witch or wizard's blood should determine their status."

"The purity of their blood?" asked Harry, fascinated by hearing about the Malfoys from someone whose perspective he'd never heard before.

"They believe that someone's bloodline, whether their parents and grandparents and so on have been witches and wizards or not, is more important than intelligence, achievements, kindness – or any other trait. They also believe that only pure-blooded witches and wizards should be allowed to use magic. This is a load of hogwash, Mr. Potter, and you'd do well not to listen to it if it ever comes up in conversation with your new friend."

Professor McGonagall eyed him imperiously, but seemed mollified when she noticed he was nodding along with her words.

"Your own mother was muggleborn – neither of your grandparents on that side had any talent for magic. And she was every bit as capable or deserving of a wand as your father, who came from a long wizarding line."

"You knew my mum and dad, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I taught them both. James was especially gifted when it came to Transfiguration."

Harry grinned as he thought of his father and the other marauders learning to become animagi. Gifted indeed.

Harry opted to buy one of the special issue trunks instead of the standard school trunk. It resembled the one the fake Professor Moody had had in his fourth year, but with three compartments rather than seven, and without the basement the other had had. The compartments had been magically enlarged to be bigger than the outside, which still made Harry's head hurt a little. It had also been charmed to be as light as a feather despite the weight of its contents, and had several password-activated wards to protect it from theft. Professor McGonagall had protested that a first-year student really only needed a regular school trunk, but Harry had pointed out how useful the different compartments would be for sorting his clothes from his school things and other bits and bobs, and that the trunk would come in very handy for travelling. He gushed over his desire to go and see other countries and places after he left school, and in the end Professor McGonagall acquiesced.
Harry also bought himself an extra-enlarged mokeskin pouch which had been charmed to retrieve whatever he told it to (inspired by Hermione's little beaded bag that had come to their rescue so often when they were on the run), and spent some time amusing himself by tucking away and retrieving his – now considerably lighter – moneybag, until Professor McGonagall remarked that they'd still have to get his other things.

Harry bought his schoolbooks from Flourish and Blott's, as well as several advanced textbooks that gave a more in-depth look at the principles of his core subjects. Professor McGonagall had raised her eyebrows at that, but refrained from commenting aside from forbidding him to buy a book on hexes and curses. Harry made a mental note to have it delivered once he got to Hogwarts. His education in Defence Against the Dark Arts had been spotty at best, without any solid line in the curriculum throughout his school career, and with the quality of his teachers ranging from high to abysmal. Harry resolved to do everything he could in order to be better prepared this time.
He also made note of several other books that looked useful, but would surely raise questions if he tried to buy them in the presence of a teacher. He did buy a few books on recent magical events, as well as Hogwarts: A History, claiming he wanted to learn as much as he could about the magical world, which earned him an approving look from Professor McGonagall. Privately, Harry considered that if he'd slip up and mentioned details about something he hadn't actually been told yet, he could always say he'd read about it.

They moved on from Flourish and Blott's, and Harry made sure to visit Eeylops Owl Emporium before they went anywhere else. His heart leapt when he spotted Hedwig perching in one of the cages. Her death had hit him hard, as she'd been the first pet he'd ever owned, and his only link to the magical world during his summer holidays with the Dursleys. He hurried to buy her, afraid that somehow someone would get to her before he could, but he exited the shop carrying the large cage with Hedwig sleeping inside, just like he had the previous time, a happy grin plastered on his face.

He went through the same spiel as last time in Ollivander's, waving wand after wand rather impatiently and wishing the old, wizened wizard would hurry up already and fetch his holly and phoenix feather wand. He felt naked and vulnerable without his wand, and when Ollivander finally brought forth his 'unusual combination', he gripped it with relief and sent forth a stream of red and gold sparks.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall approvingly, and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... "
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious.."

"What is so curious, Garrick?" said Professor McGonagall. Harry already knew what was so curious about his wand, and would rather not be reminded of it, but it seemed very rude to simply leave the shop while his Professor and the shopkeeper were still talking.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Minerva. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in Mr. Potter's wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that he should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave him that scar."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows had risen so high they'd disappeared underneath the rim of her hat.

"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."

"I don't think that's entirely appropriate to tell a child," said Professor McGonagall stiffly, and Mr. Ollivander shrugged and grinned rather unpleasantly. Harry wondered if the wandmaker had decided to part with this information on his own, or whether it was another of Dumbledore's subtle pulls on Harry's strings.

With the day's shopping concluded, Harry and Professor McGonagall rode the Knights Bus back to Privet Drive. On the way back, Professor McGonagall handed Harry his ticket for the Hogwarts Express and explained how to get to platform nine and three-quarters. She also informed him of the way the Knights Bus operated, how to call for it, and that Harry should take it to King's Cross on the first of September if his aunt and uncle couldn't take him.
Harry couldn't help but reflect on how Hagrid's instructions paled in comparison. Last time, he'd been completely clueless about any of this, and hadn't even found out the Knights Bus existed until his third year.
When they arrived back in Surrey, he thanked Professor McGonagall profusely for all her help, easily lifted his charmed trunk, and got off the Knights Bus. It was only after he'd waved goodbye to Professor McGonagall, and the purple triple-decker had disappeared with a BANG, that he realised the Dursleys probably wouldn't be home for a while yet. Harry sighed, set his trunk down on the driveway, and settled down to wait.

Harry's last month with the Dursleys went quite a bit different than it had in the first timeline. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon ignored him for the first week, while Dudley had become completely fixated on Harry. Aunt Petunia tried to stop her son from talking to Harry, but Dudley had managed to sneak into Harry's bedroom several times, questioning him endlessly about Hogwarts, the wizarding world, Diagon Alley and whether Harry thought Dudley could possibly at some point have another one of those delicious scones the scary lady had magicked up.
They were sitting together in Dudley's bedroom on an early August morning, Dudley on his bed and Harry on the sofa in front of Dudley's gaming system, chatting about the things they thought Harry would soon be learning at Hogwarts. Harry had gotten used to having friendly conversations with his cousin by now, and had been pleasantly surprised at Dudley's new behaviour. Apparently not being cursed with a pig's tail and being offered a magical cream tea had made Dudley look at magic in a whole different way, and no matter what his parents said, he thought it was the best thing ever, and Harry the most interesting person ever by extension.

"I wish I could go to wizarding school," said Dudley wistfully, easily for the hundredth time. "You've got all the luck. I'll be stuck as a muggle going to Smeltings."

Harry gave his cousin a sympathetic look, and wondered how Professor McGonagall was getting on with asking Dumbledore to lift Dudley's lock on magical talent. Maybe Dudley simply was a muggle and there was no lock to be removed, like Professor McGonagall had said. Maybe Dumbledore had refused, not wanting to risk Harry getting kicked out from his aunt and uncle's house.
He was just about to tell Dudley that he could feed Hedwig some owl treats in an attempt to cheer him up, when a blood-curdling scream rang through the house. Harry and Dudley looked at eachother, then stormed out of the room and down the landing to see what on earth was going on.

Harry stopped on the top of the stairs, almost being bowled over by Dudley when he charged into him. Aunt Petunia was standing in the hallway, staring with disbelief at the letter she was clutching in her hands. Harry's eyes widened as he recognised the yellowed parchment and emerald-green ink. Could it be…?
Instead of giving his aunt the time to destroy the letter or react in any other way, Harry drew his wand from the pocket of his trousers with some difficulty. He really had to find some way to get easy access to it when he needed it, he reflected.

"Accio Dudley's letter," murmured Harry, and the letter flew out of Aunt Petunia's hands and up the stairs. "Come on!" yelled Harry at Dudley, catching the letter as it came sailing towards him, and legged it back to his cousin's room, while Aunt Petunia's shrieks rose up from the hallway.

Dudley flung the door shut behind him, and Harry started pushing the sofa towards the door. Dudley helped him stack the furniture in front of it until they were satisfied that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn't be able to get through the blockade any time soon. They sat down on the bed, panting from the exertion. Harry turned the now slightly crumpled envelope over and read the address.

Mr. D. Dursley
The Second Largest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

"Is that…" whispered Dudley, his eyes as large as saucers. Harry grinned and slapped his cousin on the back, thinking back to what Hagrid had said to him all those years ago.

"Ye're a wizard, Dudley!"