*Revised 2/16/18

Harry awoke slowly, eyes fluttering as they detached themselves from the realm of sleep. His first thought was that he was extremely uncomfortable. His second sent him bolting upright, smacking his head on a low ceiling, eyes flicking left and right as he remembered. He had blown up his aunt, tried to make a run for it, and then... nothing. His searching mind met a steel wall, blocking his way to the memories he searched for. He pushed against it, only serving to give himself a headache- well, more of a headache. He opened his eyes wider in the darkness. He had lost his glasses somehow, but didn't need them, seeing as he was back in the musty confines of his cupboard. He would recognize the room where he had spent most of his childhood even if he had no eyesight whatsoever. Determining that he was alone for the moment, his thoughts traveled back to his body. He felt like he had when he was a kid and had gotten so sick that the Dursleys actually considered taking him to the hospital. That is to say, he felt like he had been put through the wringer and then sat on by an elephant. His right forearm, ankle and back hurt especially. Harry closed his eyes, blocking out the pain from his mind. He wasn't sure how he could do this, exactly, but it had worked for him as long as he could remember. As long as he didn't think about the pain, it was like it no longer existed. Eventually his body healed and all was forgotten.

Just then the cupboard door was quickly thrown open. Harry's eyes shot open, the sudden influx of light feeling like a thousand stabbing daggers. He shut them again, groaning.

"Quit whinging, boy!" his aunt's brisk voice snapped. "Get up! Your uncle's gone to work and we're leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Going where?" Harry asked, perplexed.

His aunt shot him a nasty look, lips pursing. "To London, boy. You were begging me to take you yesterday, saying you had to go to that freak school of yours. I only agreed so those 'Ministry' freaks don't come looking for you here, again," she hissed. "Now get up already!"

"As if the freaks could run a ministry," she snipped to herself quietly.

Harry scrambled to his feet, hunching over in the confines of his cupboard. It was September the first already? He hadn't disappeared this long since before he started muggle primary school. And representatives from the Ministry of Magic had come in response to his underage magic, without expelling him? Things were getting more and more confusing.

"You're lucky your uncle didn't burn those freakish things of yours, but we wouldn't want any of your kind investigating. As if we were doing something wrong, like common criminals!" She paused for breath, eyes narrowing, and pointed a single bony finger at his chest. "You say a word about what happened to any of them, and you'll have your uncle to answer to, freak!" His aunt then briskly turned away, snapping, "Go clean yourself up! If you're a minute late I won't be taking you; you can get one of your freaky friends to pick you up."

Harry blinked confusedly, not understanding what his aunt was referring to. Sure, his family didn't likehim, but it's not like he was abused or something. Strangely though, despite the promise to be returning to Hogwarts he felt a sense of anxiety looming in the pit of his stomach. He brushed it aside, stumbling awkwardly out of the cupboard. His right ankle must have been badly sprained, maybe even broken, the way pain was currently shooting up his leg. He gritted his teeth and ignored it. He had been through worse before, especially when he had gotten bitten by the basilisk last year. There was no use being a crybaby now.

He limped stiffly up the stairs to the bathroom, leaning on the counter to look into the mirror. His vision was blurry, but not much worse than normal; his glasses never really did much for him. However, he saw enough to immediately recoil in horror. That was him? He looked like a skeleton, like that criminal, Seri.. Sirius Black, wasn't it? His skin was sunken in dark rings around his eyes, cheekbones harsh and jagged. And his eyes- they were glazed and lifeless, a parody of their once-vibrant green. He looked away before he could see anything else, pushing the image from his mind. He had just gotten real sick and the Dursleys forgot to feed him, he thought determinedly. It's happened before. There was no way- there was no way what? The thought slipped away into the crevices of his mind like a rivulet of water into rock. He shrugged. He obviously just looked worse than he felt. Once he was back at Hogwarts he would be fine.

He heard his aunt yelling for him to hurry up so he quickly stripped, taking care to avoid looking at his body, and got in the shower.

He suddenly found himself dressed (in one of Dudley's less-horrible castoffs) and waiting with his luggage in the hall, aunt nowhere to be found. Disappearing while taking a shower was becoming an annoying habit.

"Hedwig!" he whispered joyously, finding her familiar amber eyes watching him reproachfully from within her cage. "I'm sorry I haven't spent much time with you, girl. I'll make it up to you at Hogwarts, okay?" he promised, gently stroking her feathers. She nipped him softly on the finger, signifying all was forgiven.

Harry quickly checked his trunk, making sure all his things were still there. They were exactly as he left them, aside from being a bit jumbled. His familiar Holly wand was even laying on top. He quickly picked it up, tucking it into his back pocket. Suddenly he realized that he would have to get all his Hogwarts supplies today, as he had missed his chance to go with Ron and Hermione. He hoped they weren't too worried about him; maybe he had sent a letter? It wasn't worth worrying about now. His aunt emerged from the kitchen, holding a couple slices of plain bread and a glass of water. She shoved them at him.

"Here," she huffed, annoyed, as if heavily burdened by the simple act.

Harry ate quickly but found he could only stomach about half of the bread. He felt nauseous even thinking about eating the rest. Perhaps he was still a bit ill, he mused, some nausea lingering over. He gulped down the water, seeing the impatient look in his aunt's eyes, and hurriedly walked (or rather half-limped) back to the kitchen, placing the cup in the sink and grabbing a paper towel to wrap his bread in. He shoved the makeshift packet into his pocket and rushed back out to his waiting aunt.

She didn't even glance at him, instead merely opening the door and walking out to the car, purse dangling from her thin arm and short blonde hair waving in the slight breeze.

"Aunt Petunia?" he called tentatively.

She didn't look back, merely opening the car door and getting in.

"Where are my glasses?" he yelled after her.

"How should I know?" his aunt yelled back, frustrated. "Get your things out here! We're leaving!"

Sighing, Harry knew he would have to go without his glasses. If he went to look for them his aunt would surely decide it was too much of a bother to take him. He felt naked without them, but there wasn't anything he could do about it at the moment. Merlin knew they had seen more than their fair share of abuse. His uncle had probably punished him for breaking them already. He began dragging his heavy luggage out to the car, made much more difficult by the pain in his ankle.

He was attempting to lift his trunk into the boot when he flinched violently, nearly dropping it on his foot. There was a big black creature staring at him from within the neighbor's rosebushes. He strained to get a closer look when it suddenly vanished, as if it hadn't been there at all. He heard his aunt snap at him to hurry up (it seemed to be her favorite phrase, recently) and he heaved with all his might to shove his trunk up over the bumper. Panting and sweating, he finally managed to get it in, laying his Nimbus on top. He paused a weary moment, lights flashing before his eyes, and briefly wondered how he would manage to lift his trunk in the years to come, having to carry all the previous years' books around as well. This was only his things from two years! Then he shut the boot and walked around to the side door, still panting, and climbed in the back seat with Hedwig. Harry put the matter of the strange creature out of his mind; he must've just been seeing things. Probably just a stray.

He looked at the clock on the car's dashboard, seeing it was 7:45. The drive to London would take an hour, so he would have less than two hours to buy all his supplies for this year. This was going to be tough. Hopefully no Dobby-wanna-be's would show up to slow him down this year.

His aunt backed the car out of the driveway and started down the road. Harry was never more glad to leave the sickeningly perfect, cookie-cutter houses of Privet Drive behind.

"Aunt Petunia..." he began, knowing his every word only served to irritate her more.

She ignored him, though her angular shoulders tensed slightly.

"Could you drop me off at the Leaky Cauldron instead of King's Cross? I need to buy my school things for this year..." he looked hopefully at her face in the rearview mirror.

"I'm taking you to Charing Cross; where those freaks told me to take you," placing a disgusted emphasis on the word 'told.' "Anywhere else you can ask for their help. I'm taking enough of my time to drive you there as it is!" she spat, hazel eyes glaring at him from the mirror.

Charing Cross...that was near the Leaky Cauldron. Perhaps some Ministry officials would meet him there? He gulped nervously, hoping that the whole underage magic thing had blown over by now. And that Marge had blown over, too, or at least deflated a bit.

The car ride into London was uneventful and silent. The strangest thing that occurred was a young pigtailed girl gesturing excitedly at Harry's owl from the next car. Aunt Petunia made sure to quickly change lanes.

Eventually they arrived at Charing Cross. His aunt immediately pulled over and stopped, leaving Harry to drag his things from the car and onto the curb. He finally managed and sat, panting, on his trunk as he watched his aunt speed away without a backward glance.

He looked around at the less-than-busy street, trying to find his bearings. He didn't notice any obvious wizards so he assumed that if Ministry employees were waiting for him they would probably be in the Leaky Cauldron. He spotted a bookshop he had passed when coming to Diagon with Hagrid in his first year and set off in that direction, dragging his trunk behind him. He wished wizards had invented trunks with wheels, like the muggle suitcases: this thing was killing him and he hadn't even gone ten feet!

Eventually he made it to the dingy front entrance of his destination – the old, peeling paint on the wooden sign depicting a large golden cauldron emblazoned with The Leaky Cauldron in silver. Harry opened the ancient-looking door slowly, struggling to pull his bulky luggage in. An older, grey-haired wizard in midnight blue robes graciously stopped to help on his way out the door, thankfully failing to recognize him.

Once his things were inside Harry said a quick thank-you to the man and took a glance around the pub. The same dimly-lit interior met his eyes, a surprising number of witches and wizards crowded around the shabby tables and bar. Fortunately, none of them were paying him attention aside from a few glances.

He made his way to the restroom in the back, changing into his wizard's robes there. He might as well since he was going to be walking around Diagon Alley, then boarding the Hogwarts Express. It would draw less attention here than muggle clothes. He glanced in the mirror on the way out, doing a double-take as he saw that he looked a hundred- no, a thousand percent better from earlier! He pressed his face closer to the mirror, inspecting his bright, healthy-looking face. Confusion flitted through his mind. Hadn't he looked terrible earlier? He thought he had... but perhaps the light had been playing tricks on him. Yeah, that was it. He had simply conjured up the horrible image from a mistaken glance. It's not like he could see very well, anyway.

As he left the loo he noticed that his trunk and Hedwig's cage seemed much lighter and easier to carry than they had before, almost as if they were floating. He didn't pay it much thought, though; he was on a tight schedule.

He made his way out of the Leaky Cauldron quickly, lest anyone figure out who he was and start a riot like they had his first time visiting. He entered the brick courtyard that connected to Diagon Alley. Boxes and barrels littered the sides of the small, walled area, precariously balanced atop each other. A short, stern-looking wizard in emerald robes looked up at him. The man had short brown hair and a long face, but his demeanor and expression reminded Harry uncannily of a miniature (and male) Professor McGonagall.

"Mr. Potter, I presume?" the man asked in a stiff, no-nonsense voice, straightening up from where he was leant against the wall. He held out his hand formally.

"Err...yeah," Harry replied awkwardly, shaking the unknown wizard's hand. He had a very firm grip for such a small fellow. He was only a few inches taller than Harry, and Harry was the shortest in his year.

"Derek Hankins, Ministry of Magic. The Minister has requested me to assist you in preparation for your upcoming school year," he stated briskly, locking his brown eyes on Harry's green in a way that warned against further questioning.

Harry gulped, but risked a question. "Why? -Sir," he added quickly when he received an annoyed glance.

"As you know, the murderer Sirius Black is on the loose, Mr. Potter. The Ministry has reason to suspect he may be targeting you." He then turned and stalked to the far wall, cutting off the next question forming on Harry's tongue. Black, the criminal on the Muggle news, was after him? He was a wizard? The Ministry man's answer had only caused more questions to spring up in his mind.

Mr. Hankins whipped his wand out of his sleeve and tapped thrice on the brick three up, two across, above the trash can. The familiar archway to Diagon Alley formed before them and he ushered Harry through impatiently.

"Your school supplies list, Mr. Potter?" he questioned, looking annoyed as Harry bent to rifle through his trunk.

Harry produced his list and handed it over to the man, who eyed it critically.

He then looked suspiciously back at Harry's trunk, asking reproachfully, "I assume you haven't been practicing underage magic, Mr. Potter?"

"Wha- no, of course not!" Harry quickly said, shocked. He was lucky to have not been expelled for his accidental magic during the summer: as if he would be doing magic now!

The man hummed through pressed lips. "See to it that you aren't, Mr. Potter. It would be a terrible shame to be expelled at such a young age. Now come on, you arrived past schedule and we need hurry if you're to make the train."

Harry followed the man, noticing that he was heading for Gringotts. That was fortunate, since Harry didn't fancy asking another question and possibly angering the wizard. He looked around as he walked, still as caught up in the magic of the bustling street as he had been at eleven, seeing it for the first time. He smiled wistfully, remembering his purchases and adventures at the colorful shops he passed.

Owls chattered from the dark depths of Eyelops Owl Emporium as they passed, Hedwig hooting back happily. Harry made a mental note to buy some more owl treats for her. They passed a small apothecary a moment later, a strange, toothless old man sitting out front, counting what looked to be unicorn hairs. He was muttering to himself agitatedly, shaking his head slightly. They came to the Quality Quidditch Supplies store a few shops down, Harry pausing to gape at the impressive broomstick dominating the display there. It was named the Firebolt, and it was the most beautiful, elegant broomstick he had ever seen. He could've stood there staring all day, but unfortunately a sharp, pointed cough emanated from behind him, Hankins' powerful hand grasping his shoulder and leading him away. Harry tensed and escaped the hand, his shoulder tender for some reason.

Eventually they arrived at the imposing white stone walls of Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank. The same enormous, burnished bronze doors and uniformed goblin doorman greeted them. The goblin bowed them in to the second pair of silver doors. Harry looked up, reading once again the warning engraved upon their face.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay 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.

Harry had a sudden ironic thought; it would be just his luck to have to steal something from Gringotts in the future. It seemed he was always going places, finding things, that weren't supposed to be found.

Then they were past the doors and into the main room. The white marble floors contrasted brilliantly to the dark walls, giving the long hall the feel of being constantly in the spotlight. Harry suspected that was exactly the effect the goblins wanted. He followed Mr. Hankins as he strode confidently up to a goblin on a stool behind the long counter. The goblin was counting and weighing a large pile of gold coins that seemed of foreign make, but looked up as they approached.

"Mr. Potter would like to make a withdrawal," he clearly spoke.

"Does Mr. Potter have his key?" the goblin asked, training his dark eyes on Harry.

Harry bit his lip nervously. Was he supposed to have his key? Hagrid had brought it the first year, and then he supposed the Weasleys had had it... but where was it now?

"Ehm...I'm n- not sure where it is, sir," he directed at the goblin, glancing down at his worn and faded trainers peeking out beneath his robes. They had been given to him years ago, courtesy of Dudley, but now had holes worn through the sides and bottom. He briefly felt embarrassed.

The goblin's eyes narrowed as his Ministry escort looked confused. Apparently he was supposed to have his key. The goblin held up a long, pale hand, beckoning behind him, and another goblin appeared. Harry recognized him as Griphook, the goblin from his first trip to Gringotts.

"Take Mr. Potter to room forty-seven," the goblin stated dispassionately, going back to counting his coins.

Griphook took Harry back behind the counter, instructing Mr. Hankins to stay behind, who acquiesced with a sigh. He directed Harry to one of the many gold doors leading off the hall.

"Hello again, Griphook," Harry smiled nervously, trying to be polite.

The bearded goblin paused, seeming surprised, before continuing on, stating, "It is rare a wizard remembers the face of a goblin, Mr. Potter."

"You remember me too, then?" Harry questioned curiously.

Griphook chuckled deeply, stating slyly, "Even amongst goblins you are famous, Harry Potter." He bowed Harry through the door, following behind and closing it.

Harry was still rather nervous. He wiped his sweating palms on his robes, asking, "What's going to happen now?"

Griphook, who had opened one of many ornate drawers on the walls, pulling out a file, replied, "A simple blood-magic test, Mr. Potter, to confirm that you are who you appear to be." He placed the file on a large austere mahogany desk that dominated the room, several matching chairs before it. "Have a seat," he requested politely.

Harry shakily took a seat, wondering what the test would entail. He hoped it wouldn't hurt too much. He didn't like the sound of the blood part.

Griphook searched through the file, pulling out a sheet of parchment. It seemed to be blank, excepting a small black square in the upper corner. The goblin then opened a desk drawer, pulling out a small, jeweled silver knife. Harry gulped, not liking where this was going.

"Your hand please, Mr. Potter?" Griphook requested, extending his thin arm across the desk.

Harry hesitantly placed his hand in Griphook's grasp. The goblin's strong, lithe fingers closed around his wrist, pulling his hand forward. Griphook picked up the knife and elegantly slashed at Harry's hand. Harry swallowed a yelp as the pain he expected didn't come. Instead he saw a small red bead of blood forming on his fingertip. Griphook pressed his bleeding finger onto the black square on the parchment, which suddenly glowed gold for a moment, elegant writing appearing where none had been before. His hand was released and Harry rubbed his finger, which had stopped bleeding. That was all?

Griphook quickly snatched up the sheet, glancing over it for a moment before nodding, satisfied. "That will be all, Mr. Potter," he spoke slowly, "Unless you would like to place your wand on file. If so, you may avoid having to redo the test if you forget your key again."

However painless the procedure had been, Harry still would prefer to have his wand tested. He agreed enthusiastically and Griphook withdrew another paper from the folder, this time instructing Harry to place the tip of his wand on the square. The parchment again glowed, this time white, before revealing more cramped writing.

Griphook looked over the parchment, commenting, "Holly and phoenix feather, Mr. Potter. How very unusual." He looked up, seeming to remember something. "Would you also like to be informed of your holdings, Mr. Potter? I apologize for not seeing to this earlier."

Harry was very interested to hear about these holdings he supposedly had, but remembered that he was on a tight schedule. "Er, could you tell me some other time, Griphook? I've really got to get going or I'll be late for the Express."

Griphook nodded cordially, folding his hands beneath his chin. "As you wish, Mr. Potter. I am appointed in charge of the Potter estates and holdings, so you may contact me at your convenience."

"Now, Mr. Potter, how much would you like to withdraw today, from your Hogwarts vault, I assume?" he asked, placing the file back within the drawer and pulling out another thick one, into which he deposited the two forms.

"You mean I won't be going down to the vault?" Harry asked, confused. He had thought that was the only way to withdraw money from Gringotts.

"No, Mr. Potter. You need only visit your vault if you do not wish to proceed with the blood-magic or wand tests, in which case you require a key," Griphook replied amusedly, "if you do not have a significant amount deposited in your vault, or if you wish to withdraw a non-monetary item."

Harry, who by now was reeling with all the new information shoved at him, asked for enough to cover all his school supplies.

Griphook seemed unimpressed with the vague answer, but scratched down some figures on a spare piece of parchment. He then pulled out what looked like a withdrawal form, filling in some blanks and swiveling it around to face Harry.

"Sign here, and place your wand there," he directed, pointing to a line at the bottom and another black box.

Harry did as he was asked, not even bothering to read the form. His mind was on information overload and he needed some time to sort it all out. He had holdings?

Griphook disappeared through a door farther into the building for a moment, coming back with a small black leather pouch. Harry eyed it suspiciously, not seeing how enough money for his supplies could fit in there.

"Feather-light, expandable, theft-repelling purses," he explained, "I expected you might need one, so I withdrew the money from your account to pay for it as well as enough for your supplies. It will bond to your magical signature."

Harry took the empty-feeling pouch and looked inside; it was true, there were three separate compartments within containing small mounds of coins. Harry was impressed. All these things he never knew of!

Griphook then led Harry back out to the main room where his escort was waiting impatiently, tapping his foot sharply on the shiny floor, a few working goblins shooting him annoyed glances. Harry thanked Griphook and bowed to him, hoping it was a polite thing to do. The goblin raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, but bowed back and wished him a good day.

The rest of the journey through Diagon Alley wasn't nearly as exciting, mostly because he kept being rushed around by Mr. Hankins. But he did his best to enjoy the wondrous magic of the shops.

They went first to the Apothecary, restocking his potions ingredients. Then to Eyelops to pick up more owl treats for Hedwig, after refusing to be dragged by the shop. Madame Malkin's was skipped as Harry, surprisingly, hadn't grown much, his robes still fitting him nicely. By the time they got to the bookstore, Harry was well tired of being poked and prodded. He almost missed that instead of the usual paving-stone sized, gold embossed books in the window display, there was a cage containing about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. They were making a mess of each other, torn pages flying everywhere as they grappled and snapped aggressively.

The manager saw him come in, rushing towards him. "Hogwarts, I suspect?" he asked abruptly.

"Yea-" Harry started.

"Out of the way, the manager snapped, pulling on a thick pair of leather gloves and picking up a large battered walking stick, advancing towards the cage of Monster books.

"Hold on," Harry exclaimed, "I've already got one of those!"

"Have you?" the manager asked, a look of intense relief spreading over his face. "Thank heavens. I've been bitten five times this morning already. I'm never stocking them again, never! It's been chaos! I thought I'd seen the worst when we ordered two hundred copies of the Invisible Book of Invisibility- cost a fortune, and we never did find them. But this!" He sighed heavily. "Well...is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes," said Harry, snatching the booklist out of Mr. Hankins' hand. "I need... Unfogging the Future, by Cassandra Vablatsky."

"Ah, starting Divination, are you?" the manager asked nonchalantly, removing his gloves and leading Harry to the back of the shop, a small corner devoted to fortune-telling. A small, dusty table held stacks of volumes such as Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself Against Shocks and Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul.

"Here you are," said the manager, climbing down from a set of steps and holding out a thick black-bound book to Harry. "Unfogging the Future. Very good guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods - palmistry, crystal balls, bird entrails -"

The manager continued on, but Harry wasn't listening. His gaze was drawn to another book, resting among a display on the small table: Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming.

"Oh, I wouldn't read that if I were you," the manager said lightly, seeing what Harry was looking at. "You'll start seeing Death Omens everywhere. It's enough to frighten anyone to death." He chuckled.

Harry, however, was transfixed by the image on the cover. It depicted a large black dog, as big as a bear, with gleaming yellow eyes. It looked oddly familiar...

The manager pressed Unfogging the Future into Harry's hands.

"Anything else?" he asked happily.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, tearing his eyes away from the dog's and consulting his list again. "Uh- I need Intermediate Transfiguration and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three."

He collected and paid for the rest of his books, the Ministry man dogging his steps annoyingly the entire time.

They exited the shop, Mr. Hankins leading him back down the street to the brick wall connecting to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry, however, had his thoughts back on the creature he had seen just that morning in the rosebushes. He had thought it a figment of his imagination, but now... No, he was just being silly. There was no way he had seen a Death Omen! It was just a stray dog that had wandered into the neighborhood. Yet he couldn't shake the horrible feeling... He ran his fingers nervously through his unruly hair.

Harry only looked up when he saw that they had reached the archway. His eyes leveled on the brick they would tap to get back to the Leaky Cauldron, but instead of tapping the brick on the left, corresponding to the one on the opposite side of the wall, three times with his wand, the short man tapped once on a brick seven from the right side, twelve bricks up. The archway opened and Harry gasped as he saw it led not to the run-down courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, but to platform 9 3/4. The Hogwarts Express' spotless red paint shone brilliantly in the sun, steam drifting lazily out of her smokestack. A cacophony of voices met his ears, emanating from the jumble of people on the platform mixed with the soft mechanical noises of the train and trolleys. Families bustled around, saying goodbyes to their children and helping them drag their luggage on board.

Mr. Hankins tipped his head at Harry, saying, "Farewell, Mr. Potter. Have a good school year."

Harry stepped through the brick archway and it shifted closed behind him. He grinned ear to ear at the welcome sight of the steam train. Finally, he was going home.