Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters therein. I am simply using them to have some fun.

Author's Note: A lot of what I've put in the story to this point is word for word from the first book because I'm trying to emulate the butterfly effect. One minor change causes other minor changes. By the end of the prologue, only one sentence had changed. By the end of this chapter, a few paragraphs have changed. In the next chapter, whole scenes will have changed. By the end of the fourth chapter, the only similarities will be plot (somewhat) and setting. Word for word quotes (and some that have one or two words changed) are in italics.

I suppose this is a Pre-script... is that still P.S...

Anyways, thanks for the reviews.

When incredibly angry, Vernon Dursley turned a very rare shade of puce that was proof of blood rushing into his head incredibly quickly. This was the color he'd turned when Harry had set a snake loose on the zoo and trapped Dudley in its cage and it was also the color he turned when Hagrid, a 'giant freak', told him that his son was a wizard.

"You mean to tell me that my son, my flesh and blood, is a freak! Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon shouted while Dudley hid behind Aunt Petunia, a feat that was rather difficult to achieve for he was like a whale and she like a giraffe.

"He will not go!" Uncle Vernon shouted, referring to Dudley though extending it to include Harry as well.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him." Hagrid said.

"A what?" said Harry, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like thern.

An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I

ever laid eyes on."

"The boy's freakishness is contagious." Uncle Vernon muttered before shouting, "I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!"

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER," he thundered, "- INSULT- ALBUS- DUMBLEDORE- IN- FRONT- OF- ME!"

After his outburst, he knocked down the door which he'd earlier replaced and shouted over the storm, "Well, are yeh comin' or aren' yeh?" While Harry immediately followed the giant out the rickety old hut, Dudley needed more convincing. Only when he was told that if he didn't come he would have all him memories of his parents wiped and would be taken regardless of his wishes did he finally agree to come.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

Hagrid, Harry, and Dudley stopped in front of a tiny, grobby-looking place that, if it hadn't been pointed out to him, Harry wouldn't have noticed. No one on Charing Cross Road even gave it a second glance. In fact, their eyes looked it over as if it didn't exist.

Hagrid steered the two boys into the grimy building. When they entered, the low buzz of chatter seemed to stop.

The old, bald bartender reached for a glass and asked, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this - can this be -?"

The building, which had been buzzing with noise, went completely silent, almost as if the residents were predators which had sensed nearby prey and were thinking of the best plan of attack.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out.

Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!" Harry shook hands again and again - Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

While shaking hands with every person in the building, some twice, Harry missed the jealous face adorned by one Dudley Dursley, who was finally coming to grips with the fact that in the wizarding world, his cousin was more loved than he was.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense 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.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on - lots ter buy. Come on, Harry, Dudley."

After entering a slightly crooked, snow white building with large, bronze doors and short goblins stationed with spears on both sides of the door, Hagrid led Dudley and Harry to a free goblin.

"Morning," said Hagrid. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe and Dudley Dursley's Hogwarts fund."

"You have their keys, Sir?"

"Got them here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key and another silver one.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to the vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"Tell me about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen!" Dudley shouted rudely, though Harry was thinking thre same thing.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in - Hagrid with some difficulty - and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

Dudley simply stared stupidly at the structures, a bit nauseous from the speed of the cart.

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

Dudley, who'd finally had enough of being marginalized for the day, screamed, "It's not fair! He's just a freak, a wimp! Why does he get all the good things! Everyone loves him and he's rich! My parents deserve this money!"

Griphook, who'd been standing off to the side patiently waiting for Harry to get what he needed sniggered a little.

"What's so funny!" dudley shouted, the very image of a petulant child.

"Mr. Potter has another two vaults, each as big as this on, adding to a total of about seventeen thousand galleons in his names or three million pounds sterling." the goblin informed Dudley.

"Two other vaults? What for?" Harry asked curiously.

"The five thousand galleon reward for defeating You-Know-Who was put in one of the vaults and the other was started on your second birthday. On your birthday for five years, every of age wizard in Britain sent one galleon to you as appreciation for your defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." the short goblin informed Harry.

After placing seventy Galleons, seventy Sickles, and seventy Knuts into a shrinking money bag, Harry left the vault and the group was led to Dudley's scholarship vault, which had only 500 hundred galleons for seven years in it.

After Dudley had thrown a fit over his lack of wealth, the trio were taken by cart to vault 713.

Hagrid turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Harry was sure, and he leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least - but at first he thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid. One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life.

"Hogwarts, dears?" Madam Malkin, a squat witch dressed in muave said, when Harry and Dudley entered the store. "Got the lot here - another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. " In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him) slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said both Harry and Dudley.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took 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."

"My parents are going to me the best broom there is." Dudley bragged, though he didn't even know how to ride a broom. The two blondes on either side of Harry were remarkably similar.

After that, Dudley was led to another room where he would be fitted with larger clothing because none of the normal first year clothing fit onto him.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy asked Harry.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I'm the best quidditch player in my area of the country." Dudley boasted proudly, with no idea what he was doing except that since the other boy was bragging, then so too should he.

"Father says it's 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," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" "Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't.

"He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the other,. not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? 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 wizarding families.

What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

In Flourish and Blotts, Harry was able to convince Hagrid that it would be in his best interest to buy more books than were on the required list so he could acquaint himself with the magical world, lest he be lumped together with Dudley.

After that, Harry and Dudley were taken to Eyelops Owl Emporium where Hagrid bought Harry a snowy white owl and Dudley a Blakintson's Fish Owl. The first as a birthday present and the second as a way to shut Dudley up after a tantrum about how Harry was getting everything handed to him.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys." he shot Dudley an acidic glare, "Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to. The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

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

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - 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..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," 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..."

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er - yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"And who are you?" the wandmaker asked Dudley.

"Dudley Dursley." Dudley responded haughtily.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now - Mr. Dusley. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er - well, I'm right-handed," said Dudley.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Dudley from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Dursley. 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."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Dursley. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Dudley took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -"

Dudley tried - but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

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

Dudley tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? 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."

Dudley took the wand. A sudden warmth came from his direction in the room. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework.