Author's Note: Hope you enjoy and don't forget to review! I love to hear you questions, comments, and concerns.

Little Gem

It was only a heartbeat later that Harry felt his feet hit concrete and he promptly bent over. His mouth was coated in a thick layer of saliva and his stomach churned violently. A warm hand rubbed soothing circles on his back as Harry fought the wave of nausea. "Sorry," he managed weakly as he looked up.

The woman smiled at him, "You wouldn't be the first to throw up on my shoes this week Mr. Potter."

The nausea only lasted a few minutes longer before excitement took its place. Harry looked around, quite shocked that they were now standing on a concrete sidewalk in front of a very odd scene. On the left there was an everyday hair salon and on the right there was a shoe store, but in the center – seemingly invisible to the crowd that rushed by – was an old building with a rustic door and a sign over the top that read 'The Leaky Cauldron'.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, curious as to where he'd been taken.

"Ah my apologies Mr. Potter," she replied with a smile, "I am Professor McGonagall and this is the muggle entrance to Diagon Alley."

"How did we get here? What was that?" Harry asked in breathless excitement. He was struggling between wanting to know the specifics and wanting explore this new world.

Professor McGonagall pulled open the door and motioned for Harry to enter. "We disapparated, most muggleborns refer to it as some sort of teleportation."

Inside was homey and comfortable and mysterious, Harry drank it in with glee. Rags wiped tables on their own, chairs moved around, a witch with a rag made a mug disappear in her hands, and in the corner were a small group of wizards smoking pipes and playing a game with some sort of tiles Harry had never seen before. Up ahead behind the bar was elderly man listening to a small radio and lazily making smoke circles. When the bartender spotted McGonagall he smiled and waved, "Fifth time in three days Professor McGonagall, perhaps a drink?"

Professor McGonagall waved him off with a stern glance that Harry found less than threatening after earlier, "You know I can't Tom."

Harry followed behind the professor as Tom the barman looked at him in curiosity. Harry was lead out a back door and into a tiny alley with brick walls and a trashcan. "To open the door to the Alley you have to tap the brick that is three up and two across. If you ever forget you can ask old Tom, he helps many a student through these walls." McGonagall tapped a brick with her wand and Harry watched in fascination as the bricks began to move and resort themselves.

Harry desperately wished for eight more eyes. There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and crystal vials, and shops that held strange instruments Harry had never seen before. Little carts to the side sold Dragon liver – seventeen sickles an ounce – and windows were stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eel eyes. Some shops had piles of spell books piled so high that they were about to topple over, others had enormous stacks of parchment and bundles of quills, there were shelves of potions ingredients, and there were several globes of the moon and other planets.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall announced quietly with an understanding smile.

"Where do we go first?" Harry asked excitedly, wanting to look at everything all at once.

"Gringotts," McGonagall pointed straight ahead to a large white marble building that looked precariously crooked. It was far off but so large that Harry could easily make it out. "The only bank for wizards and run by goblins, it's one of the safest places in the world and there's a bank in most major cities and shopping districts."

Almost immediately reality crashed into Harry and he tore his eyes away from the bustling crowd to look at the Deputy Headmistress. "I haven't got any money Professor," Harry said quietly.

Suddenly Professor McGonagall looked highly uncomfortable but she laid a hand on his shoulder, "Your parents left you everything they had Mr. Potter. But we'll talk about that later, for now let's get your supply list out of the way." From the sad smile she gave Harry assumed it wasn't likely to be a happy conversation.

As it turns out goblins are exactly as grotesque as they sounded. They were no taller than three or four feet at most and they had odd features like small beady eyes and large, crooked, and pointed noses. Inside the massive double doors inscribed with a poem that curled Harry's lips into a smile was a giant, cavernous room with marble floors and columns. Each side was lined in high wooden desks and behind each desk was a goblin teller, some of whom counted large piles of gold on scales and others who were talking with witches and wizards.

Professor McGonagall led Harry up to a teller on the left and cleared her throat. "Mr. Potter wishes to make a withdrawal."

The goblin looked up from the piece of parchment it was reading and looked over his glasses, "And does Mr. Potter have his key?"

McGonagall produced a tiny golden key from her pocket and set it on the teller's desk. The goblin picked it up, peered at it shrewdly, and then nodded. "Griphook!" He called and not moments later a smaller, younger goblin scurried forward. "Take Mr. Potter to his vault."

Harry only had a brief moment to wonder why his professor had his vault key before the elder witch turned to him. "Go with Griphook Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall told him, "I have to retrieve something out of another vault while we're here."

So Harry followed Griphook into a haphazard cart. "Hold tight," was Harry's only warning before the cart shot off like a roller coaster. Down, down, Harry swallowed a scream of delight as the cart descended further before suddenly jerking right. The ride continued; right, left, straight, right….Harry lost track when he swore he caught a glimpse of some sort of monstrous beast. At last the cart came to an abrupt hold and the goblin stepped out. Harry followed and watched as the goblin ran a sharpened fingernail down the door. A series of locks could be heard unlocking and finally the door split in two and swung open.

Harry felt his jaw drop at the sight. There was a huge pile of glittering gold that was almost as tall as he was and it was surrounded by even bigger piles of little bronze and silver pieces. "The gold ones are Galleons, the silver ones are Sickles, and the bronze ones are Knuts." The goblin explained when he saw Harry's gob smacked expression. "Seventeen Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle."

"This is all mine?" Harry asked, feeling quite soverwhelmed.

"Of course it is, though it's not the extent of the Potter fortune. The family vault is sealed until you turn seventeen." Harry looked at the goblin in surprise.

"There's more?"

"This is your trust fund, Mr. Potter. For your schooling and any expenses you encounter until you graduate Hogwarts. Thereafter your trust will dissolve back into the main Potter family vault. Inside that vault are any valuables of the nonmonetary value and of course the gold. There are a few properties but I do not know the specifics."

Harry looked at Griphook in disbelief, "How do you know all of this?"

"I want the honor of being a Family account manager one day, Mr. Potter. It is the job of each manager to know tentative basics on all old families because in one way or another they are all connected."

"Can I – I mean is there a way to know what all was left to me?"

The goblin nodded, "All you have to do is ask to speak to your Account Manager, Longfang."

Harry's mind began to make loose plans, "Thank you Griphook you've taught me a lot. One last question, is there anything like a wallet to hold the money I withdraw?"

The goblin tossed a small black drawstring bag at Harry who deftly caught it in mid-air. "Those pouches are Gringotts standard issue and they are charmed to hold more than they look to. There are also gold cards for wealthier families but you'd have to ask Longfang for one."

With that Harry scooped up fistfuls of galleons – only stopping when he estimated he had taken somewhere around a hundred – and a fistful of both Sickles and Knuts. The idea of a gold card was instantly appealing; Harry knew he had much to learn which meant books and now that he had money he would like some clothes that weren't Dudley's hand-me-downs.

The ride back was quick and once again Harry thanked Griphook before making his way over to Professor McGonagall. "Professor!"

"Get everything you need?" Harry nodded, quite pleased with his trust vault and the little goblin who had helped him. "Good now, I thought we could make quick work of getting your supplies before grabbing a light lunch. I have to be in Ireland in time to deliver more letters."

"Is there a way for me to get back on my own Professor?" Harry asked, feigning nonchalance. He desperately wanted to stay in the magical world and thought he'd go mad if he was forced back to Private Drive. Professor McGonagall looked at him with a torn expression, as if she both understood his plight and but it was against her better judgement to leave a child on his own. "It's just – I mean I want to get plenty of books to learn about the magical world and I want clothes of my own. I've never had any proper ones."

Professor McGonagall broke, Harry could see it just by looking at her and he suppressed a triumphant smile. "Well…I suppose I could have Tom watch out for you. There are rooms above the Leaky Cauldron for rent, but only one night Mr. Potter, understood?"

Harry nodded quickly with a bright smile, "Of course Professor."

This seemed to appease Professor McGonagall, "When you get your wand all you'll need to do is stand on the curb on the Muggle street and raise your wand in the air. This signals the Knight Bus and for fifteen sickles they'll take you anywhere in the U.K."

Harry nodded and the Professor continued, "Let's just get a bite to eat then. I can imagine you're anxious to explore without your teacher and I don't blame you, it's quite common. Though I do urge you to be careful and to be in your room before nightfall."

"So what class do you teach Professor?" Harry asked as they strolled back down the cobblestone street towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall answered proudly, "Which is the alteration of the form or appearance of an object – or in advanced Transfiguration, person – by altering the molecular structure."

"Can you transfigure something for me?" Harry asked, earning a laugh from the witch.

McGonagall looked at him shrewdly for a moment before she pointed her wand at him. At once his clothes began to shift and change and Harry found once they were settled, that they now fit him perfectly. "Brilliant," Harry said in awe. He could not wait to get his own wand.

"Your father was extremely gifted at Transfiguration, first in his class to succeed in Human Transformations. In his first class he managed to make himself sprout horns – I nearly keeled over in shock." A fond smiled played on McGonagall's lips as she reminisced. "Your mother however was exceptional at Charms."

Harry was immediately alarmed as they sat down at a table inside the pub and McGonagall wiped a stray tear away. "You knew them well?"

"Aye, your father was exceedingly gifted; I often tutored him in advanced magic. He earned his Masters under my tutelage and we spent many a days together during the summer." Her voice was quiet and laced in a sorrow that Harry would never know – at least not for his parents.

"How did he die?" McGonagall had known this question was coming, that this conversation was unavoidable after the explosion back at Private Drive, yet her face still went pale.

Nervously she played with the cup of tea that had appeared in front of her. "You have to understand Harry, that the wizarding world is not perfect, far from it actually." McGonagall took a deep breath before she continued, "There was a dark wizard – more powerful than you could imagine and so inhumanly evil that many thought he was a demon. He gathered other dark wizards, Death Eaters, and waged a terroristic war on the Ministry of Magic – yes there's a Ministry.

"Light wizards banded together to try and stop the Dark wizards but the Dark Lord –" McGonagall, if possible, went even paler. "V-Voldemort," she stuttered with a violent shudder, "was too strong. No one who stood against him lived. Your parents were part of the fight against him and they were well known for their skills. V- Well we call him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he went after your parents and they perished."

The whole room seemed ear shatteringly quiet to Harry who grew uncomfortable at McGonagall's haunted gaze. She was no longer looking at him but staring at out the window. "He tried to kill you too." She said hoarsely and Harry stiffened. "There's a curse so powerful that it's impossible to block, it's called the Killing Curse and it immediately severs your soul from your body. He cast it on you – by all rights you should have died – but something happened."

With each word Harry's blood chilled. "Nobody knows how but you survived the impossible with only a scar on your forehead, some say your mother sacrificed her life for yours, but You-Know-Who vanished. Nobody has seen or heard of him in a decade."

"What?" Harry asked, his voice cutting through the atmosphere like a knife.

Professor McGonagall's gaze snapped back to Harry and she smiled a humorless, grim smile. "You are known as the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry. Every child has been brought up on stories of how you defeated the worst Dark Lord in centuries."

They hadn't ordered any food and suddenly Harry was glad of it. He had completely lost his appetite and had a sudden urge to get far away from the Transfiguration Professor. "I – Thank you for helping me today Professor but I think I'll let you get on with the other students who are waiting for their letter." With that Harry stood and turned to make his way back to the Alley when McGonagall's hand caught his shoulder.

Her eyes were full of pity and Harry looked over her shoulder with his teeth clenched. "Remember Mr. Potter one night, I will check with Tom that you do not stay longer."

With a sharp tug Harry pulled away made his way back to the alley. He was famous? Famous for somehow killing a powerful Dark Wizard? Harry wanted to scoff, he couldn't have hell he couldn't even defend himself against muggles. He was weak and pathetic…

Harry's emerald eyes found the store that had caught his interest on the way to Gringotts, Ollivander's Wand Shop. He may be weak now but Harry vowed he wouldn't be for long. The first step to achieving that would be a wand.

Ollivander's was blessedly quiet and the wand maker was behind the counter polishing a dark red wood wand. Harry felt a shiver roll down his spine as the magic in the room embraced him and he found Ollivander staring at him as if trying to read his soul. The wand maker laid down the wand and motioned for Harry to close the door behind him. "Ah, Harry Potter I thought I'd be seeing you."

"Hello Mr. Ollivander." Harry replied politely feeling very peculiar at the wand maker's silver stare.

"Now, Mister Potter, which is your wand arm?" Ollivander asked as he produced his own sandy colored wand and flicked it at the counter. Immediately a tape measure sprung to life and zoomed over to Harry and began measuring him.

"Er- I write with my right hand, sir." Harry replied distractedly as he watched in fascination as the little tape measure began measuring the space between his eyes and the length of his fingers. Ollivander nodded and disappeared behind the tall shelves that housed more wands than he could count.

After a few minutes Ollivander returned with and armful of wand boxes that he placed on the counter. With a flick of his wand the tape measure zoomed back to the counter and went immobile. "Step up, step up. Let's try this first," Harry stepped forward as Ollivander pulled a cream colored wand from a box and handed it to him.

It had barely been in his grasp a second before Ollivander ripped it away and produced a new one, this one a slightly darker brown. He looked at Harry expectantly, "Well give it a wave."

Harry waved the wand and the glass vase with a rose was shattered. "Nope, nope. Larch is definitely not for you." He waved his wand and a few boxes on the counter went zooming back to the shelves.

"Let's try Birch," Ollivander handed Harry a longer light brown wand and he waved it. Along the far wall wand boxes shot out of their shelf and went flying. "Apparently not. Here try Elm."

They exchanged wand after wand, each either causing more chaos in the small store or failing to produce anything at all. It wasn't until Harry was handed an Ebony wand that a single green spark was emitted. It was progress but still not right. For half an hour Harry tried all kinds of wands; Pine, Hawthorne, Red Oak, Dogwood, and Cypress. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever find a wand when Ollivander looked at him speculatively. "I wonder."

The wand maker disappeared again, this time behind a curtain that was behind the counter, and returned moments later with only a single box. He handed Harry a wand that was a light brown it with a smooth polished handle.

As soon as it touched his fingers Harry knew this was his wand. A sense of warmth enveloped his hand and he felt his magic react, pouring into the wand as if anxiously greeting an old friend. Harry raised his hand and brought it down, producing a shower of silver sparks. A great smile erupted on his face as he felt his soul sing, he was a real wizard.

"Bravo! Bravo! Yes this is most definitely your wand. Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven inches… a very unusual pairing but nice and supple nonetheless." Ollivander, despite his merry words, looked pensive. As the older man took back the wand and moved back toward the counter Harry heard him mumble 'Curious…curious…'

"Sorry, but what's curious?" For a long moment Ollivander froze and said nothing, but then the wand maker turned around and his eyes searched Harry's.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold Mr. Potter. Your mother's, your father's, Albus Dumbledore's, even He – Who – Must – Not – Be – Named. They have all purchased their wands here." Harry felt his stomach clench at that. "It just so happens that the Phoenix, whose tail feather lies in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is curious Mr. Potter, that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."

"Voldemort and I have brother wands?" His voice was breathless and airy; he couldn't actually catch his breath. It was as if it had been knocked out of him.

"Curious isn't it?" Then Ollivander bent closer to Harry and studied him carefully as if looking for something. "I think we will see great things from you Mr. Potter, after all the Dark Lord did great things – terrible – but great."

Harry liked the sound of that and felt his lips curl into a smile. "Mr. Ollivander, is there anything special about brother wands? Any meaning behind it or consequences?"

For a long while the wand maker looked terrified and as he gazed at Harry the younger wizard could actually feel the inspection of himself. Finally the fear subsided and was replaced with a look that Harry was very familiar with, eager curiosity. "There are strange laws regarding wands, Mr. Potter. Subtle yet strong, these laws have been tested countless times over in wand lore. Wand of Elder, never prosper – Thestral hairs will never bow to any but those who walk with death – and brother wands shall never duel each other."

Harry felt his breath quicken, "They won't…?"

Ollivander looked to Harry sharply, "They can't Mr. Potter, they are unable."

"But – I mean Voldemort is gone, isn't he?" The wand maker flinched at the Dark Lord's name but made no other move as Harry leaned forward.

"No one knows what happened that night Mr. Potter. No one is even sure that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is really dead. There was no body ever found and his wand was never recovered. It was as if he vanished." Harry shuddered at the elder wizard's words. If what McGonagall had told him about that night was true – that he had survived the unstoppable Killing Curse – could it perhaps not have been something his mother had done, but because of their wand connection?

"How are wands chosen Mr. Ollivander? Is it random or - ?"

Ollivander chuckled condescendingly at the question, "The wand chooses the wizard Mr. Potter, the – " He stopped short as if he had been startled by something. "Do you believe in fate?"

The question had been asked so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear it. "Is it possible the Killing Curse rebounded because you were destined for this wand?"

Normally his mind was not one to contemplate anything quite as heavy as life, death, god, or fate…but Harry couldn't shirk the overwhelming sureness that came with their conversation. Suddenly, Harry wasn't sure that having this conversation with Ollivander was such a good idea.

"No body…no wand… and a boy he cannot kill." Ollivander murmured quietly, staring at Harry. "Almost as if – "

Ollivander straightened back up and made his way back behind the counter. "The wand is seven galleons; would you like to purchase a dragon hide wand holster as well?"

"Please," Harry replied as he tried to wrap his mind around all that he had just learned. Ollivander didn't say another word as he bagged Harry's purchases and the younger wizard made his way to the door. Harry stopped with his hand on the knob and turned around to find grey eyes watching him.

"What was he like sir?" Harry asked before he could smother his curiosity. "What was Voldemort like when you met him?"

"He is like the sun," Ollivander replied after a minute, his eyes far away. "He burns so brightly that others are invisible next to his splendor."

Harry left the wand shop and disappeared into the crowded Alley, thoughts of this mysterious Dark Lord and their fated connection on his mind.