Thanks to my kind reviewers! I am overwhelmed at your response. Note that some of this chapter is adapted from PS/SS.

Chapter 4

The boy was waiting for him. At the sight of Snape emerging from the Dursley residence the green eyes brightened, and Snape received a wide grin of greeting.

"You really let her have it! You must not be afraid of anything!"

Snape could not let pass such an opportunity to suppress embryo Gryffindorishness. "A wise man, Mr Potter, learns to gauge danger. Fear can be a useful tool and should not be dismissed. However, your aunt is only a muggle, and cannot possibly pose a threat to me."

"What's a muggle?" Harry squinted, taking in the new word.

"A person without magic—someone who is neither a witch nor a wizard nor a magical creature. Most of the human beings in the world are muggles. Britain's magical population is less than fourteen thousand."

The boy was listening intently, very eager to understand what Snape was saying. They walked companionably down the street, as Snape looked about him for a discreet apparition site.

There! At the end of the street there was a blind corner, sheltered by a wing wall. Unless someone was directly on the walk in front of them or driving past, they could not be seen.

"Step over here a moment, Mr Potter." He gestured to the spot. "It took me some time to find you, but now that I have been here once, I shall always be able to come and go by magical means. We are going to apparate to Diagon Alley, and we don't want muggles to see."

The boy did not hesitate to obey him. Snape was quite gratified. He had expected the boy to be arrogant and willful, but Snape now understood that this Potter could not be his father—not the rich, adored James Potter, his parents' long-awaited only child. This boy had been a pupil in the hard school of life—as had Snape. Potter might indeed be hesitant to trust adults, considering his guardians, but their strange meeting had dispelled what suspicions the boy might have about authority figures—or at least about Snape personally.

They stepped into the shadows. Snape glanced at Harry and then frowned. He did not want the boy to be a laughingstock, nor did he wish to be seen with a laughingstock trailing after him. It was too much like his own past.

"Mr Potter, before we go, I think I must do something about your clothing." Snape was quite good at charming clothes to fit properly. Those charms had been among the first he had learned, when he could no longer bear his housemates' mockery. In very short order, the blue sweatshirt was shrunk to fit Harry's thin body. Snape noticed the belt holding up the enormous slacks.

"Remove the belt, Mr Potter. It would not do to reduce its size when it is wrapped around you twice. It might squeeze you in two."

"Eww," Harry muttered, quickly unbuckling and removing the worn strip of leather.

Snape adjusted the slacks, taking care of the details that mattered. The baggy knees and stubborn stains were spot-charmed away. Snape had Harry hold up the belt, while he carefully measured Harry's waist with his eyes. The leather of the belt was polished a fresh brown with a shoe-shining charm. When Snape had finished, the boy looked, if not well-dressed, at least neat. Finally, Snape cast a "Scourgify" at the rotten trainers.

"There's nothing more I can do about the shoes, I'm afraid. Shoes are a tricky business. Much better for you to buy new ones."

"But sir!" the boy protested softly. "I haven't any money yet! Don't we need to wait until Uncle Vernon gives you that government money?"

"No more questions now," Snape answered impatiently, eager to be gone. "I must hold fast to you while we apparate, Mr Potter. This may be unpleasant."

"What's does 'apparate' mean?-Whooooaaa!"

The familiar compression, the moment of utter oblivion, and then Diagon Alley was all about them. The boy beside him stumbled, and then nearly twisted his head off, trying to look in all directions. "Whoa!" Harry repeated, more softly. Then he watched, fascinated, while his new professor adjusted his own appearance.

First, what looked like a black handkerchief was pulled from a pocket of the tweed jacket. Quite suddenly, the handkerchief became a large buttoned garment, and it was slipped on, hiding the muggle clothing. Snape scowled at the sight of khaki showing under his robes, and spelled the slacks black temporarily. He would need them to be their normal color when he went back to Surrey. He noticed the boy grinning in delight, and gave him a nod.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr Potter."

He was very much his mother's son, Snape decided. The boy was a fountain of excited questions, but for all that, tried to be polite and not stare and point at sights that clearly amazed him.

"Where do we go first? Harry asked.

"To Gringotts, the wizarding bank," Snape answered, striding along confidently. "Your parents, as I told you before, left you provided for. We will use your money there for your school needs." Thinking a little more, he added, "Since your guardians do not seem to know about your inheritance, I think it would be wise if you said nothing about it, don't you?"

The boy nodded grimly. "Or Uncle Vernon would want to get at it."

"Precisely. It's none of their affair. If they ask you how you came by your things, you can tell them that there is a fund for poor students. The fund exists, so it is not a lie—" Too well did Snape know it existed—"but you need not tell them that you did not make use of said fund." He raised a brow, with a faint, conspiratorial smile.

Harry smirked, pleased at the idea.

The huge white building was before them. Snape whispered, "The bank is administered by the goblins. Very clever, very fierce, and very prone to take offense. Do not stare, and speak courteously."

The boy's eyes were very wide as they passed the goblin guard in his scarlet and gold. He nodded back when the goblin bowed. Once inside the bronze doors, they approached the silver inner doors, and Snape heard the boy whispering the inscription under his breath-

"Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed…"

His eyes were huge. Snape remarked, "It's very secure. The goblins have a reputation to uphold." He bent down and murmured, "They have dragons guarding the lowest levels."

The boy's face lit with delight. "Real dragons?"

Snape nodded gravely in assent. Slowing his stride to allow the boy time to look, they passed down the long marble hall to the counter. A goblin looked up enquiringly.

"Good day to you," Snape said, "We are here to make a withdrawal from Mr Harry Potter's vault."

"You have his key, sir?"

"As you see." Snape presented the small golden key for the goblin's inspection.

There was a pause for scrutiny.

"That seems to be in order. I will have someone take you down to the vault. Griphook!"

Snape secretly enjoyed the whizzing, dizzy rides through Gringotts. He had not experienced one until he was given his position at Hogwarts and actually had money. This ride, down, down, left, left, right, down, was far longer than anything he had previously experienced. It made sense. The Potter fortune was an old one, and the vault would be deep in the Gringotts caverns. The boy beside him, all innocent of his family history, was clearly having the time of his life. He twisted about eagerly.

"I never know—" the boy called out, "—what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmites on the bottom," Snape called back, remembering a muggle school lesson from long ago. "Stalactites hang from the roof. They hold "tite" or they'd fall!"

A sweet boy's laugh, dissipating into the air rushing past them.

At length the cart stopped beside a small door in the passage wall. The goblin unlocked the door. Harry bounded from the cart, and Snape followed more slowly, trying to hide his anticipation. He'd always wanted to see this kind of treasure for himself.

Green smoke billowed out of the doorway. As it cleared Harry gasped in wonder. Snape caught the glint of gold, and waved the last of the smoke away, standing behind the boy.

"This is mine?" Harry breathed.

"Yes, sir," the goblin Griphook answered, rather indifferently. "Will you be wanting a bag, or did you bring your own?"

"A bag, please," Snape answered quietly, giving the boy a nudge. They entered the vault. It was a room of stone and metal, some twenty feet by twenty feet. The ceiling was not quite so high—perhaps no more than ten feet, Snape guessed. Inside were piles of gold, silver, and bronze.

"All mine!" Harry wondered. He grinned at Snape. "All the times the Dursleys complained about how much I cost them—I had all this buried deep under London!" He picked up a piece of gold, and fingered it curiously.

Snape looked at the coins. It was a decent sum—but—

He strode to the door and whispered urgently to the goblin. "Does Mr Potter have another vault?"

The goblin cocked his head. "This is the Potter vault. There is no other."

"I thought—perhaps—that this might be a trust vault, since Mr Potter is a minor." The goblin's expression was chilly and imperturbable. Snape tried again. "This is it?"

"This is the Potter vault. There is no other," the goblin replied stonily.

"I think Mr Potter will need a statement of his assets today."

"You can pick one up at the counter as you leave, sir. It will show today's withdrawal, as well."

"Excellent."

Thinking hard, Snape stepped back into the vault, where the boy was still playing with the shining coins. Teacher mode was best at the moment, as he struggled to contain his disappointment and confusion. "The gold ones are galleons," he lectured. "Seventeen silver sickles to a galleon, and twenty-nine bronze knuts to a sickle. The wizarding world can't do things the easy way, so don't expect decimal systems here!"

Meanwhile, his mind was in a whirl. This is it? The fabled Potter fortune? Where are the jewels, the magical artifacts, the weapons, the crystals, the property deeds? –the cupboards of family silver and the trunks of codices and scrolls and grimoires and family ledgers? He looked again at the piles of coins. A decent sum of money. It will get the boy through school very comfortably, but no farther. I know that James Potter boasted that he would never have to work for a living. Where the bloody hell is the rest of it?

He controlled his face, and gave the boy the bag and helped him fill it with plenty to buy his supplies and the few extras Snape thought important. If this really was everything, Mr Potter would need be taught to husband his resources carefully. Nonetheless, he would see that the boy made the most of this first, most memorable visit to Diagon Alley.

"That should do very well," he declared, straightening. "We shall obtain a statement of your holdings before we leave, Mr Potter. This money must last you through all seven years of Hogwarts."

Another wild cart ride. Snape smiled faintly at the boy's whoops of joy, still puzzling over the fallen fortunes of the House of Potter. Had that idiot James really gone through it all before he was killed? Wasn't there a manor house somewhere? He knew that Potter's parents had taken in Sirius Black when he was disowned. And then, too, Potter had told everyone about a summer home in the south of France and a hunting lodge in the Highlands. Lily and Potter had been living in some cottage in a place called Godric's Hollow at their deaths, but that had been a hiding place only. His face cleared. That must be it! There is a house—or houses- somewhere, and the treasures are kept there. Dumbledore will know. Not wanting to spoil the boy's delight in his little windfall, he said nothing about it.

The statement was duly delivered, and Snape frowned over it, folded it carefully, and pocketed it. They would need to set aside a place for the boy to keep important papers. Perhaps in his trunk- "Where have you been sending the statements?" Of course there were statements. Snape himself received one quarterly from Gringotts.

"They are sent to the Headmaster of Hogwarts," the goblin at the counter answered blandly. "Would Mr Potter prefer that they be sent to him directly?"

"No!" Harry whispered. "The Dursleys will see them!" He told the goblin. "Send them to Professor Snape, please. He can give them to me. It's safer."

The goblin queried Snape with a dubious look, but Snape nodded and led the boy away.

"Where to now?" Harry asked eagerly.

Snape had thought about it, and led him down the street, past Eeylops Owl Emporium, to a little door with a brightly colored sign hanging above it.

Iris Forsyte, Oculist

"I'm getting new glasses?"

"Don't you think it would be a good idea?" Snape asked silkily. "I'm sure you want to do well at Hogwarts. It could be an advantage to actually see."

The boy snorted, and smiled wryly.

The door opened on a narrow stairway. They ascended to a sunny room where a snowy-haired witch greeted them.

"Good day to you! I am Madam Forsyte. Professor Snape, I believe. And who is this?" She smiled down at Harry and saw the scar. She gasped.

Snape did not want a scene. "Mr Potter needs something better than muggle eyeglasses, Madam. I have heard that you are talented—and discreet."

"Of course!" Her smile softened, and she took them into a little examining room. "Let's see what you have, Mr Potter." She handled the much-mended glasses with trepidation and disgust, tutting to herself.

There followed a quarter-hour of meticulous testing. Harry found it was not much like the eye exam the school nurse at Little Whinging Primary had given him. He stared into colored crystals, and then three drops of a potion that Madam Forsyte discussed with Professor Snape were placed in each eye. He read different sized printing from cards, but then she also had him look at a picture of a unicorn in a forest. To his amazement, the unicorn moved, and Madam Forsyte asked him questions about when he could see it best: first with his right eye, and then with his left. She took out her own wand (which was shorter than Professor Snape's) and did spells on him. Nothing hurt, and Harry found it possible to lie back quietly. It would be nice to have better glasses.

"I would like you to rest your eyes for five minutes, Harry," Madam Forsyte said. "I'm going to talk to Professor Snape in the next room. Please try to keep your eyes shut, because it will help me fit you better. If you fall asleep, that's fine."

Harry could not imagine sleeping when everything around him was so exciting, but he dutifully closed his eyes. In seconds, her unseen little charm had worked, and he was asleep. Snape followed the oculist out to the other room.

"He certainly needs something better than those!" she said, glancing scornfully at Harry's glasses. "Muggles must be very primitive if that's the best they can do!" She bit her lip. "I don't mean to offend, but part of his problem appears to be due to nutritional deficiencies. He needs supplements right away, or his eyes will deteriorate badly starting in his twenties."

"I shall see to it. He'll have a complete physical examination at Hogwarts. What kind of eyewear do you recommend?"

"He's been living with muggles?" the witch muttered angrily. "Who thought that a good idea?" Giving herself a little shake, she said, "I could actually reshape his eyes and improve his vision, but that would take a few years, and require that I fit him with lenses on the surface of his eye."

"What the muggles call 'contact lenses.'" Snape nodded.

The witch sniffed. "These are a great deal better than the muggle article. They'll last a year, so you'll need to bring him back next summer for another examination. You should let your mediwitch at school know that he's wearing them, in case he has an eye injury. They are fairly expensive, and so not everyone can afford them."

"How much?"

"Fifty galleons apiece."

"Done." Snape did not bother to haggle. They were medically necessary, first of all. If the boy's vision could be salvaged, it would be outrageous not to do so. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Without his glasses, Harry Potter did not look much like his father James, except for the unruly dark hair. Yes, all in all, it was an excellent idea.

They discussed the potion dosages in more detail, and returned to the examining room to wake Harry.

"Contact lenses?" the boy asked doubtfully. "Would I need a special case for them?"

When it was explained that the oculist would apply them and leave them in for a year he was more open to the idea. Snape told him, "I think it would be best, Mr Potter. These lenses will actually correct your vision, over time. Furthermore, your glasses make you vulnerable. With these contact lenses, however, you needn't worry about lost or broken glasses if you go flying." Or are in a duel, Snape thought to himself.

"Flying?" Harry asked, distracted.

"And you will see much better," the oculist added firmly.

Harry smiled nervously. "All right then. Does it take a long time?"

"Just a few minutes. You don't want any special colors, do you? Not with those green eyes of yours?"

"Certainly not," Snape answered. He did not want Lily's eyes to be hidden from him. "Clear lenses are far more practical."

Another quarter hour found them back in the Alley. Harry blinked a few times, a little bewildered by the clarity of the world before him. Then he turned to Snape.

"What was that about flying?"

Snape sighed, and resigned himself to a brief explanation of Quidditch, the wizarding passion for the game, and the use of brooms. They walked past Quality Quidditch supplies, and Harry craned to see over the heads of some red-haired older boys who were discussing an object called the "Nimbus Two Thousand." It did not look exactly like a broom to Harry, who had some acquaintance with them, but as they walked away, Snape assured him that wizards and witches were indeed able to fly on them.

"Could I go back and get one, sir?" Harry begged.

"On your letter it clearly states that first years are not allowed to bring broomsticks. However," Snape relented grudgingly, "you will all be given flying lessons. If you find you enjoy it, perhaps you can budget some money next year for a broomstick of your own. By that time you will know enough to choose wisely."

"That would be super!"

Snape pulled out Harry's supply list. "You need to make your purchases for school, not worry about Quidditch."

Harry read, "—Three sets of plain work robes—black—"

"Yes, let's get you dressed for the wizarding world," Snape agreed.

He took Harry to Madam Malkin's and told the proprietress curtly, "Hogwarts: full kit, and labels to be charmed later." No need for the witch and her shop assistants to start fawning on "Famous Harry Potter." To Harry, he said, "I'm going to the other side of the shop to pick up a few things for myself. When you are finished, wait here for me," he pointed at a bench, "until I return."

Harry was hurried to the back of the shop by the kindly, squat witch. "First year, dear? Don't worry—got the lot here—and another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

He stood on a stool, letting the witch slip a black robe over his head and then start pinning it to fit. A gangling red-haired boy was beside him, grimacing.

"First year, too?"

"Yeah."

The boy looked at him doubtfully. "You're pretty small. Are you sure you're eleven?"

Harry tried to stand taller. "I'm eleven today."

"Oh. Well, then, happy birthday."

"Thanks."

They were quiet, as they turned and lifted their arms. Then the other boy said,

"Know which house you'll be in?"

Harry had no idea what he was talking about. "No, I don't."

"All my brothers have been in Gryffindor. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine being in Slytherin. I'd just leave, wouldn't you?"

"Hmmm." Harry grunted, turning. He wanted Professor Snape to come back and tell him what the boy meant by "houses."

Another silence, and the boy asked, "Do you have your own broom?"

"No. I wish I did."

"Do you play Quidditch?"

"No."

Harry could see that the other boy's opinion of him had gone down considerably. "Well," said the redhead, condescendingly, "my brothers and I play Quidditch all the time at home. We have our own pitch. Charlie was Seeker for Gryffindor and the twins are Beaters on the house team now. I plan to try out myself—not this year, of course-" he added hastily, "-but someday."

"It sounds like fun. I heard they give us flying lessons."

"Yeah—I—" the boy's eyes widened and he said, "Look there! That's got to be the scariest man I've ever seen!"

Harry looked, and saw Professor Snape's head above a rack of dress robes. He was talking to an assistant, who was sorting through a pile of white linen. Snape saw Harry smiling at him, and acknowledged him with a nod. Harry told the boy, "That's Professor Snape. He teaches at Hogwarts."

"I've heard of him!" The boy answered, horrified. "He's the head of Slytherin! Fred and George think he's a slimy, greasy git, and people say he's a dark wizard, and he used to be in league with You-Know-Who."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly. "He's helping me get my school things."

"Is he?" asked 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 boy, a little embarrassed

Madam Malkin said to the redhead, "That's you done, my dear. Just the one new robe?"

The other boy hopped down, muttering. "Yeah, mum's fixing up some of my brothers' for me." He looked back at Harry.

"Reckon I'll see you at Hogwarts, then."

Harry nodded, and fidgeted impatiently while the witch finished. He was astonished at how fast his clothing was ready, and by the time it was all finished and paid for, he had a huge, soft bundle waiting on the bench beside him. Just as he was wondering how he would carry everything, Professor Snape appeared and shrank the bundle down to toy size.

He put it in a pocket, and said to Harry, "Now let's see to your books."

As they walked together, Snape noticed the boy's happy expression had clouded. He had seen the gingery hair of the other boy and presumed that Harry had met the newest Weasley to go to Hogwarts. What had the Weasley boy said to him?

"Professor Snape?"

"Yes, Mr Potter?"

"What do they mean by "houses?"