AUTHOR'S NOTE: For future reference, yes, I am aware that Malfoy got his robes, Hagrid got the Sorcerer's Stone out of Vault 713, and Quirrell was in the Leaky Cauldron on July 31, not July 15, but I've tweaked that for the sake of the story. Hope you don't mind too much.

Thank each and every one of you for all your kind reviews, faves and follows! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. :) It's your support that fuels my creative spirit!

…

Sirius walked over to the living room window and yanked it open. Inside the owl flew, and Sirius detached the letter.

"Stay here," Sirius told the owl politely. "I'm going to need you soon."

Harry looked down at the letter in shock. It was addressed to him, in emerald-green ink:

Mr. H. Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

"Go on," said Sirius, who looked excited, his grin as wide as ever. "Open it."

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)—

"Hey!" said Harry. "Dumbledore!"

"Yeah, he's the Headmaster," said Sirius, who still looked annoyed at the mention of Dumbledore, and nudged Harry to read on.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"Wait does it mean, they await my owl?" Harry asked.

"Return owl." Sirius conjured a scrap of paper out of midair, along with a quill pen and some ink. Harry wondered why he wasn't writing with a ballpoint pen, because he was sure people stopped writing with quill pens and ink bottles centuries ago. Harry watched what he was writing:

Dear Professor McGonagall,

My godson, Harry, has received his letter and will be boarding the school train September 1. I will escort him there. Good to hear from you again.

With all due respect,

Sirius Orion Black

Sirius tied this scrap of paper to the owl's leg. After nibbling a little at one of Barbara's brownies, it gave a loud hoot and flew out the window again. When he noticed Harry staring, he laughed.

"I thought you said you communicate with the fireplace," said Harry.

"The Floo network is something akin to your telephone," Sirius explained. "But when it comes to mail, instead of using a mailman, we use owls. Maybe we can get you one when we go to Diagon Alley today."

"We're going to—"

"We need to get your school supplies, don't we?" Sirius stood up, grinned, and pulled Harry up with him. "We can take the motorcycle. We're going to have to stop at Gringotts, though. You're going to need more money, and I need to make a withdrawal, too—that necklace I bought for Barbara cost me all of my spare Galleons. Of course, I bought it at a Muggle fine jewelry store, so I had to change money too…right pain in the neck, that is…I would have made a withdrawal when I was changing money, but I was kind of distracted, trying to figure out what I should get her."

"How did you decide?" asked Harry, as they walked through the foyer and out the front door. It was a hot, hot day.

"Well, let me give you some advice that will come in quite handy later in life," said Sirius, putting his arm around Harry. "Let's say it's cold outside, and you think your girlfriend could really do with something to keep her warm. So on Valentine's Day, what do you buy for her?"

"I don't know…an electric blanket?"

"Wrong," said Sirius. "The worst thing you can ever buy for a woman is something practical. What you buy for her is, a solid gold locket with her initials engraved on it with diamonds on the edges, a big box of chocolate, and of course a thoughtful card." Sirius paused. "But don't worry, you're too young for a girlfriend."

Most of what Harry had seen in terms of relationships came from TV, and the rest of it came from the sparks he had witnessed between his godfather and Mr. Glacier's secretary. Truthfully, he had never been able to see what the point of a relationship was, and as for Sirius and Barbara kissing earlier that day, he couldn't fathom what on Earth could make you want to do that in broad daylight on the hood of a car. It sounded a little boring—weird, maybe—but not romantic.

"I don't need one anyway," said Harry. Sirius just laughed and climbed onto the motorcycle, patting the back for Harry to climb on as well.

…

Once they reached London, Harry tried to prepare himself for his paparazzi as they walked to the Leaky Cauldron. When they walked inside, it was similar to last time. Nobody could get enough of Harry. Just as Harry was awkwardly shaking the hand of someone named Doris Crockford, as Sirius tapped his foot impatiently in the background, they were approached by a nervous-looking, pale young man, one of whose eyes was twitching.

"Ah, Quirinus," said Sirius, waving. "Harry, this is Professor Quirinus Quirrell. He'll be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

Quirrell gripped Harry's hand and stammered about how pleased he was to meet him. He had a very bad stutter.

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked politely.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts." Professor Quirrell looked scared of his own subject. With a nervous laugh he added, "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter? You'll be getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself."

"Sounds interesting," said Sirius, winking, although Quirrell looked frightened.

"B-But I m-m-might be s-seeing you soon, S-Sirius," Quirrell added.

"Why?" asked Harry.

But before their conversation could continue, Harry was mobbed by more fans. After ten minutes they were able to get out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley again. Harry was glad, because this time they could explore the shops. But they had to stop again at Gringotts first, so Harry and Sirius could make withdrawals. Gringotts was absolutely packed.

"Loads of students have just gotten their Hogwarts letters, remember," said Sirius in a low voice. "So all the Muggle-born students are changing their money, and then the Wizarding kids are making withdrawals…they need all hands on deck this time of year."

Harry and Sirius were stuck in line behind the largest person Harry had ever seen.

"Who's that?" Harry whispered.

"Hagrid," Sirius explained. "He's the groundskeeper at Hogwarts."

Harry listened once he heard Dumbledore's name again. Hagrid handed the goblin a letter, and asked about something in Vault 713. The goblin read the letter, then another goblin took Hagrid down into the tunnels to get it.

"What do you suppose it is?" Harry asked as they approached the counter.

"Well, whatever it is, if Hagrid's retrieving it, that means it's going to Hogwarts," Sirius replied shrewdly. "So it must be either very valuable or very dangerous. Possibly both."

Harry's vault was one floor above Sirius's, so they reached that one first. Harry gathered up some more money, enough for his first school year at Hogwarts, then it was back in the cart and down to Vault 711—the Black family vault, now Sirius's, as he was the last Black left.

Vault 711 was guarded by, to Harry's shock, a dragon.

"Down, Bessie," said the goblin in a bored voice, and the dragon stood aside.

"Why is your vault guarded by a dragon?" Harry asked.

"It's a high-security vault," said their goblin escort. "If any of our vaults contain over two million Galleons, they are required to be guarded by a dragon."

Sirius used his key to unlock his vault's door, and Harry followed him inside. It was much, much larger than Vault 687—bigger than Harry's bedroom—and it was crammed to bursting with money, piled into every nook and cranny. Sirius hastily grabbed some gold, a lot of it, and stuffed it into his enchanted pockets. Harry had the feeling he didn't want to stay there for very long. On his way out he gave the dragon a pat.

"See you, Bessie," he said. Harry remembered what Sirius had told him about having a connection with animals that most humans did not.

When they were out of Gringotts, Harry carrying his money bag, swinging it back and forth in the sunshine, they wondered where to go first. Finally, Sirius suggested getting Harry an early birthday present.

"Oh no, Sirius, no," said Harry, his face feeling hot. "You've done so much for me already—"

"So you'd rather not I get you that racing broom?" Sirius grinned and pointed to a store called Quality Quidditch Supplies. "That's the Nimbus Two Thousand, fastest broom there is. I remember James came to school his first year with a 1971 Cleansweep…Of course, something like that would belong in a museum now."

Harry was looking at his school supplies list. "It says you're not supposed to have a broom if you're a first year."

"Yes, he was determined to be the youngest Chaser in eighty years," said Sirius. "Of course he didn't get onto the Gryffindor team until second year, though, nobody does. But you can practice on this one, and use it for tryouts next year."

"Well…okay." Harry smiled. "Thanks."

"Right, so I'll buy the Nimbus while you go and get your uniform, all right?" said Sirius, pointing to a nearby store called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry nodded and they parted ways, Sirius heading for the Quidditch supplies store, Harry entering the robes shop.

"Hogwarts, dear?" said Madam Malkin, before Harry could speak. "Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

The other young man being fitted up had white-blonde hair and a pale, pointed face. Another witch was pinning up his long black robes. Harry was stood on a stool next to him while Madam Malkin pinned up Harry's robes.

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

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy in a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look 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. Have you got your own broom?"

Harry remembered what Sirius was buying for him right now, and replied, "Yes, the Nimbus Two Thousand."

"I play Quidditch too," said the boy (Harry got the feeling that he was trying to disguise the fact that he was impressed). "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?"

"Gryffindor, like my dad, and his dad before him," said Harry. The boy made a disparaging sound at the mention of Gryffindor, so Harry said indignantly, "What's wrong with Gryffindor?"

"All our family have been in Slytherin," said the boy proudly.

"Well, just because your family was all in Slytherin doesn't mean you will be, too," said Harry, remembering Sirius.

"I don't know where else I would go," said the boy. "None of the others sound very appealing. I mean, we went over Gryffindor—and Ravenclaw, they're a bunch of nerds—and Hufflepuffs are all such losers—who are you waving at? Is that your father?"

Harry was waving at Sirius, who was standing by the front window, carrying a long, slim package that could only contain the new Nimbus Two Thousand. For some reason, though, he wasn't waving back. Instead, he was scowling.

"No, that's my godfather," said Harry.

"Why is he with you?" sneered the boy. "Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," Harry told him.

"Oh, sorry," said the boy, although he didn't sound it. "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—"

"Why should they?" Harry interrupted, bristling, trying to remember what Sirius had told him. "Old blood doesn't matter anymore. What matters is your magical ability. My mother was Muggle-born, and she was just as good as any pureblood."

The boy scowled.

"Oh really? What's your surname?" he demanded.

But before Harry could say "Potter", Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, with his new school uniform, rushed outside to Sirius, who grabbed his shoulder.

"What were you doing, talking to Lucius Malfoy's son?" Sirius hissed. "I don't want you mixing with people like that!"

"M-Malfoy?" said Harry. "You mean, the family your cousin married into?"

"The very same!" Sirius said angrily. "I've never met the boy, but I could tell just by looking at him. He's the picture of his father, right down to that awful sneer. Don't go hanging around with him at school. I mean it."

"Trust me, I won't," said Harry. "He was very rude—and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't be allowed to go to Hogwarts."

"Of course he did," Sirius growled. "Narcissa married out of one snobby, prejudiced family right into the next!"

Harry could tell this was a touchy subject for Sirius. Sometimes he wondered if his godfather still longed for a normal childhood, the likes of which he had never really gotten to experience.

"Sirius," said Harry. "If you grew up in a household full of, you know, bad Dark wizards…why did you turn out, y'know, normal?"

"To this day I don't know," said Sirius, sticking his hands into his pockets. "For a long time I thought I was the one who wasn't normal. Remember, I didn't really know anything else. The first eleven years of my life revolved around lessons and social gatherings. The only time I was really allowed to leave the manor was when we were visiting someone else's manor, and that was never very fun. Dark Magic was just…well, that was what my life was. In fact, my first memory, one of my worst…my father's anniversary gift for my mother that year."

"What was it?" Harry asked, and Sirius's expression darkened.

"He'd been down Knockturn Alley again," Sirius said venomously. "So for my mother's anniversary gift, he bought her this special rope that would strangle anyone who held it unless they were a pureblood. Do you remember the way Barbara reacted when I got her those pearls? Well, that was how my mother reacted to her gift. But I remember just being horrified. I was only four or five, remember…So they were laughing and trying to decide where to hang it, and what could I do? I just sat in the corner and cried. I knew in my heart that what I was seeing was wrong. I didn't want to eat dinner that night but I had to because we were having Aunt Elladora over, and then they all got drunk and tried to do this horrible ritual to bring an old house-elf back to life. Luckily they were too drunk for it to actually work, but still…That night I wanted to get rid of the rope, but I was afraid it would strangle me too because even though I was a pureblood, I didn't feel like one.

"That's what I thought it was for a long time—fear. You know, I figured I was just afraid of all the Dark objects my father bought and these rituals they tried to do. But then I realized that it wasn't fear…it was disgust. Most kids run towards their fathers when they come home—well, I ran away, because I always knew what would happen next…" Sirius put on a high, simpering voice. "'Oh, Orion, what have you got now? What does this one do?' It was the role that had been neatly carved out for me. I was supposed to be a Dark wizard, and that's what scared me. I didn't know what my problem was. I couldn't understand why I found all this horrible when everyone else I knew took pride in it, celebrated it. But I couldn't voice these opinions I had, or, well, you know what would happen, I'd just get hit.

"But then I got to go to Hogwarts, and it was like being born again. I finally realized that, like you said, it was my family who had the problem, not me. There was a name for what I was—a blood traitor—and I liked it, became proud of it. Plenty of people thought the way I did, that everyone was equal. I found my true family in Gryffindor House…and especially in James. I asked him why I'd never met him if he was a pureblood, and he said the other pureblood families didn't like his family because, like me, they were against the Dark Arts and blood purity. James hated the Dark Arts just as much as I did, maybe even more. Five years later I ran away from home and moved in with James, and that's when it all finally stopped."

Harry was in shock at Sirius's story; he was trying to think of something to say when Sirius added, "But…I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me. That's the past. Here—do you want to hold your racing broom?"

"Sure," said Harry, feeling a little more cheerful at the thought. He shouldered the broom and they walked on through Diagon Alley, getting Harry's books at a shop called Flourish and Blotts. Harry got stuck on a book full of curses.

Sirius snapped his fingers. "What are you doing?"

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley," Harry explained.

"Great, but you're not supposed to use magic in the Muggle world," Sirius told him.

"You used magic to clean Barbara's dishes," Harry pointed out.

"That was different," said Sirius. "I just wanted to get it over with quicker."

"What was the big hurry?" Harry demanded. "I've cleaned the dishes without magic loads of times before—"

"The hurry is that all these shops are going to be closing soon," Sirius said strictly, "so you'd better just focus on your books."

Once they were done in Flourish and Blotts, they headed to the Apothecary to buy Harry's ingredients for Potions class. Then they visited Eyelops Owl Emporium, where Harry bought a beautiful large snowy white owl. She was sleeping, head under her wing, in her cage, as Harry and Sirius emerged from the store.

"Looks like we only have my wand left," Harry observed, looking at his school list. Getting a magic wand had been what he had been looking forward to most.

When they entered Ollivander's, the wand shop, it reminded Harry of his school library, where the teachers always shushed students who talked. All of a sudden he had a lot more questions, but he felt like he should keep his mouth shut. Sirius sat down on one spindly chair to wait.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice from somewhere behind Harry. It was an old man, with wide, shining pale eyes.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

Mr. Ollivander moved closely to Harry, and started telling him about the wands his mother and father had bought. Apparently, Mr. Ollivander didn't understand personal space, because he was standing very close, so close that Harry could see his reflection in the old man's eyes.

"And that's where…" Mr. Ollivander touched Harry's lightning scar (again, he seemed to have no sense of personal space at all). "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. 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…"

"It's the wizard who does the dirty work, not the wand," said Sirius from the chair.

"Sirius Black," said the man mysteriously, gesturing to Sirius. "It wasn't long ago since you were in here, was it? Got to get a new wand after they broke your old one in half…It was quite an improvement. Mahogany. Twelve inches. An unusual core—one hair from a hippogriff's tail. Of course I remember your first wand, too…Birch, ten inches, dragon heartstring. Both wands excellent for nonverbal magic, of course."

After he was done talking to Sirius, it was time for Mr. Ollivander to find Harry's wand.

As the minutes passed, Harry felt like he had waved every wand in the shop. Mr. Ollivander seemed to know, somehow, when the wand wasn't right, but Harry was starting to doubt that they would find one that was right. Finally, Mr. Ollivander had Harry try a wand that was made of holly and eleven inches long. The core was a phoenix feather.

And this wand was different. When Harry waved this new wand, he felt a warmth in his fingers, and red and gold sparks shot out of the tip.

"That's it!" Sirius said happily. "That's the one!"

"Oh, bravo!" Mr. Ollivander cried. "Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

"Sorry, but what's curious?" asked Harry.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter," Mr. Ollivander replied, staring at Harry with his pale eyes. "Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter…After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great."

"You mean, like murdering Harry's parents?" Sirius interrupted. "I'm sure he appreciates you mentioning it."

After that the two of them were both a little eager to get out of there. Harry paid seven Galleons for the wand and they left.