Part 3

A/N Is this world building? I've never done that before, if it is. My original characters are not the main thrust of the story, but are important to it, as (per my usual) there have to be some decent adults, and JKR gave us none. They will be sticking around for most of the story, but we're moving back to a more Harry-centric POV.

~~ back on the alley ~~

As the Harry Potter and Asa Steppenage walked into the Leaky Cauldron, they were ignored by the clientele. Asa moved to Tom at the bar. "Do you have any rooms available until the Hogwarts Express goes?"

Tom knew who Steppenage was, and he figured this little wizard had run into trouble and needed shelter until he could get to Hogwarts. It was only a bit less than a fortnight, so he nodded. It wouldn't be much business lost.

"I can pay, sir," Harry assured the barkeep, not wanting to be a pest.

Smiling down at the urchin, Tom tilted his head. "Can ye now? Well, then, I'll have to get the prince's quarters for ye."

Asa smiled, but Harry's eyes widened. "Oh, no, sir. I don't need anything much. I'd like just the smallest room you have. What if you have families that want to rent big rooms?"

Asa caught Tom's eye. "I think Harry would prefer a small, cozy room to an opulent suite. So long as he has a WC, a bed, and a perch for his owl, he'll be satisfied."

"And a table to do your school work on, yeah?" Thinking, Tom paused for a moment then smiled. 'I have just the thing. It's a bit cluttered right now, as I've used it as storage on and off since it's a bit too tight for most guests."

Nodding, Steppenage decided to make his way to the ministry to update the DMLE and minister. "I'll leave it in your capable hands, then. Harry, stay on the Alley I get word to you, OK?"

"Sure, Mr. Steppenage. Thanks for everything, sir."

"I'll see you soon"

"All righty then, little master, let's get to your suite. It'll be a moment before it's ready."

"I can clean it up for you, sir." Harry interrupted.

"Tom, lad. Just Tom." The older man opened the door to the family part of the inn.

"Well, I can clean it up right and tight for you. I'm good at cleaning in the not-magic way."

They made their way to a room just off of where Tom and his wife slept. It was, as advertised, tiny. There were boxes scattered about and a layer of dust that was not present anywhere else in the inn.

"This was my daughter's room, and we haven't used it for living in for years. But I think we can do it up for ya. Excited to be staying on the alley?"

"Sir, it's not what you think." Harry couldn't put Tom and the Cauldron at risk, not without them agreeing to it. He took off the glamour necklace.

"Mr. Potter!" Tom was gobsmacked. He didn't expect to see the Boy Who Lived begging for houseroom.

"I'm in a bit of trouble, and you should know about it before you really agree that I can stay here."

"I saw that Sirius Black is after ye! I'll make sure neither hide nor hair of that criminal comes at ya, lad. You can count on me and me wife."

Harry smiled. "OK, then. Your rates are ten sickles per night?"

"Lad, I can't be charging you for a full room if you sleep here."

"Mr. …"

"I'm Tom, Mr. Potter. You can call me Tom." Harry wasn't comfortable using adults' first names, but this man twice had refused to give his last name.

Harry decided to let 'Tom's' surname remain a mystery and only nodded. "I am trying to be economical. I have to stay on the alley for the remainder of the summer. Minister Fudge has decreed it. I'd like the most reasonable digs I can get."

Tom searched the boy's face and saw nothing but honesty. Finally, he nodded. "Where is your trunk?"

Harry shrugged and looked away. "My relatives accidentally lost it." They had binned it gleefully as Harry watched from his barred window. Seeing the boy was uncomfortable, Tom frowned. "I guess they didn't want magic stuff in their house. So, you see, I have quite a few galleons I need to spend. I'd like to at least try to be frugal where I can."

Tom sighed. Did no one watch out for this kid? "Well, then, you can start by cleaning out this room. I'll give you the supplies to clean. Don't use magic in here – I store some heirlooms – hoping my daughter will take them – that are magic-null. Help dampen accidental magic kids use." Indicating a small trunk and some scattered crates, Tom explained. "So, clean it up without magic. Over there is my daughter's bed from when she was a young'un. You can use it. Need to clean the bedding though. And the bath. Hasn't been used in a few years."

"My bag," Harry lifted the duffel. "It has expansion charms and the like. Will that be a problem?"

Tom shook his head. "No, just no casting. Runes and potions are just fine. Speakin of, let me check the runes in the bath!" Tom walked to the adjoining WC and turned on the taps, flushed the toilet.

"It's fine, Mr. Tom. I can't cast anyhow. It's against the rules."

Smiling, Tom nodded. "That's true. Hogwarts rules, them. So, you get to organizing. I'll round up a small desk for ye, or just transfigger one. And a perch fer yer bird. I'll send up one of the elves with what you need, and if you need more, you can call them or me." Tom exited the room, waving at Harry's thanks, called his elf, and had the cleaning supplies delivered.

As Harry began to clean, dusting and polishing and mopping, Dobby popped outside the room. After getting permission, Dobby had popped to Ms. Hooksies house to clean and cook. There were two wizardlings there, and the witches couldn't keep up with the messies they made. But while he'd been cleaning, his felt own master had moved.

Feeling for where his master's magic was centered, Dobby popped to the pub. The elf watched for a moment and frowned; Master Harry Potter, Sir was doing elf work again, and Dobby wanted to help, but the room might not allow elf magics. As Harry re-organized the trunks and crates – giving himself just a bit more room to maneuver – he noticed his elf watching. "Oh, Hey Dobby."

"Why Master Harry Potter, sir, being elf again?"

Harry explained the situation the best he could and Dobby nodded, knowingly. He'd hated nursery duty at bad old master's house, because he could not snap there. "I just wish, Harry finished as, "that I didn't have to buy all my school supplies again."

This was something the elf could help with. "Dobby can check Hoggywarts. See if other studenties be leaving theirs stuffs? Books and parchments and stuffs."

"Brilliant! Yeah! You know what I need?"

Dobby frowned, remembering the list bad masters had filled for dragon boy. "Little wizards need good, locking trunk and bag to carry through Hoggywarties, birdie feathery writing things, potionsies thingies, parchments, and bookies."

Harry nodded. "I already have the bag, but anything of the rest… yeah. That sounds perfect. You can get to my accounts to get what you can't find, correct?" Dobby nodded and popped out, on his mission.

Harry finished working on his room, finally stripping the linens and then re-dusting what little came off the bed. He called the inn's elf outside the room. That elf took the soiled linens but brought back a pile of clean ones, nodding at the clean, tidy space Harry had organized. He also popped up with a small desk and chair that Harry carried into the wall he had recently emptied, under the sole window, next to where he'd put a perch for Hedwig, once he got one.

Harry had just about made the bed when Dobby popped back to the hall. Harry greeted him as he carried in a small polished black trunk.

"This trunkie needs to be locked to youses magics, like bag from Mr. Steps and age. Master Harry Potter, sir should go to alley and go to trunk man. Master Twiggy. He dos."

Harry nodded, expanded and opened the trunk. There were three compartments: clothes (which was empty, but he had muggle stuff already to put there), school supplies (whose shelves held a few reams of parchment, a quill case with several quills of different kinds and two different pen knives, and dozens of books, all old, but seemingly the correct materials for the first four or five years at the school. There were even some for classes Harry didn't know about. When he looked up questioningly, Dobby shrugged. "Little Masters need to learn loads to be good big masters.") and a general storage compartment which had a used potions kit, a used herbology kit, and a double owl perch with food and water bowls attached. He assumed Dobby'd already checked what was in them, but he'd double check. He'd also put his bags and broom and the like in there. Once it was safe. Pulling out the owl perch, he looked at his elf friend.

"This is awesome, Dobby. Did you have to buy any of it?"

"Just the trunk, Master Harry Potter, sir. Dobby needed trunk to carry supplies. Then Dobby filled it from Come and Go room with all the stuffs lefts behind. Dobby had to fixes some, but mostly, all was just waiting for someone to find."

Figuring that a lost and found trunk would have the same problems that Harry's original trunk had: namely, the enchantments on an old trunk would wear off, Harry approved of the trunk purchase. He started looking through the books a little more closely as the elf who had brought him the linens popped up with a small basket of fruit for Harry and toiletries and linens for the bath. The elf didn't pop into the room, but carried the supplies into the room.

"Thank you! I haven't cleaned the bath yet, so if you could just leave the bath stuff on the bed?"

"Yes, little master. Please call Brewer when yous is done with the cleanings."

Harry thanked the elf again and munched on an apple from the basket as he thought how different things were now than they had been at the beginning of summer.

He was so thankful, he almost wanted to cry.

"Dobby, do you have a place to stay? I know the HC let you stay there, but I'm not there anymore. I can ask Tom if you can stay with me."

"Dobby asks if he can work in Leaky when Master Harry, sirs is in his room."

"OK. You know, I don't know anything about having an elf. You'll tell me what you need and want, right?"

"Dobby do. Master Harry Potter, sir, should not worry."

Once Harry finished cleaning the bathroom, he called Brewer to take the cleaning supplies. And he wondered if Brewer was… a brewer. It would be handy for a pub to have an elf that could brew beer.

But looking down, he realized the only thing that wasn't clean in his little haven now was he, himself. A full-half of the dirt in the room had ended up in his hair, he reckoned. He needed to shower, and to figure out what to do with his dirty clothes. Cleaned up, he looked at the trunk and duffel and realized he was tired. Seriously tired. When Mr. Steppenage had come to the HC, it had been afternoon, and Harry had just taken his potions, which always tired him. Now, he'd burned through the anxiety and anger and he was just knackered.

But it wasn't night yet, and if he fell asleep, he'd likely wake up in the middle of the night, in a strange place. Riffling through the bag Mr. Steppenage had given him, Harry pulled out one of the journals.

"My name is Fleamont Henry Potter, son of Charlus Hughes Potter and Dorea Clio Potter née Black. Today, I am eleven, and I made my first journey on the Hogwarts Express. It's a brilliant train – modeled after the muggle trains – that takes all of us Hogwarts students to school from London. It was the centennial – one hundred years the express has run, and it was smashing. I, of course, sorted into Gryffindor, as all us Potters do. Well, Mum was a Slytherin, being born a Black, but…"

Enraptured, Harry read through the experiences and antics of his grandfather as he could see him struggling with Professor Binns (he was apparently boring even when he had a pulse) or wishing he could try out for quidditch (his grandad was a keeper!) or… he lost track of time and only came out of his reading when Dobby came in with a tray smelling of heaven.

"Master Harry Potter, sir, must eats his dinners. Doctor Healer Zoos sends his dreadful drinks for Master Harry Potter, sir."

Harry chuckled, sitting up from his bed and moving to the little desk. "Thanks, Dobby. You can call me Harry, you know." Harry uncorked the potion: sooner begun, sooner done, and downed the wretched thing.

He loved being taller, he loved being able to see, but he truly hated drinking the potions.

"Yes, Master Harry, sir." Dobby answered then moved to open the window as a shadow passed outside it. Hedwig flew in and landed on her new perch. Looking around critically, the owl seemed to nod then barked in approval.

Harry full out laughed. "Glad it's up to your standards, Hedwig. Did you have a good time at Neville's? Get something to eat?" The great snowy owl looked at Harry like he was mentally challenged, then barked again, looking down at his dinner plate.

It was as though she was saying 'mind your own food, boy. You're the one who needs to be told to eat.'

"Yeah, yeah. I'm eating." Picking up a fork, he stirred the piping-hot dish to cool it before he started to eat. "Dobby, do we have treats for Hed? If not, I need to put it on the list. I've been making a list as I've been reading."

"Dobby not have treats. Dobby sorry." The elf looked as though he would bang his head on the wall in shame.

"What? No! I didn't expect you to get them. I just don't really have a clue what all I have in the trunk and bags. I know what was in my bag, but you know. Anyhow. You're my elf now?" at the elf's frantic nodding, Harry folded his arms. "Right, then. Rules. No punishing yourself. Take care of yourself however elves need to take care of themselves. If you want something, you can ask. If you need something, let me know what I can do to help you get it. And thanks, Dobby. Thanks. Even though you broke the rule for saving my life."

"Dobby no breaks rules. Master Harry said Dobby could."

Harry vaguely remembered Dobby popping in, when it was almost done. When…

"Yeah, I vaguely remember that. Well. Anyway. Thanks." Harry was solemn, looking down at his hands.

"Master Harry is welcome." Not liking the touchy-feely emotion any more than his master, Dobby changed the subject. "What be on Master Harry's lists?"

Hedwig barked again and looked pointedly at the plate. "Okay, okay." Harry took a bite of the shepherd's pie – it was as good as Hogwarts food – and pulled out the small notepad and pen he'd kept from the HC.

"From the trunk man, I need to lock down my trunk. I need wizarding clothes and uniforms for school as well as more warm muggle clothes. I want to get a brush – mine got binned, and the comb I have isn't making the grade. I want to get some soap and shampoo and stuff. Hogwarts has soap in the showers, but I think I want to get my own." Only the thief used the school supplies regularly. Harry had sniffed at the other boys' products, and thought it might be nice to have his own.

He took another bite of pie, drank some milk, and thought some more.

"Treats for Hedwig, anything for you?" He took another bite while the elf thought.

"Dobby elf not needs anything."

Swallowing another bite of pie and drinking some more milk, Harry added, "But do you want anything? Not need, want? More socks? A uniform? Food of some sort?"

"Dobby not want anything now but will ask if Dobby thinks of something Dobby wants."

"Fair enough." Nodding, Harry turned back to the list. "I need to get inks and sanding powder and I want to check to see if we missed any books or if there are any good reference books for the subjects that I'm missing." Taking another bite, then two, Harry reviewed all the classes he had. All the notes he'd lost. And… "Crap. I need a new telescope."

"Dobby could not find one in lost and found that could be used."

"Figures. That's okay. You saved me so much with what you did find. And maybe there's more books, aside from just the class books?"

"There be lots and lots of bookies left behinds, Master Harry."

Scooping some more dinner into his mouth, Harry chewed as he thought. He drank some more milk, then some water. "I'll ask what the reference books are for all the subjects. And I think I want to start looking at laws and culture and stuff. I keep getting the short end on this stuff, and I need to somehow catch up. I'd also like to know if the Black family my Grandmother came from is any relation to this Sirius Black guy."

Dobby's eyes narrowed. "Dobby be knowing just the thing. Dobby be back."

Harry looked at Hedwig. "I hope this doesn't come back to haunt us, Hedwig. That look of his means trouble."

Hedwig barked and Harry finished his dinner. The food (or maybe the potion) had energized him a little, so he pulled out the charms books – Dobby had gotten him years one through 4 in three different series, including the one currently in use (though an older version) – and started to work on his summer homework. He'd been able to sneak the assignment parchments into his bag, though not his books. He'd hoped to sneak his books from the cupboard…

Best not think about that.

He had read the question through, outlined what he needed to research, and started skimming books for the proper sections when the elf popped back in.

"Dobby gets these bookies from old Hoggywarty classroom. No teachy these classes anymores." There were several books on contracts, law, government, and estate management, and then there was one really thick, ornate book. Dobby pointed to that one. "This one with the treesies. It be a hard bookie to get. Lots of gold and rare. It was Stupid Bad Drakey's mum's but bad little master wanted new so he rippeded old one for purposes. Dobby goes and gets and fixes for Master Harry. Okay?"

From all of the speech, Harry gathered that Dobby was a little worried. But it wasn't like Harry was a little kid who thought a book might have cooties because Draco touched it. More likely, the pages would be greasy or something.

"Will he try to get it back?"

"Dobby think no. It be Black copy, anyway, so could be Harry Potter, sir's, copy. And it be updating."

Harry opened it – Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. It listed all of the pureblood families and tapping on any name with a wand could produce that person's heritage in ancestry or in descendants. Harry found Black, Sirius (who was the current Lord, though he hadn't taken the title). A few generations removed revealed Dorea, married to Charlus Potter. And when he tapped on her, he found himself.

He was the sole green name in the very trim tree of her descendants.

There were a few baby Potters, birth and death date coinciding, which made him sad. But Charlus and Dorea had four children who lived to adulthood. His grandfather, Fleamont, was the eldest. Their sole daughter, Iolanthe Potter, came next. She married a bloke named Horatio Fox, and had three children and seven grandchildren. Dorea also had a set of twins: Arsu and Azizos (and he thought Fleamont was bad!) who both had children and grandchildren of their own. Harry's own grandfather only had James who only had Harry.

All of the Potters from Charlus and Dorea – all of his dad's cousins – died between 1978 and 1981. Most of them in 1980. Many of them on the same day.

He knew from Mr. Steppenage that his grandparents died of dragon pox. But the rest? Was his family just that unlucky? It had been a war: had they been targeted?

Dobby had popped out with his empty plate from dinner and after popping back in, pointed to the bowl of fruit that Brewer placed on the back corner of the desk. "Master Harry eats fruits if he gets hungry. Doctor Healer Zoo says so."

Harry's mind was still preoccupied, and he answered, distracted. "Thanks, Dobby." He sighed. Nothing he could do about the past. "I think I'll work a bit more on charms, then go to bed."

Though he was able to put the tree out of his mind as he summarized what he learned about the household charms that he was to compare and contrast, he slept poorly, thinking on all those lost cousins. Picturing as they each fell to Riddle and the death eaters.

Wondering why.

~~ scene ~~

The next morning, after eating a good breakfast, drinking tea and milk (Dr. Dan had told him to skip the pumpkin juice as it was very sugary but had no real nutritional value), Harry planned his day. First, he needed to go to Gringotts, to thank them for the bag and to get a listing of his assets and any withdrawals. Then, he'd get a listing of good reference books from Flourish and Botts, seeing if Dobby could get them from the lost and found before purchasing them himself. He'd take his trunk to get it secured, and, after lunch, if Mr. Steppenage said it was okay, he'd go out to the HC to work with Master Fezziwig on potions.

"Next"

The surly teller goblin called Harry to the desk.

"Sir. My name is Harry Potter. Here is my key. I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge of my accounts and visit my vault."

The goblin sneered at the child. It had been polite, to the point, and respectful. It was still human.

"Did you make an appointment with Manger Grimsneer?"

Crap. "No, sir. I am willing to do that now, if you will tell me how."

"Wait." The teller said something to a guard, who stepped closer to Harry and knocked its halberd on the ground in a staccato rhythm before coming to rest. Harry supposed it was some kind of code. Like that Morse code he read about in one of the books Dr. Dan had given him.

The teller returned shortly. "Griphook will take you to your vault and escort you to Manager Grimsneer."

"Thank you, sir." Bowing slightly, Harry went with Griphook to the carts, having a sense of déjà vu, but missing Hagrid in the vision. He loaded his coin bag with a pile of coins of all color. He had to replace a lot of stuff, and he'd need gold for that. He also wanted to spend money on the other side, and he hoped the tellers wouldn't mind exchanging some of the gold for pounds.

As he followed Griphook down a hall, he read the names on doors. Malfoy, Prince, MacDonald, Diggle… there was no rhyme or reason to the order. But his own door had the names Potter as well as Peverell and Oakham.

Griphook knocked once and waited for the gruff "Enter" before opening the door.

"Mister Harry Potter."

"Account manager Grimsneer," Harry bowed shortly and waited to be given permission to sit. The estate book he'd skimmed that morning during breakfast had given some pointers for dealing with the goblins of Gringotts, but clearly, not enough.

"What can Gringotts do for you today, Account Holder Potter."

"I wish to thank you for the help you've given Mr. Steppenage with my accounts, and for the bag. It's brilliant." He'd only brought his trunk to the alley, so didn't have the bag with him.

"You paid for our services."

"As I should. I was wondering if I could see the ledgers? See if there were any other deductions?" He was hesitant in this request, but how could Harry begin to get a handle on his estate if he didn't know what he had or what was spent?

"Your healing was quite expensive." Grimsneer wandered to a shelf and pulled off two books: Potter ledgers. "Not as bad as it could have been, though. In addition to the regular credits," he opened a book and leafed to a page, "the sale of parts of the basilisk you slew has added a great deal of fungible wealth, much more than you spent on healing." He showed the amounts in red and black and the current balance.

"I've been here two other times. Did anyone else take out money or anything else since my parents died?"

The goblin froze and slowly brough a cold gaze to Harry's face. "You accuse Gringotts of allowing thieves…"

"No, sir." Harry hastened to explain. "I did not have my key. Albus Dumbledore had it, and apparently was acting as my guardian. I do not know what rights he would have had as guardian. He had at least one Potter family heirloom in his possession; he gave it back to me as a Yule gift my first year." Still, Grimsneer stared, on guard. Then he nodded slowly and Harry felt himself relax a fraction.

"The audit performed shows no direct access was given to the vaults from the time your parents passed until 1 August 1991, when you entered your trust vault. There was a large withdrawal for the purchase of a few properties just before your parents were killed." Grimsneer pointed to the entries on the audit and the matching entries in the ledgers. There were several automatic payments and withdrawals listed and Harry tentatively pointed to the recurring amounts.

"What are these?"

"Withdrawals are taxes on properties, lending, and purchases of investments. The Potter family has many investments – managed by Gringotts. Your average income is 15% higher than the standard wizarding investments for the same time period."

"You manage these?"

"I do"

"You're really good at your job. How do you get paid?"

"There are two standard methods of payment. As your vault manager, I earn a salary based on your holdings. As your investment manager, I earn a percentage of net income."

Harry studied the rising vault balances and nodded. Remembering when Vernon would come home and Dudley would get extra special presents, Harry ventured, "Do you also get bonuses? Is that a practice in the magical world?"

"It is not. We take no more than we earn; to offer it is akin to bribery in Gringotts culture."

Harry nodded, inhaling slowly and blowing out his breath cautiously. The banking etiquette section hadn't mentioned that, so Harry knew to ask carefully and to tread equally carefully in his apology. "Thank you for educating me. Can you tell me a bit about the investments and properties? Just on a high level. I'll learn more as I get older, I suspect."

"The Potter family has left you quite a fortune. As branches were wiped out in the war, their vaults rolled back into the investment and spend vaults. The investment vault, as I stated, is performing above market. But many of the magical properties have not had paid rent increases properly in the last 10 years and the renters – squatters, really – in the nonmagical properties owned in Surrey have paid nothing."

Harry suspected that he owned not only number 4 but also Figg's house on Wisteria walk. Swallowing rage, he kept his eyes on the columns of numbers until he formulated a new question.

"Can we fix the rents? And can we sell those properties in Surrey? The people who… well, the houses are empty now, I think."

Grimsneer hesitated. He knew of what had been done to the boy. Dumbledore had, he supposed, been trying to end the Potter line once and for all, though who knows what the qarskan's motivation was. "Only an adult can process the sale of properties. With your relatives being guests of Her Majesty for the next decade, and the squib up on charges also, we shall have to see what we can do with the property. On the magical side, your father was the one to halt the rent increases, because of the war. I shall begin the correction process now, putting the rent to where it should be. What should happen with those who balk at the increase?"

"Umm… can we give them like warning time? And then if they can't meet the new rent, they have to move?"

Grimsneer nodded. The boy was not stupid, and he was less of a soft touch than his father, thank Falnim.

"It shall be done. Three months until increases are applied, with two notices sent, vial registered owl, in the interim. Six additional months grace until the next increase. We should be back to market value within three years, and it will give your tenants time to make some hard decisions."

Harry nodded and let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "OK. Thank you, Account Manager Grimsneer. Can you direct me to where I can have some galleons exchanged for pounds? And is it possible for me to have a copy of the ledgers so that I can familiarize myself with how everything is going?"

Grimsneer nodded. "Stop by in a week. We shall have your copies made and bind them to you then. It shall be a five galleon charge. As for currency exchange, that is best done at the currency exchange desk, off the main lobby."

Harry stood, bowed slightly, and left the room. Griphook was waiting outside and escorted Harry to the lobby, where Harry easily found the well-denoted currency exchange desk.

As he counted his pounds, he thought about his resources. His vaults seemed robust, but still, if he'd had to pay for those basilisk-laced potions out of pocket, he would have burned through a lot of his funds. He didn't have many investments, and he couldn't manage his properties without understanding how to do that. He'd need a job. For that, he needs to be more serious at school. Somehow, his plan for easy classes with the thief didn't seem so smart now.

As he walked out of bank, he shivered. The alley just felt oppressive. He saw the store – Storage Bazaar and Emporium - that Dobby had told him about and made his way over.

Shivering again as he entered trunk shop, he looked around. It smelled warm inside. There was a tall, wiry man with specs who looked up at Harry as the boy shivered. "I don't like the dementors, either," he said, surveying the skies through the window.

"Is that why it feels so weird? Dementors?"

The stranger nodded. "They're demons, you know – suck the happy out of everything. Should be left at Azkaban, where they belong, you ask me. But nobody asks an enchanter."

"Oh, you're an enchanter?"

"Steven Twig," the man smiled, bowing slightly. "Owner of this particular shop."

"Mr. Twiggy. Got it." Harry smiled.

"Pardon me?" A look of confusion graced the man's face.

"Oh, my elf bought this trunk here last night. He said he got it from Mr. Twiggy, and that you could secure it for me." Harry lifted his trunk, marveling at its feather-light weight and smaller size. He wished Hagrid'd let him buy a good trunk the first time around. Hermione had a good trunk that was light and got smaller, like this one.

Heaven knows, she'd needed it, with all the books she owned. Of course, Hagrid hadn't let him buy many books, either.

Why had Hagrid been the one to take him on the alley, anyway?

Meanwhile, Mr. Twigg nodded at the trunk. "Yes, indeed. Advanced three compartment model. Personal, library, and general storage. Excitable fellow, the elf. He said you'd be back to get it bound to your blood and magic."

"Yeah. I don't want anyone getting in but me and Dobby."

Master Twig worked with Harry, locking down the trunk and each individual compartment to Harry, personally. Harry looked around. "You have a lot of other things in here, besides trunks."

"Yes, I specialize in storage solutions, but I love to work with wood. The bags, a friend crafts them. I just enchant them. Would you like your initials on the end of the trunk? Hogwarts crest on top?"

"Just my initials, HJP. No crest, thanks." Harry had spotted a box carved with a pattern of holly bushes that had a phoenix perched on it. It was oddly coincidental, that. And he loved it.

Seeing the interest and potential sale, Master Twig explained, moving to the box and bringing it down, in front of Harry.

"That's a writing chest. It comes with three quills of different sorts, a pen knife, a wood pen and several nibs, inks, sand, a blotter, a blank seal – that I can customize, and sealing wax." He pointed out each of the supplies. Harry was captivated by the small bottles of ink and the colorful wax sticks. "I've made a second compartment in it – hidden," He lifted the tray and a large empty space appeared below it. "to store correspondence or other writing materials."

Harry studied it carefully. It was the most beautiful thing he'd seen. And he wanted it.

"It's beautiful."

He couldn't have known that the price he was quoted was less than half what Master Twig would normally charge. But Master Twig saw the undisguised admiration for the work on the child's face. And he knew who that child was, as his glasses let him see through the glamour.

It was the least he could do for Mister Potter, though he'd not be saying that aloud.

The warmth Harry felt from buying that writing chest faded as he was once again faced with the gloom of Diagon Alley. Shoppers warily glanced at the sky and scurried to their destinations.

His stop at Fluorish and Blotts yielded the information that a list of reference books for all the classes at Hogwarts was actually quite a common request. It was in the educational part of the F&B Catalog, and Harry could stop by while on the alley or owl order.

Thanking the clerk for the information, Harry put the catalogue into his trunk and, taking a fortifying breath, went back out to the alley.

Harry was headed back to the Leaky to put away his things and saw Mr. Steppenage, talking to a short, nervous man with a green bowler. Asa nodded at Harry, touching where Harry's glamour necklace was hidden.

Harry sighed. The wee pudgy man must be Minister Fudge. Best to get this done. The way people were scuttling about meant that he would be ignored as his glamour fell. And once it had, he approached the two men.

"Hullo, Mr. Steppenage."

"Harry! Meet Minister Cornelius Fudge."

"Mr. Minister." Harry nodded his head, not offering a hand.

"Well, well, Mr. Harry Potter. May I call you Harry? Well Harry it is so good to see you here safe on the alley. Heard that there was a bit of a kerfuffle on the muggle side. You know. Those muggles."

Harry said nothing.

"Bet you're glad to be back in the magical world."

"Well, I'm not sure why you needed me here, but I can certainly use the time to get ready for Hogwarts this year and to learn more how the magic world works. I thought I'd talk to different shop keepers and such, see what there is to see."

The minister's face held an overabundance of concern, as though he were playacting and very bad at that. "Do be careful, my boy. Black is dangerous!"

"Sirius Black is my godfather." Harry flatly stated. "Sworn. He couldn't hurt me."

"Nonsense! He betrayed your family." The look of assurance on Minister Fudge's face was belied by the weakness of his voice.

"Sorry sir, but he didn't. Peter Pettigrew did, according to my parents' wills, anyway. He's the only one who could have told where we were hiding. Right, Mr. Steppenage?" Harry turned to the adult he knew and kind of trusted, and saw that man was holding in a smirk.

"Exactly so, Mr. Potter. Cornelius, I informed you directly as well as DMLE."

"Well, well," Minister Fudge hedged, nonpulssed. This was not proceeding how Lucius assured him it would. "Black still killed Peter Pettigrew and those muggles. That's what he was sentenced for."

A shopkeeper, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping once he'd noticed both Minister Fudge and the Boy Who Lived (who certainly looked better in real life than he did in the paper), nodded. "Makes more sense Black going after a traitor than him going after Pettigrew after killing the Potters."

"No matter," Fudge waved it away. "Black's a murderer, whatever the circumstance, and the dementors will track him down. Trust the ministry."

"Mr. Potter is staying at the Leaky Cauldron," Asa interjected, "Under glamour. Tom will keep an eye."

"And the aurors! We've posted an extra patrol, just to ensure your safety, young Harry."

"Thanks," Harry deadpanned, not liking the idea of having a retinue at all. "I'm going to go up to my room, if you don't mind?"

"No, no, not at all," Asa confirmed. "You are cleared to go see Crispin today, also." Harry nodded politely to both adults before ducking into the bricked area of the cauldron. It was a good place to re-apply his glamour.

Passing quickly through the pub, Harry went back to his room and began to load up his newly-secured trunk with his clothes, books, and all the things from his bags. The new writing chest went on the small desk, next to the fruit bowl. Harry admired it a moment before finishing sorting his things. His own storage bags went in the storage compartment last. Mr. Steppenage had snuck him a book on basic enchanting, and he would be adding security spells to those bags as soon as he could cast at Hogwarts. He didn't really need them anymore, but he'd made them, and you never knew when you'd need a secure bag.

After resting and reading for a bit then eating a good lunch (and taking the required nasty potions), Harry made his way out of the Leaky Cauldron back to the HC. It was only a few blocks, but it was a completely different world. There was a big black dog in an alley he passed. It paused in eating someone's discarded Chinese to watch Harry. Harry smiled and waved, feeling silly, but the grim heaviness of the dementors was behind him. Though it wasn't the best part of muggle London, Harry felt safe and comfortable there.

On the next block, he passed a bakery, and he decided to bring some scones for afternoon tea. When he went into the clinic, he was greeted with familiar voices and smiles.

"Did you take your potions this morning?" Abby asked. Rolling his eyes, Harry grinned.

"Yes, ma'am. Is Master Fezziwig in?"

"He is, he's in the break room for his lunch. What do you have there?"

"Apricot scones. I passed a bakery and they looked just the thing for tea. Help yourselves!"

One of the other healers on staff called "Cheers, mate," and Harry made his way back to the break room.

~~ scene ~~

The last weeks of summer passed in a blur for Harry. He ordered his wizarding clothes, got the supplies Dobby hadn't pilfered from the lost and found. When he stopped in the apothecary and showed his knowledge of the ingredients he wished to buy, the very busy man at the counter asked if he was, by chance, willing to help out, for pay, with odd jobs that needed to be done. Tom had spread the word that he had a young man – by the name of Harry – who was at a loose end but was a good lad. The apothecary and the magical menagerie both asked Harry to help stock shelves, and Harry was glad to help. They paid him in ingredients and owl treats, which was fine with him.

Dobby was able to get most of the reference books he needed from the lost and found, but a few were not there, and he needed the care book. When he asked the clerk where the Monster Book of Monsters could be found, the clerk paled.

"Oh, well, then. You're the first to ask for it. I suppose we're going to have to deal with them at some point…" The man walked off, muttering angrily to himself.

Harry shook his head. Whatever. He looked around, and noticed, in the magizoology section, a big friend. Smiling, Harry walked over to the giant of a man. "Hey, Hagrid!"

"Hello, young man." Hagrid looked quizzically at Harry, then moved along to the dragons section. Harry was hurt at first, then realized that Hagrid didn't recognize him. He'd forgotten that he had his glamour on! Ducking into an empty aisle, Harry turned it off then walked back, casually bumping into Hagrid.

"Harry?! Harry Potter! What are you doing here, then?"

So much for staying under the radar. Hagrid'd just shouted his name from the rooftops. Oh, well.

"Oh, I needed to pick up some books I was missing. One of them was the book for Care. Something called the Monster Book of Monsters. It's not out here, so a clerk is going to get it for me."

"Well, I was gonna get you one for yer birthday. Late, I know. But Fluorish just got 'em in, dinna they?"

The shop keeper came out looking disheveled with the book in a binding rope. The clerk looked around, chagrined, as the customer that had asked for the terrible tome had disappeared. Harry glanced warily at the growling book. "Ah, don't be that way, Harry. The books just like an animal, then, inn't? Juss pet em and calm em down, like."

The bookseller's jaw dropped, watching the book almost purr under Hagrid's petting and crooning. "Well, I nevah in me life would 'ave thought of that. Thanks, guv!" The clerk, knowing he could prevent the loss of more stock, thanked Hagrid, just as Harry did. Harry paid for the book and the others he'd picked up, putting them in his satchel, before turning to Hagrid.

"Want to get some ice cream? My treat?"

"Well sure then." The two walked out of the bookstore and toward Fortesque's. "What're you doing here on the alley? Alone?"

"I'm not really alone." Harry nodded to the auror who had wandered into the bookstore when Hagrid had shouted Harry's name and was now following them on the alley. "See, Minister Fudge wanted me here on the alley so he can protect me."

"From Black, then." Hagrid said sadly, understanding.

"Well, maybe." Harry stepped up to the counter and ordered a small cup for himself, and a sundae for his friend, paying before turning back to Hagrid. "I mean, it doesn't really make sense. Sirius Black is my sworn godfather, and Peter Pettigrew was the one who betrayed my parents. It says so in their wills."

"Well, yeah, but if Black's been in prison, with them dementers, he'll likely be mad. They said he said he was comin after ye. 'He's at Hogwarts'. That's what he said."

The two had a grand time of it, talking about different things (anything but the dementors) before Hagrid said he had to be getting back to Hogwarts, and muttered to himself that he'd have to think of something else for a birthday present for young Harry.

When Hagrid returned to Hogwarts, he ran into Professor McGonagall, straight away. In his completely open, gossipy manner, he told her all about how Harry was living on Diagon Alley for the rest of the summer. McGonagall, shocked at the idea of the ministry using Harry as bait for an insane murderer contacted Dumbledore, who was still on the continent, working with the ICW.

Dumbledore rubbed at his temple as he read the urgent message from his deputy. He had heard of Fudge trying to get Harry to Alley, through various channels, and had tried to kaibosh the plan. Apparently Fudge had got around Dumbledore's protections somehow. But the work with the ICW was at a delicate point, the plans for the Triwizard tournament were just getting firmed up, and the damage to Harry was already done. It would have to wait until September… unless.

Could he send someone else to the alley, to monitor the lad? The boy did get into such mischief. Alas. He would reach out to Arthur. The Weasleys certainly wouldn't mind some time in London before all of the children went to Hogwarts.

~~ scene ~~

Harry worked with Master Fezziwig on potions in the afternoons. He was getting so much better at the art and craft of the thing that he actually enjoyed his time in the laboratory. He was even starting to understand the hows and whys of the ingredients and methods.

Brewing was… almost… relaxing!

At night, he wrote correspondence (Hedwig had made a few trips to Neville in the Orkney Islands and Hermione, who was visiting with her mother's family in France), worked on his homework, read his grandfather's journals (he hadn't been able to bring himself to read his dad's or his mum's yet) and he'd just started looking at the Potter Grimoire. It was a blend of family history and family magic, and he looked forward to trying some of the rituals that clan Potter preferred.

When he went to his afternoons with Fezziwig, he often brought something to the clinic to brighten it up – a self-watering fern for the waiting room, an antique print for the break room… He truly appreciated all the staff had done for him and tried to show it in little ways.

His second week there, he was talking with Fezziwig in the lab as he prepared the runespoor skin (she had, indeed, liked the pygmy hamster and her new habitat, and donated the skin willingly). The potions master posed a question.

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to sell me some more venom for limb-regeneration potions? They are bringing in a good amount of income to the clinic."

"Sure. As long as there's enough to treat me, I don't mind giving more."

"We got so much venom from the rendering; I think you'll have it in stasis until your great grandkids go to Hogwarts. But yeah, if you could sell me a gram… that should be enough to meet the need that has arisen. There are only so many cursed wounds out there. Once they're treated, we should see the demand drop off drastically."

"What if I do the spell to make it stronger? The parsel spell?"

"Healer Zhou will have to approve of that."

"Did I hear my name?"

"Hey, Dr. Dan!" Harry greeted.

"I hear that I have you to thank for the treats appearing in the breakroom? We're all going to have to go on diets if you keep that up."

"I go back to school in a week. It's no big deal.

"Well, I am glad to see you this afternoon. I want to do a diagnostic, see if we need to change the potions before you go back."

Harry followed the healer back to a treatment room – but not the one he spent his first days in. He looked around at the equipment that looked almost muggle, but not.

Healer Zhou ran his wand up and down, incanting something, and then watching a parchment fill. Looking seriously at Harry, he sat down. "How do you feel, really? You have to tell the truth, or I can't help you."

It was telling that the healer knew Harry would hold details back. And that he cared enough to insist on the truth: Madame Pomphrey never had. "Mostly, I feel good. I'm still really tired a lot. I hope that by the time we go back to school, I have a little more energy. I don't have headaches anymore. I used to have them, like all the time. I don't think I ever didn't have a headache. Now, the only thing that really hurts is my legs. My legs hurt, all the time. It's like a dull ache."

Looking over the parchment, Dr. Zhou smiled a little. "That's growing pains. You're catching up to where you're supposed to be, and it's a lot of work on your large bones. You'd probably feel it more, but you're used to a certain amount of background pain. Your fatigue and general soreness should begin to wane, and then you can deal with what every normal teenager has to deal with. Do you have any other issues or questions?"

"Can I do a spell here? Master Fezziwig says that if I cast with parseltongue, I can maybe help the potions he's making."

The healer looked surprised for a moment. "I must apologize. I have been so concerned with your physical body that I haven't really addressed this. It would have come up if you were still here." Where you were supposed to be, except for the stupid Ministry's agenda was the unfinished conclusion to that sentence. "Alas, let's get that checked." Running some more diagnostics, healer Zhou looked at the results before nodding slowly.

"Yes, you can do the spells. I see nothing of concern in your magical levels and channels. It might be a good way to let you start doing a little magic again. However," Harry's face fell with the caveat, "your magic is likely changed." The disappointment changed to confusion. "During your… treatment, a number of draws were found on your magic, and the ritual that cut them might have altered the… flavor of your magic. You should have your wand analyzed to see if it still matches your magical profile."

"Because the wand chooses the wizard, and I'm a different wizard now." Nodding in understanding of just what Dr. Dan was telling him, Harry was, for once, kind of glad he was staying on the alley. He could go to Ollivander's the following morning, with no issues.

"Exactly. I am not saying that it will not work, but I am not an expert in magical foci, and I would not wish you to be hindered by a bad match."

"Okay. So, draws on my magic? Would they be things like protections around a house?" Harry wanted to know what had been going on with that. Was someone stealing his magic?

Blood wards? Horrified at the thought, Zhou confirmed more calmly aloud, "Yes, they would definitely have altered your magic."

Harry sat quietly for a moment while the healer confirmed more things on his parchments and compared them to parchments from a file – Harry thought it was probably his own medical file. It was pretty thick. That was kind of sad. But at least he felt better now.

"You had to do a ritual while you were healing me?" Dan nodded, both at the question and at the levels in the child's blood. "That's wicked!"

The healer flashed a look up to the child and smiled. "Indeed. Came with a good light show, too."

"What classes did you take to be healer?" Harry'd never really thought about medicine before, but then, he'd never really thought about any jobs before. He'd chosen his electives for next year based on what the thief thought would be "easy and fun," and Harry thought maybe that wasn't the best basis for his choices. What if his coursework stopped him from being a healer? Or any other job that Harry wanted?

Why hadn't they had any older students or teachers explain this to them?

"Aside from charms and transfiguration," the healer explained, not noticing Harry's turmoil, "NEWTS in potions, care, and herbology are musts. Runes will help you deal with enchanted objects that curse patients; arithmancy helps you decipher spells on your patients. Of course, anatomy, physiology, healing electives. Rites and rituals, if they offer them again. And I did all of my studies on the muggle side, also."

"Wow, Dr. Dan. You're a real duffer!" The green eyes were twinkling, showing that Harry was teasing his healer, and Dr. Dan felt warm inside, knowing how far this child had come to tease.

"Ha. Drink your potion, Mr. Potter. It's the last of this regime you'll have to take. I'll contact the healer at Hogwarts. You only have to take the supplements and nutrient boosters for the rest of this year. We'll see you at Yule, and I expect you'll be almost fully recovered by then."

"Brilliant!" It was a normal thing out of a thirteen-year-old's mouth, and Dan delighted in hearing it from this particular child.

That evening, while Harry was reading about going around the world in eighty days (and vaguely remembering Dudley whinging about having to read the book the summer prior), Hedwig came in with a letter from Neville. Amongst the details of Neville's greenhouse and the diner with his horrid Uncle Algie (whenever Neville said that name, Harry envisioned the green slime floating atop the little pond in Surrey. Mr. Tanner had brought some in for them to look at under the microscope, and Dudley had thrown it at Diana Hawkins, then blamed Harry. Good times.), Neville had a bit of good news.

I'll be in London with Gran to pick up some things on Friday. I can't believe that school starts up again in just over a week. Anyway, we'll be on the alley all day. I need new uniforms and they take time. You said you were staying there. We could meet at Gringotts – Gran has an appointment at 10:30 – if you want. I understand if you're busy. But I talked to Gran and she said she wouldn't mind if you came along with us for my shopping.

Harry had no complaints about how the end of his summer had gone. He felt better, physically, than he ever had in his life. He got to go pretty much where he wanted, and he felt safe since a) very few people recognized him through the glamour and b) there were aurors everywhere. He'd gotten to see what the magical world – or this slice of it – was really like and got to work with a lot of decent and nice adults.

But he missed hanging out with kids. His dorm mates were fun. He would like seeing Neville and made a point to set an alarm to make sure he'd be in the bank at the right time.

The next morning, Harry took his wand out (he'd been moving about without it, as he didn't want to accidentally set off the trace) and made his way to the wand shop. He'd just stepped in, when he heard the creepy voice coming from the back room. "Good morning, Mr. Potter."

Alert charms? Mage sight? Harry didn't know, but Ollivander used his advantage to really set the stage. The guy should go into theater if he decided to stop making foci.

"Morning, sir. I got bit by a basilisk last term, and my wand didn't seem to work right after that. I wanted to make sure it was good before I went back to school."

The mystical look dropped from the man's face and he furrowed his brow at Harry. "A basilisk? Hogwarts's curriculum has certainly changed in the last few years. Hmm… Let us see…" The measuring tape started up again, and Ollivander eyed Harry up and down, but almost like he was looking around the boy and not at him. "Why, it looks almost as though you are more your mother's child than you were before. Lily Evans, she was. Willow. Quite springy. But not…

I wonder… Do you have your wand with you?" Harry pulled from his pocket.

Disdain bordering on outrage flew across the wand maker's face. "No, no, that will not do! You could crack your wand, carrying it thusly. You will purchase a holster."

"A holster?" Harry was confused. Everyone at school carried their wands in their bags or clothes. He figured adults fashioned pockets along their sleeves or pants' legs, and was going to figure out the charms for that himself that year. But a holster – wasn't that what cowboys put their guns in?

"Yes. You place it on your arm. Here." Turning to a shelf, Ollivander pulled off some parchment and thrust it at Harry. "Read this while I go back and…" Ollivander left the room, saying nothing else.

Harry read the information. It would keep his wand handy, could pop it into his hand, if he wore it on his wand arm, or he could simply put it on his off arm and draw it manually, across his body. The holster – and wand, when it was in the holster – would be disillusioned, and his wand couldn't be summoned if it was in the holster. Hermione and R… Neville could use this, too! It would be good Christmas presents. Or maybe birthday.

Meanwhile Garrick took the holly and phoenix feather wand and went to the back. Holding it and a picture of Harry's magical aura in his mind, he looked for a matching glow.

He came back out into the shop holding a small vial. "Take hold of this, Mr. Potter." Harry held the vial, then accepted his wand back from the weird old man. Ollivander looked and measured and hemmed and hawed.

"Yes, yes, willow wyvern. The springiness of the branches. The venom of the viper." The old man continually muttered as he studied things Harry couldn't see.

"Willow wyvern?"

Peeering at the boy over his glasses, Ollivander explained. "A miniature – never bigger than a foot! – dragon that is native to Britain. They can be found in magical crack willows usually, though sometimes you can find an odd one in a whomping willow. The one at Hogwarts was uninhabited when I was last there, but if they've added basilisk to the care curriculum, I suppose willow wyvern are tame, in comparison. Their venom is the most potent of all dragons, per ounce. Tiny, and utterly deadly, they are. I found this one when I was harvesting the tree for wand wood. The little thing had died very recently, probably of old age. Potent, it was. I harvested it, also. I've experimented with it, a bit, as dragon parts work so well in wandcrafting. But there is so little left… I'll be keeping your wand. Come pick it up tomorrow. Shoo. Shoo now!"

"Wait! I want to get three of the holsters, too!" Harry protested as he was being urged out the door.

"Fine. Fine!" Ollivander pushed Harry out of the door and shut it and put up a closed sign.

Harry hoped that no firsties would miss out on a wand because he'd given Ollivander a puzzle. As he walked to the menagerie, Harry shook his head. Magicals were so weird! But the menagerie had a new selection of fire salamanders coming in that day, and they'd asked Harry to come help settle the little fellas, noting that Harry was quite good with all the reptiles.

Harry was telling Crispin about the weird experience at Ollivander's and the cool salamanders when he was working on the potions that afternoon. They had a good discussion of the properties of the bile and blood of different magical animals while Harry stirred, widdershins, the healing potion of the afternoon. It was a blood thickener, meant to combat anemia in older witches.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you. I won't be here tomorrow. My friend Neville is coming to visit. We're going to go through the alley and get his school things; we're going round together. I should have my wand then, too. So, I could try that spell Saturday, if you want. Dr. Dan said it was okay."

"Excellent!" Crispin had never seen parsel magic at work and was excited to experiment with Harry. He felt sorry that they would have less than a week to work. "I'm sure you'll pick it up in a trice! If we can fortify the potion, we'll need less venom. There are only so many curse wounds out there, but Mad-Eye Moody just got his leg regrown. He was famous for his peg-leg. Now he's walking around on both his stompers, others are lining up for treatment."

"Peg leg?" Visions of Long John Silver from Treasure Island – that he'd read when he'd been in the HC – flew through his mind. "Why would he wear a peg leg? There are almost real-looking fake legs on the muggle side."

Crispin shrugged. "Perhaps he had a magical focus built into it? He's an odd duck, that bloke. Excellent auror, but completely mad."

"Not just his eye is mad then? His whole body?" Harry asked seriously but got a chuckle from the potions' master.

"Oh, he lost an eye to a dark curse, and the magical replacement is utterly frightening: strapped to his face with a dragon-leather bandana, it whirls and spins and never, ever blinks."

"Hence the name." Harry said, with gravity in his tone.

"Hence." Fezziwig agreed. "Apparently, the healer asked if he wanted us to research replacing his eye, and he declined. The prosthetic one has spells on it that make it worth having."

"Maybe just scaring the bad guys is enough of an advantage. You said he was a copper, right?"

"Right. Don't forget that you have to remove the heat before you add the last ingredients."

Remembering Neville's melted cauldron, Harry nodded, removed the heat, and continued building his potion.

~~ scene ~~

That evening, as Harry sat reading through the arithmancy text from his mother's time, he had a reply from Hermione. Hedwig was certainly earning her treats! Speaking of, he got a few more out and put them in her dish, patting her softly as she slept. Hermione told of her time in France and the books she was reading for her courses. It sounded as though she might be taking all of the electives. He wasn't sure why – or how – she would do that, but Hermione was way serious about her studies. She didn't understand his 'wasting time on quidditch' any more than he understood why she'd want to take muggle studies. But she was enjoying herself and ready to go back to school. She asked him if it was possible to meet up on the alley before they went back, as her parents were allowing her to purchase a pet that year, and she wanted his input.

He opened his writing chest, delighting in the feel and smell of the materials. Choosing a nib, a quill, and an ink, he pulled out parchment and began to write.

Hello Hermione,

Yes, I've been doing my homework. I've also been reading ahead and reviewing old material. You'd be quite proud. I wrote to Professor McGonagall to change my electives. Like charms and transfiguration, runes and arithmancy are general studies. They're used in loads of other things, like rites and rituals and healing and stuff. They're even used in divination. But divination is a specific subject. So I'm dropping that one.

…I'm meeting Neville tomorrow to do his school shopping. Hope he won't mind stopping in Ollivanders. Last term, after all the stuff at the end, my wand felt kind of funny. Apparently, basilisk venom and phoenix tears in your blood change your magic? Who knew? I had to get my wand changed a bit. I'll show you when we meet up if it looks different. I'm picking it up tomorrow.

… You should come stay at the cauldron the night before the express. We can, apparently, floo directly to the platform. That would save your parents driving through morning traffic into the city. They can stay, too, and see us both off. If they (and you) want. What do you think?

He blotted the ink and looked over the letter. He missed Hermione, and he thought she might find his script easier to read now. It was a lot easier to write since the bones in his hand were all fixed. He shrugged the thought of his bent fingers out of his mind and instead concentrated on sealing the letter with wax. The Potter family didn't have a seal, so instead, he had Mr. Twigg etch a small phoenix in holly into the seal instead. He smiled as he looked at the seal. Hedwig could take it in the morning. Hopefully, Hermione could come on Monday, and then they could go to the train together.

The ride might be okay, if he could spend it with his friend. And avoid the thief.