Harry jogged along the neighborhood sidewalks in the Dursley's house's direction. It was easy enough to convince, or rather suggest, the Dursley to let him go out for walks now that his magic was revealed to him. It was very simple: They didn't get to see him for a while and he get to test this new body, full of jovial strength.

The feeling was beyond awesome. There was no pain, no extra weight from his armor and prosthetics, no machine constantly compressing and decompressing his lungs. He could feel the air against his skin, could smell it. He felt free from a nightmarish existence.

Harry came to a stop as he arrived at the doorstep of the house. Judging by the sun's position in the sky, it was still early in the morning, perhaps around 8AM. Today was the day a Hogwarts representative would come to visit him and help him around this magical world.

It also happened to be his birthday, 31 July.

His response letter seemed to get around rather quickly because, by the 16th's morning he had received a response from Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress, delivered directly to him by an owl at breakfast's time. The Dursley weren't amusing by that, by the way.

He remembered clearly the letter's content:

Dear Mr. Potter,

It greatly displeases me to learn that your guardians have not informed you of your heritage as a wizard, but rest reassured as Hogwarts will gladly help those who ask for its assistance. I have brought this matter to our Headmaster and it was decided that a school representative will be sent to meet you at your address at 8:30 of the morning sharp of 31 July, the deadline for response letters deliveries.

Rest reassured as we will provide you with all the information that is entitled to you, as well as accompanying you in a shopping trip through Diagon Alley for your materials. Feel free to ask questions to our representative.

Thank you for informing us of this troubling development. Hogwarts awaits you at 1 September and we strive for the best education possible for all of our students.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress.

As Harry entered the Dursley's home, his mind hoovered around the second part of his acceptance letter — the list of materials attached to it. What intrigued Harry the most was what he saw in the list of materials. Spell books, magical herbs, potions, wands, even broomsticks and citations that implied the existence of dragons. All of those things sounded very much like they came from many fairytales and local folklore Harry might had heard about during his new life. He was under the impression that they were merely kid's stories that no one really believed in at this point. Really, these mages even asked for pointy hats as part of the uniform! Of all things!

He just couldn't imagine himself wearing a hat like that.

Now, in his home reality he knew of plenty of planets that held beliefs in magic and religion. Tatooine and their slaves were a primary example of this in Anakin's early life; they would pray for the leniency of their captors, commute with other slaves for rituals in the desert's cold night, praying for good harvest and protection from raids from the Sand People. However, when he arrived at the Jedi Temple, the order quickly tried to squash such beliefs out of his mind, calling it — in their uttermost arrogance — a primitive form of understanding the Force. Anakin conceded to their point, eventually, but he never truly forgot about it.

It was clear that there was nothing remotely primitive about these witches and wizards, since they really went on categorizing their beliefs and knowledge in scriptures and books.

He had already alerted the Dursley about the upcoming visit by the representative, which resulted — at first — in their panic and protests, but eventually they calmed down and decided to give him the minimum number of chores possible. They couldn't look bad, not even in front of a mage — especially not in front of a mage.

Harry couldn't care less, but he guessed that it was nice to have much more free time to do as he pleased, though most of the time was spent inside his own mind. There wasn't much to do other than wait, so wait he did…

… Until someone rang the bell of the Dursley's home about 10 minutes or so after he had arrived home. Harry looked at the clock, it marked 6 minutes past 8:30AM and since the Dursley made sure that nobody would visit today, that could only mean one thing.

"It must be them," Petunia said with a tremble on her voice. "Go! The fastest you bugger off with your kind, the better. Do not let them in."

Harry didn't bother saying anything and just walked to the front door. Considering that most of this society didn't seem to know about the existence of this "magical people", he expected the school representative to be a very discreet person who could blend in pretty easily with the rest of the world, with none of the pointy hat non-sense.

Then he opened the door.

"Ah! There yeh are, Harry. 's nice ter see yeh after all this time."

The man in front of him was of absolutely gigantic proportions, like if Orn Free Taa had decided to be buff instead of obese. The man's face was almost completely covered by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard. If the giant man had just a little more facial hair, Harry would have mistaken him for a wookie.

Harry sat there completely flabbergasted by the man's presence. Did he ever talk about discretion? Better thrown that out of the window, because this was even more ridiculous than a wizard with a pointy hat about 3 months before Halloween.

"Er… Yeh wouldn't have a cup o' tea, right? It was a long journey…" the giant said not unkindly and that seemed to snap Harry out of it.

"You're huge," Harry said without thinking, immediately grimacing at his lack of tact, but the giant man beamed at him.

"I get lots of that!" He said very amused. "Yeh know, las' time I saw you, you were only a baby. Yeh could fit right in me palm. Yeh look a lot like yet dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes."

At this, Harry frowned. "You knew my parents? Who are you?"

"Ah, yes! Haven't introduced meself, have I? Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Everybody calls me just Hagrid," he said. "As fer yer mom and dad. Of course! Lily an' James, great wizards they were. Very famous too."

Well, that was certainly new. "I didn't know that my parents were famous."

To that, Hagrid's face showed his discontent. "Professor McGonagall did tell me that yer relatives didn't tell yeh a thing, but I didn't know it was that bad. Yeh don't even know how our world knows yer name?"

Harry just shook his head, more confused as ever. Hagrid's face grew in anger.

"Damn muggles!" But then, Hagrid seemed to remember something. "Yeh know, Harry, I think it might be better if we have this conversation inside. There's lots of eyes out here. We wouldn't want them to know about the magical world."

Well, it was a bit too late for that. "Muggles?" Harry asked.

"Non-magical folk. That's what we call them," Hagrid explained. "'s against the law fer them to know about us. Except fer relatives of wizards and witches, they can know a bit."

Harry certainly thought that perhaps Hagrid wasn't exactly the right person for the job. And non-magical people? What an ignorant notion. The Force was inside all living things.

"You may enter, then."

He heard a squeaking noise coming from behind him, but didn't pay it any mind. Harry stepped aside and watched as Hagrid somehow managed to squeeze himself across the doorframe. The thing didn't survive the stress of having such a gigantic person being shoved through it and broke a bit.

"Sorry fer that. I can fix it later," Hagrid apologized.

Harry shrugged. "It's alright. I don't mind." He heard some growling coming upstairs. "Let's go to the living room. There's a sofa there big enough to make yourself comfortable." As they walked there, and Hagrid squeezed himself through another doorframe, Harry could see Petunia hushing Dudley across the backyard to the corridor that led to the front of the house.

"Thanks a lot, Harry. Where are yer relatives? I don't see them around," Hagrid asked curiously.

"They are around. Don't worry about it," Harry said seating at Vernon's favorite armchair while Hagrid practically fell into the sofa. If Harry squinted, he could see it bend a little too much under Hagrid's weight.

He was the very opposite of discrete. This man left marks everywhere he went.

"Oh, yeah! Before I start, got summat fer yeh here — lemme see — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste alright."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat, Hagrid pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it carefully and inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with "Happy Birthday Harry" written on it on green icing.

Harry looked at the giant, bemused. "I… Uh… Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," Hagrid said with a smile, but then his expression grew somber. "Now, I guess yeh must have lots o' questions. I'm not sure if I'm the bes' one ter tell yeh all that, but it is what it is. Yeh can't go off to Hogwarts not knowin'."

Hagrid seemed lost for a moment. Whatever he had to tell Harry certainly troubled him a great deal, the boy could tell.

"I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great mystery, parts of it… It begins, I supposed, with — with a person called — but it's incredible that yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows…"

"Who?" Harry raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

"Well — I'm not sayin' his name if I can help it. No one does."

This is getting really strange. Harry crossed his arms and asked, "Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there's this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you can go. Worse. Worse than that. His name was…" Hagrid seemed to lose his tongue for a moment.

Harry listened attentively. This was a very old and familiar tale. "Yes?"

"All right — his name was… Voldemort," as he said the name, the giant shuddered in his place. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this — this wizard, about 20 years ago from now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards and witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the safest places was Hogwarts. That's because of Dumbledore, he was the only one that You-Know-Who was afraid of."

"Now, yer mum an' dad were of a great sort, as good as one can get. Head Boy an' Girl back in their days at Hogwarts! Suppose it's a mystery that You-Know-Who never tried to get them on his side before… probably knew they were too close to Dumbledore ter want anything to do with the dark side."

At these words, Harry recoiled slightly, alarmed.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade them… maybe jus' wanted them outta the way. All anyone knows is that one day he turned up where yeh was all living, on Halloween 10 years ago. Yeh was just a year old. He came ter yer house and — and…"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," Hagrid apologized. "It's that sad — knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find — anyway…"

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — he tried ter kill yeh too. That's the mystery, because he couldn't. Never wondered how did yeh get that mark on yer forehead?" Hagrid pointed at it and Harry placed his hand above it. "Yeah, that's no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful curse touches yeh — took care o' yer mum an' dad as well as yer house — that's why yer famous, Harry. Nobody ever lived after he decided ter kill them, except fer yeh. The McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — all o' them great wizards, but a baby was the one he couldn't kill."

As Hagrid told the story, Harry sank deeper and deeper into the armchair, trying his damned to maintain its calm. He reached through the Force, but he found no answers given to him. It was like one big sick joke.

Seeing Harry's troubled face, Hagrid looked at him sadly. "Took yeh outta the house meself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot."

Harry stood silent for a moment. "What happened to this Voldermort?" He asked darkly and Hagrid almost jumped out of his seat.

"D-Don't — Don't say his… No… I guess yeh outta all people have the right ter say it after all," Hagrid sighed deeply. "That's a good question, yeh know. Disappeared. Vanished on the same night he tried ter kill yeh. Makes yeh even more famous. They say yeh killed him… Codswallop, if yeh ask me. I bet he's out there, bidin' his time fer his return. He hadn't enough human on him to die — but somethin' in yeh stumped him that night, that's fer sure."

"Well, that's certainly… something," Harry said as calmly as possible, but he felt very much unnerved by the story. "Thanks for telling me, Hagrid. At least I know what to expect when I go to Hogwarts."

"No need ter thank me fer that. It's yer right ter know all about it," Hagrid said dismissively and then smile. "I suppose now would be a great time fer cake, right?"

"Actually, if you don't mind, do you think we can go to this Diagon Alley the Deputy Headmistress talked about?" Harry asked and Hagrid's face fell a bit, so the boy made some amendments. "I just ate something, really. I'd love to eat your cake later when I get back."

That wasn't true, though. As much as Hagrid was nice to him, squashed cake wasn't something on his list of things he wanted to eat. Dudley could have it if he wished.

"Well, I guess we could go on, then. Yeh have yer list of materials on yeh?"

"It's in my bedroom. I'm gonna go pick it up," Harry stood up and walked out of the living room. As he approached his bedroom door, he started to hear a faint sob coming from Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's bedroom. He vaguely remembers hearing steps as his conversation with Hagrid came to an end, so there was no doubt that Aunt Petunia had heard the fate her sister had. Harry could feel her suffering through the Force — it was evident.

Best to let the woman to her sins.

Later, after riding a train to London, Harry and Hagrid were walking down the streets of the British capital.

"Where are we finding all this stuff in London?" Harry asked Hagrid as he looked through the list of materials. "I mean, this some very odd stuff. How do you keep it all away from non-magical people?"

"Don' worry about it. Yeh can find it easily enough if yeh know where to look. As fer the muggles, it's the Ministry of Magic's job ter deal with them. They keep it all under wraps easily enough."

"Sure… This must be your government, right? Like how Britain has a Prime Minister, you have a Minister too?" Harry guessed.

"Yep! The Minister for Magic is what we call him," Hagrid informed. "It's best fer our world to be separated from the muggle one, though."

"Why do you think so?" Harry asked.

"Blimey, Harry, imagine everyone wanting magical solutions fer their problems. That wouldn't do," Hagrid then stopped and pointed ahead. "There we are: Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

Ahead was a tiny pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry probably wouldn't have noticed it. He also noted that people around it didn't pay it any mind too. Their eyes slid from the big bookshop on one side and the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.

"What's with them? Can't they see it?"

"Ah, no. It's a magical protection, yeh know? Muggles won't be able ter know it's there," Hagrid said. Interesting… Harry never learned that the Force could do that.

Harry wondered, did the Force worked in a different way in this reality? He didn't understand it nor had enough information to tell. It was something to be investigated.

Before long, Hagrid steered him inside the place. For a famous place, it didn't look dissimilar to the pubs of Coruscant and other planets. It was just as shady and dark. There were a few women sitting at the corner, drinking tiny glasses of liquor. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked a bit mad. The low buzz of chatter stopped as soon as they walked in and everyone send quick waves at Hagrid.

"You say I'm famous, but you're doing fine yourself, Hagrid," Harry joked.

"Yeh know nothing. Coming ter think of it, I think 's best fer them ter not know who yeh are. Wouldn't want much attention ter yeh, right?" The giant asked.

Harry shrugged. He was always the center of attentions back in his old life, but nonetheless he put his scar behind his fringe.

"Hagrid! The usual, I presume?" Asked the old bartender from behind the balcony.

"Not today, Tom. I'm on Hogwarts business. Helping a student out," Hagrid clapped his hands around Harry's shoulders.

"I see, and what's your name, lad?" Tom asked Harry.

"Anakin, sir. Anakin Skywalker," the boy replied easily.

"Never heard a name like that before. It's quite unique," Tom praised happily.

"I get that a lot," Harry said with a weak sad smile that did go unnoticed.

"Well, we get on — I'll be back for a shot after business is done," Hagrid said to Tom.

"Of course, my friend. You're always welcome to the Leaky Cauldron." With pleasantries out of the way escorted Harry to a small walled courtyard in the back, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. "Fast thinking yeh got, Harry."

"I'm a specialist in improvising," the boy replied without flattering.

"It will do yeh good," Hagrid agreed as he counted the bricks in the wall above the trash can. "Three up… Two across. Right, stand back fer a bit, Harry." He tapped the wall with his umbrella a total of three times and the brick he had touched wiggled and, right in the middle, a hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough to fit Hagrid himself. That archway led into a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"What the hell…" It was these words that escaped Harry's mouth. This wasn't high technology. He had never seen such a thing before.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid grinned at Harry's surprise. They stepped through the archway and immediately shrank back into a solid wall.

As him and Hagrid walked across the street cluttered with people with the oddest of clothes, Harry could see a multitude of things. Signs of stationary shops, places to buy potions and cauldrons — of all sizes and materials — places to eat some snacks, candy shops, pet shops, etc.

"Here's where yeh'll get yer quills and ink, and there all yer bits and bobs for doing yer wizardry," Hagrid pointed the locations as they passed. "But firs' things firs', we shall get yer money at Gringotts."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "I have money?"

"'Course yeh do. Didn't think yer parents would leave yeh emptyhanded, did yeh?" Hagrid.

Harry saw on the corner of his eyes several boys about his age gathering around a shop's windows, almost glued, in pure fascination. "Look," one of them said, "it's the new Nimbus 2000! The fastest model yet." Harry raised head a little bit to look at what the others were seeing. It turned out to be a broomstick of all things, which just helped to greatly confuse him even more.

"There's Gringotts, Harry. Ain't no safer place fer yer money than that, except maybe Hogwarts."

They had reached a towering white building that made the others seem very small in comparison. It had big bronze doors which was guarded by… a creature! It couldn't be much taller than what he remembered Master Yoda to be, which meant that Harry was taller than it. The being had a very pointy nose and ears, and a clever face covered in a long white beard. Its fingers and feet were very elongated. The eyes were big and black and its skin color was about the same as everyone else, if only a bit yellowish in tone.

"That's a goblin," Hagrid said, answering a question Harry had yet to ask. The goblin bowed to them as they walked inside. Now they were facing another pair of doors, this time silver ones, and they had something inscribe onto them:

Enter stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in return.

So, if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than the treasure that lies there.

"See what I mean? One would be mad if they tried to rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed to them through the silver doors and they walked into a marbled hall. This reminded Harry of the offices of the Banking Clan even before Imperial takeover. He guessed that the luxurious and vain styles of bankers were a constant throughout different realities, which, in hindsight, it wasn't all that surprising.

What was surprising is that there were hundreds of goblins working left and right, there were innumerous counters functioning perfectly fine and there was even a couple of free ones waiting for clients. This was a level of efficiency would be impossible to witness in his previous life, especially in the reign of the Empire.

Harry and Hagrid made their way to one of the counters.

"Morning," said Hagrid. "We've come ter take some money o' Mr. Harry Potter's safe."

From behind the counter, the goblin shot them a cautious look and squint his eyes at Harry specifically. The goblin smirked, showing his pointed teeth to him, and asked, "does Mr. Harry Potter have his key?"

"Oh, wait a minute! I gotta here somewhere." Hagrid started emptying his pockets on the counter, scattering dog biscuits all over the goblin's books, which greatly amused Harry, but also displeased the goblin. "Got it!" Hagrid then handed a tiny golden key to the creature.

"That seems to be in order," said the goblin after inspecting it.

"An' I also got a letter from Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said importantly, throwing out of his chest. "It's about You-Know-What at Vault 713."

Harry watched curiously as the goblin read the letter carefully before handing it back to Hagrid, who shoved it back on his coat. "Very well. I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

As expected, Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits inside his pockets again, they were escorted towards one of the doors leading off the hall. Griphook held the door open for them. Harry found himself surprised as the door led them not to yet another marble room, but a narrow stone pathway that led downwards towards little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook then whistled and, an instant later, a cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them.

"This magic stuff is getting really weird," Harry could help but say.

"That's nothin'. Yeh'll see real magic once yeh arrive at Hogwarts," Hagrid said with fondness. They climbed up the cart, with Hagrid having a bit of a hard time fitting on it and were off.

They made twists and turns through the passages, a pattern impossible to really follow. The cart seemed to know the way on its own and was speeding up gradually as they got deeper in the underground. Griphook certainly wasn't steering it. Cold air rushed at Harry's face, but kept his eyes wide open. He saw a burst of fire in the distance and there, in its shadows, was the silhouette of a great dragon — that easily disappeared from view as the cart increased in velocity.

The boy grinned from ear to ear, it was quite a sensation. "Feels like podracing," he told Hagrid loudly.

"Dunno what that is. Don't talk ter me now, I think I'm gonna be sick," the giant replied. He looked very green right now.

"Just make sure to not puke on me," Harry warned.

Luckly for both of them, the cart started to decelerate until it came to a stop at their first destination. Griphook announced it very professionally: "Vault 687!"

The goblin was the first to dismount the vehicle and turned to Harry, who wasn't as shaken from the ride as Hagrid. "Lamp, please." Harry handed him the lamp present at the cart and off he got in the direction of the vault's door, with Hagrid and Harry following him a moment later.

Hagrid got handed the lamp as the goblin asked for the vault's key, which was delivered to him. Griphook unlocked the door and, as it opened, lots of green smoke came billowing out, and when it all cleared, Harry couldn't help but gasp.

"Sithspit, that looks like a lot of money," he said weakly. There were mounts of gold coins, columns of silver and heaps of little bronze ones.

"It's all yours," Hagrid smiled.

"Unbelievable…" Harry muttered under his breath and turned to ask Griphook. "Which one is the most valuable? Gold ones or silver ones?"

"It's not really gold nor silver, so… Galleons, the golden ones," Griphook explained as Hagrid pulled a sack to grab some coins. "They cost 17 silver Sickles, which in turn cost 29 bronze Knuts. Anything else?"

"Yes. Is there anyway to value it in muggle money?"

Griphook nodded. "A Galleon is bit more than £25."

Harry whistled and said, "There's a small fortune in this vault. I sure hope your securities are up to date."

Griphook gave him a wicked smile and said, "We aim to please, Mr. Potter"

Well, no matter. All that Harry knew is that the Dursley wouldn't be knowing about any of it. They'd certainly wanted to take advantage of it — not that they'd succeed, but that was one less thing to worry about.

"Here, Harry, that should be enough fer today," Hagrid handed a sack full of coins.

After that, they only stopped once more at the mysterious Vault 713, which Harry was very much intrigued to know more about, so he did the sensible thing.

"Hagrid, what's in Vault 713?"

"Can't tell yeh that, Harry. It's Hogwarts business, better left unsaid," Hagrid said in an enigmatic tone.

Contrary to Harry's vault, this one didn't have a keyhole. Instead, Griphook asked both of them to stand back as he strokes the door gently with one of his long fingers and the door simply melted away. Seeing Harry's unconvinced look, Griphook grinned at him and said: "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried to do that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped there."

Understanding washed over Harry's face. "Efficient, I guess. Am I right to guess you would be opening it later?"

"Not without a request for deposit or withdraw," Griphook said.

"That could take some days," Harry let out his thoughts.

"Or months," Griphook smiled wickedly yet again. "We check once after 10 years of inactivity."

Dark, Harry thought.

Inside the vault was a nothing but a little package. At first, it seemed harmless enough, but Harry just knew better than to assume such foolishness. Whatever item inside the package was, it was either extremely important, extremely dangerous or both at the same time. He wondered if Hagrid was to be trusted with it, as he looked rather clumsy. Perhaps that was the point, nobody would suspect he had it and the package could be delivered without troubles.

"We gotta go back now," Hagrid said, rather done with cart rides.

One very wild cart ride later they stood blinking at the sunlight outside Gringotts. Now with his hands full of money, Harry didn't exactly know where to go first. He decided it was best to leave this at more experienced hands.

"Uniforms firs' then, 's just around the corner." Hagrid led him to a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, that'll take some time, so I might as well slip off for a pick-me-up at Leaky Cauldron. I hate them, those infernal Gringotts carts, you see."

"Alright, then. I can do this on my own," Harry said dismissively.

Now, from the windows of the store Harry could see a multitude of things that no doubt would make his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but without Hagrid here, he felt like he could afford being much more discrete on the way he ported himself. Without a drop of nervousness, he marched inside the shop, moving like he knew the place; none currently in the shop gave him more than a first glance.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he called a squat witch dressed in mauve. "I'm here to buy my Hogwarts uniforms."

"Got it, dear! I have the lot here — in fact, there's another young man being fitted up just now."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale and pointed face was standing on a footstool while another witch pinned up his long black robes. The witch with Harry stood him on the stool right next to him and slipped a long robe over his head, beginning to pin it to the right length.

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

A quick glance at the boy proved to be enough for Harry to have rough assessment of him. The way the boy's blonde hair was impeccable, his face chubby and well cared for, as well as his perfect posture told a lot about him. A child of an aristocrat, Harry had no doubts, and he barely had much patience for dealing with their lot. Always demanding something, a buzz to his electronic ears inside that insufferable helmet without being able to dismiss or outright rid the galaxy of that corrupted scum. Palpatine had always thrown Vader to crocodiles when he wanted to taunt him the most.

Nonetheless, he had to deal with it like he always dealt with.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the streets looking at wands," the blonde boy said. He had a bored, dawning voice. "Then I'll drag them off to look at Quidditch 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 somehow."

Harry strongly fought the urge to roll his eyes, but he persevered.

"Have you got your own broom?" The boy went on.

"Soon enough I'll have one," whatever that means. The boy seemed pleased with his answer.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"My parents won't let me," Harry lied through his teeth.

The boy scoffed. "Shame! I do — 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?"

Houses… Did those separate castes or something? "Probably the same as my parents."

"Heh. I can relate. I bet I'll be in Slytherin, all of my family has been — I wouldn't imagine being in Hufflepuff, would you? Unless that's your parent's house?"

"It isn't."

"Great to know! I'd leave if I was sorted into Hufflepuff," the boy said with a malicious grin. Suddenly, the boy seemed to pick up interest in something outside the shop. "I say, look at that man!"

"Hagrid. He's from Hogwarts," Harry said to the boy.

"I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?" Of course, he'd make that comparison.

"Gamekeeper, yes…" Harry corrected without affronting the boy, that would only lead to trouble.

"Exactly. I heard he's some kind of savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting his bed on fire," the boy sniggered.

Harry's patience was starting to get really thin at this point. Damned be his childish brain that did not know the mean of that word.

"He seems nice enough, especially compared to you," Harry spat the words with a good amount of venom. He realized then and there that the giant had grown on him.

"Oh yeah," the boy sneered. "Why he's with you anyway? Where are your parents?"

"Very much dead," he informed easily.

"Oh… They were of our sort, right?" The boy didn't even bothered apologizing.

"A witch and a wizard, I presume? Yes."

"I really wish they didn't let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up in our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get their letters, imagine. I think they should keep in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

Ah! So, the truth unravels itself.

Bigots. Bigots everywhere! He could guess what this boy was talking about just from what he gave him. The boy, and most likely his family too, did not welcome those that come from a similar background than him or perhaps even those born among muggles.

The witch that was fitting him decided right at this time to end her business. "That's you done, my dear." Harry quickly hopped off the stool and looked back at the boy with much contempt.

"Take a guess. Tell me at Hogwarts," Harry said, though he very much expected the boy to forget about it when September rolled around anyway.

"Say, Hagrid, can we take a look at some books now? I'd like to learn more about this Quidditch a kid talked about at Malkin's," Harry said as he savored in the amazing flavors of his ice cream. Nobody would truly feel the joy that he felt while actually eating something, not without experiencing nutritional fluids being fed directly into his organs.

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgetin' yeh don't know a thing! Alright, we can go take a look at some books. Maybe yeh can get some that talk about our world. That'll help yeh."

After a quick search for a bookstore and a good while of Harry discussing with Hagrid why he felt the need to buy a book on curses — which was ultimately shot down by Hagrid explaining that he couldn't perform magic out of school, at least not with a wand, and that the curses probably wouldn't work anyway as this was some advanced stuff. Next on the list were the caldrons, of which Harry got his way with buying a nice set of scales for weighting potions ingredients as well as a little souvenir in the form of an eyeball keychain — he'd find some use for it later. He got a very nice collapsible telescope to watch the stars, some very strange and disgusting looking things from the apothecary and from there, the list got smaller and smaller until one item was left:

"Time fer yer wand, Harry. Yeh'd want Ollivanders. There ain't no place better fer a wand," Hagrid said pointing at the next and final stop. "Why don't yeh run along there and wait? I just have one more thing ter sort out, it won't be long."

"Sure! See you later, Hagrid."

Magic wands, huh? Harry guessed that this was, like a lightsaber was to a Jedi, the sign of a mage, though a tad more influential in their manipulation of the Force. Harry stared at the at the peeling gold letters over the door of the shop, they read "Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand laid on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Harry could feel that this place was somewhat different.

You see, ever since he arrived at Diagon Alley, he could feel something shift in his perception of the Force, like it suddenly concentrated itself around this place, but this specific wand shop reminded him of something else. A memory so distant in the past, back when he had just been accepted into the Jedi Order and started his training with Obi-Wan — so nostalgic and charming. This place was a nexus of the Force, much like the temple at Illum, and if he knew anything about lightsabers and their sources of power, the kyber crystals, is that they always chose their owners.

He knew what to expect before even entering the place.

A bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as he stepped inside. It was a tiny and very simple place. Very empty too, at first glance, but he could feel the power of the wands — each and every one of them — all deposited and protected inside cases, stored in rolls and rolls of shelves.

"Mr. Ollivander, I presume," Harry said before the man even came into his view. He had felt him coming. "Good morning."

The old man standing before him was wide eyed, though not in the least surprised that Harry knew he was there — that seemed to be his default expression. His pale eyes stared right at him, like shining moons assessing the lives below without judgment.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter." And Harry could feel it too. This man was much stronger in the Force than he currently was. "You have your mom's eyes. It seems like yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. 10 and ¼ inches long, swishy, made of willow. A very nice wand for charm work."

It seemed that this Ollivander must be this reality's Huyang.

"Now, your father was very different. Favored a mahogany wand. 11 inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored, but in truth —"

"The wand that chooses the wizard," Harry completed. "It's easy enough to know when you can feel it."

"Ah, yes. You'd know, of course," Ollivanders smiled brightly. "You're wiser than most, Harry Potter. Very impressive indeed."

Ollivanders then turned to him and extended his hand in Harry's direction, carefully placing the fringe that hid the boy's scar out of the way.

"I'm afraid to inform too that I was the one that sold the wand that gave you this mark," he said somberly. "13 and ½ inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful indeed, and in the wrong hands… If only I knew what that wand would be used for in the future."

In the secrecy of his mind, Harry asked himself if Huyang would ever ask himself the same if he ever learned what Anakin had used his lightsaber for.

"There's only so much that is in our control," Harry offered.

"Yes, yes… Well, let's get this done with. Can you please extend the hand you favor, Mr. Potter?"

As Harry hold out his arm, Ollivander quickly got to work, measuring from Harry's finger to his elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, the wandcrafter said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We specifically use unicorn hair, phoenix tail feather or the heartstring of a dragon. As you can already feel, no two Ollivander wands are the same, just as these substances are not the same — not even if they happen to be from the same animal. Of course, that means that your results with another wizard's wand will be subpar when compared with your own."

So, it wasn't quite like a lightsaber in the end. The tape measure into a heap at Ollivanders hands and he quickly started his search for Harry's wand.

"That will do," the old man said and placed a box on Harry's hands. "Try it, Mr. Potter. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nice and flexible, just take it and give it a wave."

With the wand out of its case, Harry got to feel it around his hands and already felt that this wasn't meant to be. Regardless, he was very much curious to know how such things were used to manipulate the Force, so he did as he was told…

… And various wand cases proceeded to shoot out of the shelves and into the floor as the Force swirled wildly around the shop.

"Nope," both he and Ollivander said in unison.

"Maple and phoenix feather. 7 inches. Quite whippy."

A glass vase exploded.

"No, no! Definitely not! Here, ebony with unicorn hair, 8 and ½ inches long, springy"

Nothing happened this time. "I think I've got an idea, Mr. Ollivander."

"Oh? And what is it?" The man asked quite intrigued.

Harry raised his hand and closed his eyes before saying, "Just watch me."

He sank deep into the Force, letting it guide his senses to where they were needed the most. Carefully, he felt the wands scattered around the shop and one by one silenced the ones that didn't vibrate with him to his senses. As less and less "noise" was around, he could feel the answer approaching, almost touching his fingertips.

"There," he said while pulling the wand case towards his hands. As it collided with his hands, Harry opened his eyes — his expression ever serene. This time, Ollivander looked at him quick shocked as to what he had just witnessed.

"Never I have ever seen such use of magic in my life. I'm at a loss of words, Mr. Potter. And to do wandless magic, one must be really attuned with all the magic around them," Ollivander approached as Harry got his wand out of the case. "Curious… Yes, most curious."

"What's so curious?" Harry asked.

"Holly and phoenix feather, 11 inches, nice and supple. Very unusual combination, very powerful too," Ollivander looked directly into Harry's eyes. "I remember every wand I ever sold — every single one. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather — just one more. It's very curious that you are the one destined to have this wand when its sibling was the one that gave you that scar."

The implications were easy enough to understand. Voldemort was the owner of the sibling wand and now he was selected by this wand specifically. Hagrid had commented before how some believed Voldemort to be still alive, being a believer of that himself. Could it be that he, in his new life, was bound yet again by destiny? Deep inside Harry's heart, he felt the seeds of fear being planted yet again.

"The wand chooses the wizard… I think we must expect great things for you, Mr. Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great nonetheless."

Harry felt a shiver ran down his spine, his grip tightening against the wand on his hands. Yet another sign was being given to him, wasn't it? He wondered what he should make of it. Without paying Ollivander much mind, he paid for his wand a total of 7 Galleons and got out of the shop in a thoughtful mood.

Suddenly, Harry heard a very familiar voice to his right: "Hey, Harry! Look what I got ter yeh!" Hagrid was standing there, but what he had in his hands made Harry's eye grow wide. There was a large cage and inside it was a gorgeous snowy owl hooting loudly at Harry. "Happy birthday, Harry! I suppose this is my birthday present fer yeh. Do yeh like her?"

Harry, in turn, felt his throat close a bit, words just couldn't come out easily. "I… Hagrid…" This act of such pure kindness, especially directed at him so unexpectedly, just clicked something in Harry's brain that made him tear up a bit. He felt so deeply moved by the giant's simple present that he couldn't muster the right words to express it.

"Thank you," he managed to say quietly. He had absorbed the Dursley insults for quite a long time and, with his memories back, he felt truly isolated inside his own unique circumstances, never expecting to receive such kindhearted thing ever again in his life.

"Don't mind me. Yeh did like it, didn't yeh?" Hagrid seemed apprehensive for a moment.

Harry wrapped his hands around the cage and looked at the giant. "I loved it. Thank you, really."

"Well, that's what's important, am I right?" Hagrid beamed. "What're yeh calling her?"

The boy looked at the owl, analyzing her majestic stare and imperious composure, a strong sense of proudness yet humility coming from the owl. He thought for a moment, before finally deciding on the name that felt right for that snowy companion.

"Padme."