Harry Potter looked around the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive. Sitting on an actual bed for the first time, he marveled at how well things had gone since his discussion with his aunt three days ago. It turns out that despite the Dursley's intense dislike of Harry personally, they caved quickly to the idea of magical consequences. After he wrung every detail he could out of Petunia, he explained the change in his situation to Vernon when he got home that night. They treated him roughly the same, although now they didn't even try to hide the horror and disgust in their eyes.

He still did all the chores, but at least now they left him alone while he did them.

In return they had agreed to take him to London, to a place that Petunia remembered dropping off her 'vile sister' to do her back to school shopping. A pub that she couldn't see, that apparently led to an alley that she couldn't enter. The Wizarding World was more established than Harry had originally thought, with its own currency and postal system. It was good to know what the 'owl' part of his letter meant.

He was feeling apprehensive this morning; today was to be his first excursion into the Wizarding World. He worried about navigating alone, about finding all the items on his school list, where he would get the money, and a darker voice in the back of his mind wondered if his monsters would follow him down the rabbit hole.

Harry shook off his melancholy and made his way downstairs. His Aunt didn't bang on his door anymore, but he still got up before her and made breakfast. It was easier to appease the minimum standards set by the Dursleys than to fight them.

More flies with honey and all that, Harry thought as he started the pancakes.

The floorboards groaned upstairs. From the sound of it, Vernon was the first one up this morning. He lumbered into the kitchen with the newspaper, stubbornly ignoring his nephew behind the counter. He sat at the table with a grunt and promptly disappeared behind the paper.

Harry brought over a plate of pancakes. "Don't forget, Uncle Vernon, you agreed to take me to Charing Cross Road on your way to work today," Harry said. Vernon grunted, but it sounded enough like an affirmative that Harry left him to it and put the remaining pancakes in the oven for Petunia and Dudley when they made an appearance.

It was a very awkward car ride to London; Vernon seemed determined to ignore Harry and pretend that he just happened to go this route to work occasionally. This suited Harry just fine, he spent most of the drive watching the road for any signs of trouble. Anytime he left #4 Privet drive, Harry was on high alert. His skin prickled with magic, heightening his senses despite being caged enough to avoid shorting out any of the electronics in the automobile. So far, he saw no evidence of anything unnatural, but his demons could appear in a moment's distraction.

Vernon pulled into a parking spot in the general area Petunia had described. He finally turned to Harry.

"Out!" He barked.

As Harry was opening the door, Vernon called "I'll be back at 6:00. If you aren't in this exact spot, you can find your own way home."

Harry closed the door and gave a cheeky wave, enjoying Vernon's expression as he sped off into the morning traffic.

Finding the entrance to the wizarding alley was easier than he thought. As he walked down the road, Harry felt a static charge ripple over his skin as he neared a dingy pub with a worn sign declaring it The Leaky Cauldron. The only confirmation he needed was watching the regular people's eyes slide straight from the bookshop on one side to the record shop on the other. Surely someone would notice the old fashioned pub compared to the modern glass of the surrounding stores, but no one noticed. No one stopped, or even looked at the small establishment.

Harry steeled himself and pushed the door open.

It was as dark and dingy on the inside as it was on the outside. It was still early, and it appeared that the only patrons up this early were content to keep to themselves. Harry touched his letter in his pocket to calm his nerves, and approached the bar. He called to the bartender, since he was short for his age and couldn't quite see over the bar.

"Hello there," the bartender said, "I'm Tom." He was bald and toothless, but had a kind smile as he peered down at Harry.

"I need to shop for my school supplies," Harry said, unable to think of a logical reason as to why an eleven year old was in a bar at eight in the morning. He hoped that Tom would know what he was talking about.

"Oh! Hogwarts bound, are ya? This your first year?" Tom asked.

"Yes." Harry did his best to conceal his excitement at his first true evidence that Hogwarts was, in fact, real.

After explaining to Tom that his relatives weren't magical and uncomfortable entering the alley, Tom took him out to a small courtyard behind the pub. Before Harry could ask what they were doing, Tom whipped out a polished stick about a foot long and purposefully tapped three different bricks. Harry felt a pulse of magic, something he had only ever generated himself before. It was exhilarating to feel that magic was real, that he wasn't alone. The bricks folded back on themselves to reveal a dramatic archway.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Sir," Tom said, taking a step back.

It was breathtaking. Harry could feel the magic saturating every cobblestone, every storefront. Even at this hour the alley was bustling, alive with odd characters and stranger wares for sale. Harry absentmindedly thanked Tom and began to walk up the street, trying to see everything while also keeping his guard up. It was difficult though; it was like he had left his mundane life of monsters and normal people behind and stepped into another universe, so removed from his normal life that his worries from before seemed very far away. He passed shops for everything from potions ingredients to magical pets. The other witches and wizards paid him little mind, going about their shopping in the early morning.

Harry did notice that he stood out in his normal clothes. He had seen the robes on his shopping list, but didn't quite know what to expect. It seemed that robes meant anything from a single garment resembling a muggle dress to a dramatic long coat over a more normal shirt and slacks. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it, but he decided to make the clothing store his second stop. He didn't like standing out.

His first stop was the Bank. Petunia spoke of strange wizarding coins and an allowance for Hogwarts students that her sister claimed. Harry hoped that he would be able to bluff his way through, since his aunt didn't know much and she certainly wasn't giving him any of their money to go learn to be even freakier than he was now.

Harry spotted a large gleaming white marble building around the next turn of the alley. He stopped in front of it, eyeing the squat guards at the door warily. They were not human. Harry did not have good experiences with non-human things. They were short, with pointed noses and ears and faces that looked like melted wax. However, their shrewd little eyes were intelligent, and not the blazing red hellfire that Harry was accustomed to. After deciding that they were not an immediate threat, he read the inscription beside the door.

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 their turn
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

Harry suppressed his urge to grin. The Bank was bragging. Part of him decided to put their boasting to the test at some point. I mean, they are literally asking for it, Harry thought to himself as he slipped inside. The entrance hall was marble and gold, although not that different from a normal bank. Harry approached the nearest open teller, trying not to betray his combination of apprehension and interest at the strange creature behind the counter.

The creature ignored him as he approached. "I'm going to Hogwarts, and I need to see if there are any funds available for new students," Harry said.

The creature continued to ignore him.

Maybe it was arrogant of him, but Harry bristled at being ignored. After everything he had been through, he was not going to let a grumpy... Whatever this thing is, stop him. Harry flared his magic like he had to intimidate Petunia, letting it flow out from him in a ripple of power that was briefly visible like a heat distortion. It was nice to let his magic flow naturally. He kept it caged and contained the majority of the time to appease his relatives and other normal people. They could feel it, and he didn't want anyone asking too many questions. Plus it shorted out all electronics in his vicinity, which was inconvenient. He hoped this bluff wouldn't backfire on him.

The creature stopped ignoring him, if only to glance up at him and raise a single eyebrow. Harry steeled himself and held its gaze and repeated,

"I am going to Hogwarts. I require assistance. Please." He kept his voice even but as firm as he could.

The creature actually cracked a grin. Harry suppressed a flinch at the number of pointed teeth in its mouth.

"Key please," it said.

"I don't have a key," Harry stated, trying to keep his voice cold.

The creature's eye twitched as it stared down at him. It reached under the counter and pulled out a dagger. Harry's magic automatically spiked in response, his eyes flashing green like a lens flare, but the creature was unfazed.

"Put three drops of blood on this paper," the creature sneered, pushing a piece of parchment and the dagger towards Harry. He eyed the dagger warily but decided to play along for now. Picking up the blade, he cut the tip of his finger and let three drops of blood fall. He healed his finger absentmindedly and slid the paper back to the goblin. The creature glanced at his healed finger momentarily before hopping off its stool. It disappeared behind the counter for almost a minute.

Harry was just starting to get worried that something was wrong when the goblin returned. It narrowed its beady eyes at him and handed him a small golden key.

"There is a ten-galleon fee for key replacement. It will be deducted from your vault automatically. Griphook will escort you to your vault," The creature stated. Harry was thoroughly confused now. What vault? His aunt hadn't mentioned anything about him having a wizarding bank account. Harry was about to ask when another creature approached him.

"Follow me," the creature barked. Harry decided that this must be Griphook and played along.

As he was walking away, the original creature behind the counter surprised him by cracking another Cheshire grin and saying, "Welcome back, Mr. Potter."

...

Those carts are brilliant. I wonder if they would let me take another ride just for fun?

Harry hopped out of the metal contraption onto a stone platform. They must be miles under London now, judging by their rapid descent on the magical roller coaster. Harry looked back as Griphook exited the cart and walked towards the metal door in front of them. He turned to Harry with an irritated look on his face. Or at least, Harry thought he looked irritated. It was hard to tell on the creature's alien face. Plus, from Harry's limited interactions with these creatures, they seemed perpetually irritated, so maybe this was just normal for them. Whatever.

"Key please," Griphook said, holding his hand out.

Why did they bother giving me the key if they were just going to get annoyed and demand it back?

Harry suppressed his internal grumbling and handed the creature his key. However, his irritation was quickly forgotten when Griphook opened the vault door.

Piles of gold. Mountains of silver. Harry was shocked. All this time he had been hiding in his little hole while he had a fortune in actual gold hidden beneath London. It was insane. Did his aunt know about this? She couldn't have; surely her fear of magic would not overcome a fortune that would let her look down on the little people of Privet Drive like ants. This must have belonged to his parents, and they must not have told his relatives. Harry started to wonder if there was more to the story of his parents deaths than being killed by some dark wizard. What even was a dark wizard? Was that just a wizard who used their magic for evil things, or was it more than that?

Harry decided that his next stop after getting some inconspicuous clothes needed to be a bookstore. He was clueless, far too clueless, about the workings of the magical world. He had a lot of catching up to do if he was going to blend in here, and his monster problem still lingered in the back of his mind. All of the gold in the world would not stop the hungry red eyes if he let his guard down at the wrong time.

Glancing back at Griphook, Harry quickly filled his pockets with the large gold coins.

Definitely need to find a book on wizard currency.

The vault closed with an ominous clang behind him as he headed back towards the cart. Harry grinned at Griphook as he hopped in, ready for another wild ride back to the surface.

...

Harry wandered down the street, trying not to get too distracted by the sheer volume of unnatural happenings around him, until he spotted a clothing shop called Madam Malkin's advertising Hogwarts robes. With only a little trepidation, he entered the store. He had never bought his own clothes before; Dudley's cast-offs were always acceptable and he had bigger things to worry about than looking ridiculous. Now, however, he needed to blend in and learn about this new society he was apparently a part of. It wouldn't do to stick out like a sore thumb when he barely knew anything about his surroundings. He took a breath to settle the tension in his gut as he approached the counter.

An older lady with a kind face saw him approaching. "Hogwarts, dear?" she said before he could ask. Convenient, that everyone just seems to know what I am looking for, Harry mused to himself.

"Yes please, I need the required school robes as well as a whole new wardrobe. You can probably tell that my current attire" He gestured at his baggy t-shirt and cargo shorts, "would not be acceptable at Hogwarts" At least, he didn't think it would. Maybe they wore muggle clothes on the weekends? Luckily, the salesperson didn't comment and gestured for him to follow her to the dressing rooms at the back of the store. There was already another boy there being measured by another salesperson. Sales-witch? Harry hopped up on the offered stool while the witch began taking her measurements.

"Hogwarts too?" the boy next to him asked, giving Harry's shabby garments a sneer. He had a thin pointed face and bright silvery blond hair slicked back with impressive precision.

"Yes."

"I've got my father buying my books next door and my mother is looking at wands, although I can't imagine why since it won't really matter until I get there to pick one," the boy said imperiously.

Harry got the distinct impression that he liked to hear himself talk.

"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. It's frankly absurd that first years can't have their own. I've been flying since I could walk and they think it's too dangerous? Pandering to the mudbloods is more like it."

Harry hummed as he mulled over the statement, but the sales witch looked aghast and left in a hurry to go get some more products.

Harry quickly processed the nuggets of information in the blond's boasting. Racing brooms, used for flying, which were apparently too dangerous for first year students but that this child had used for years. Wizards actually flew on brooms? Could wizards fly without brooms? Why would they use brooms if they could fly without one? How did one fly on a broom? It didn't seem all that comfortable. Plus, the banning of brooms for first years was considered pandering to someone. What was a mudblood?

"Do you have a broom?" the blond sneered at Harry.

"No, not yet, but I'll have to get one. Flying sounds fantastic."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Nope." Harry mentally filed away 'Quidditch' to look up at the bookstore.

"I play all the time at our manor, it would be a crime if I didn't get on the house team. Not that they would dare so no. Do you know what House you'll be in yet?" said the boy.

Harry was once again at a loss. House? He decided to try and get some information. "No, I figure that I will find out soon though. What house will you be in?"

"I'll be in Slytherin for sure, all of my family has been. Imagine getting stuck in Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor. I think I'd leave or force them to re-sort me. Father is on the Board of Governors, so I'm sure they would allow it."

Interesting. The school was large enough to have a Board, and this brat's father was clearly rich and influential. Plus, whatever the sorting process was, it was at least somewhat out of the hands of the board if they would need to force a re-sorting. The sales-witch returned with his clothes and Harry hopped off the stool to go change into his new attire. The sales-witch didn't bat an eye at his plan to wear them out, and as he passed the blond at the checkout he decided to take a chance.

"I'm aiming for Gryffindor myself," he said, gauging the boy's reaction. He didn't disappoint. He sneered at Harry again, although Harry felt that it had less weight now that he wasn't dressed in rags.

"Are you one of us? Your parents are our kind, aren't they?" the boy asked, narrowing his eyes. Harry thought quickly. Was he asking if his parents were magical? Or something else? He must be referring to magic.

"They were a witch and a wizard, yes." Harry said, also narrowing his eyes at the boy. He felt like he was getting close to something he may not be able to find in books. He needed to understand this world he was trying to join and it seemed like this boy was arrogant enough to give away the information Harry was looking for.

"Oh good. With those awful clothes I thought you might be one of them." His sneer got more pronounced. "I don't think they should let them in at all. Dirty muggles, the lot of them. Never even heard of Hogwarts, imagine! Magic should be kept in the old families." the boy finished vehemently.

Very interesting, Harry thought. Harry decided that he had enough to work with and staying would only give away the game, so he just raised an eyebrow at the boy and turned to leave the shop.

"I'm Malfoy by the way, Draco Malfoy. What's your name, anyway?" the boy called after him as he reached the door.

Harry saw no harm in telling him; they were going to Hogwarts and he was inevitably going to run into the brat again. "Harry Potter," He threw over his shoulder, and had just enough time to see the blond's shocked face before he left.

What an odd reaction, Harry thought as he continued towards the bookshop. He mulled over the implications of what the boy had revealed, as well as his recognition of Harry's name. It was definitely time to do some research.

...

Harry frowned as he exited the bookshop several hours later. This world was a fair bit more complicated than he originally thought. A small population with increased lifespans, separated from modern society both by magic and by distance in some cases. Somewhat but not entirely cut off from muggle society and its advances, it was an odd mix of magical marvel, oppressive barbarism, and modern bureaucracy. On top of that, Harry was apparently fairly famous for his parents' tragic deaths at the hands of a Dark Lord and the subsequent disappearance of the Dark Lord when he supposedly tried to kill Harry. He was unsure how much of the story was accurate, but the only person he could ask was Petunia and she would certainly give an abbreviated and biased view of events if he asked her.

For now, Harry put the matter out of his mind and focused on his next goal: a wand.

Harry let his magic leak into his bones and strengthen his arms as he carried the huge bag of books he had purchased. He had learned quite a bit about the nature of spells and how magic was performed by other witches and wizards. Nothing in the books described anything close to how he wielded his power. The books never described the feeling of magic surging through one's body, or the ability to fire blasts of pure green energy. They certainly did not mention infusing magic into one's body to strengthen or heal it. Healing spells and strengthening potions seemed complicated and clunky compared to Harry's ability to flood his limbs with raw power. He was starting to suspect that his experience with magic and monsters was nothing like the rest of the magical world.

The books were clear: Magic required a wand. Only some books hinted at wandless magic used by powerful sorcerers that was beyond the majority of witches and wizards, while other books talked about the wild accidental magic of children as though it was something that everyone grew out of eventually. Harry certainly hoped that he would not lose his power, although he thought that was unlikely. It was part of him, even now he could feel it singing softly through his body and the surrounding air, caressing the magic infused into the streets beneath his feet and storefronts around him. He knew that if he needed to, it would respond with barely a thought. It was not a list of standard spells, it was part of him. A limb and a sense all in one, more attuned to his being than his physical body and his other senses at this point.

He may be short and his arms may be skinny, but his magic was potent. With it, his bones became steel, his mind grew sharp, and he didn't need his eyes to know his surroundings. Hopefully, a wand would not change that.

Harry opened the door to Ollivander's wand shop. The store was apparently empty, rows and rows of thin dusty boxes lining the walls. Harry stepped in and looked around the dim space, letting the door shut behind him with the jingle of a welcome bell. Just as Harry was starting to wonder if the store was indeed empty, an old man stepped out from behind one of the shelves at the back of the store.

"Good afternoon," the man said. He had wide, cloudy eyes that seemed to shine in the gloom of the shop. "I thought I would be seeing you soon, Mr. Potter,"

Harry repressed a shiver at the man's casual knowledge. Was it normal for wizards to just know things?

"It seems only yesterday your parents were in my shop buying their first wands. Willow, ten and a quarter inches, nice and swishy for your mother. Mahogany, eleven inches for your father. Pliable, but powerful and attuned to transfiguration magic." He stopped suddenly and peered closely at the mark on Harry's forehead.

Harry honestly forgot that it was there unless a monster was nearby; no one else commented on it. He was very taken aback at this point. This man knew his parents? And remembered their wands?

The man, who must be Ollivander, reached out as if to touch the mark on Harry's forehead. Harry flexed his magic involuntarily, allowing it free to permeate the air and flood the shop with his intent. The dust seemed to freeze midair as the room became heavy and hot, the smell of burning dust growing stronger as the candles flared and the air warped around Harry. Before Harry could control himself, Ollivander's eyes widened even further before pulling back his hand with an apology.

"I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that did that," he said in a low tone as he turned to the boxes behind the counter. "Thirteen and a half inches. Made of Yew, the symbol of power, with the fiery wrath of a phoenix core. A potent wand, Mr Potter..." He trailed off, seemingly lost in thought as he trailed his hands over the myriad of dusty boxes. "But we are here for your wand today. Which is your wand hand?"

"I'm right handed" Harry said absently, also lost in thought from the exchange.

And so began the process of trying wands to see which one was for him.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter!" Ollivander explained while Harry waved wand after wand, trying to understand what he was looking for.

He could feel magic in all of them; Ollivander's shop was a veritable fountain of magical energy with each of the wands their own shining star. None of them called to him though, and Ollivander did not seem to think that any of them had been right either. After several minutes and many discarded boxes, Ollivander got an odd look in his already unusual eyes.

"Just a moment, Mr. Potter" He said, before disappearing into a back room and returning with yet another dusty box. "Holly and Phoenix feather. The power of immortal fire tempered with the desire to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Give it a try."

Harry picked up the wand and immediately knew that this was different. He could feel it in the same way he could feel and connect with his own magic, except it was not his. It was a flame burning bright in his hand, and it pulled on his magic in a way he had never felt before. It was like it wanted to draw his magic in, to make it more than it was as he kept it contained within his skin. He let a small tendril of his power connect with the wand, and was surprised when a shower of green sparks erupted from the end.

"Bravo, Mr Potter! We have found the one. Curious, most curious.." the man trailed off.

Harry spoke up for the first time since entering the shop. "What is curious, sir?"

"I remember every wand I have ever sold, Mr. Potter. The phoenix that gave the feather for your wand gave only one other. The other wand, your wand's brother, was legendary in its power, and in the hands of its master achieved great and terrible things. Your wand's brother gave you that mark." His eyes drifted to Harry's forehead again.

"Yew, and Holly. Most curious indeed." Ollivander's eyes snapped back to Harry's "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter. And I think we can expect great things from you. After all, the Dark Lord was terrible, and none could stand against him."

Notes:

I do not own Harry Potter. Like, comment, subscribe and hit the bell.