MOP

Harry Potter and the Myriad of Possibilities: Neophytes

Chapter 5: Past is Prologue

Disclaimer: This is solely a not-for-profit fan activity and does not intend to infringe on copyrights held by Time Warner, DC Comics, Bloomsbury et al, and JK Rowling. Any characters that are original to this work remain the property of the author.

A/N: The Myriad of Possibilities Series primarily uses the background from the Harry Potter books but some elements and scenes have been borrowed from other sources – including the movies, Pottermore and my own headcanon – that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments – including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and Superman and Lois (2021) – and relocates events of Young Justice to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens and Twenties as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result. Any other recognisable characters belong to their copyright holders.

A/N: Thanks to Jon, 6f5e4d, and the Young Justice Writers Group for their help on this chapter.

Smallville.
August 16, 20:16 CDT.

"Good evening, Mariah," said Lana as she slipped into a chair opposite her children's form teacher.

"Good evening, Lana," said the other woman. "Well, I don't really have much to say… Hank has always been a pleasure to have my class, bright, eager to please, enthusiastic…"

"And Linda?"

"As you know, she had a little difficult settling in at first," Mariah reminded her.

Lana thought about that for a moment, then nodded her agreement.

"I think our little school was a bit of a steep adjustment for her originally, but she's settled in and contributed far better this year and I'm looking forward to seeing how she – and your son of course – contribute this year."

Lana paused for a moment, still not sure how to explain the situation without giving away too much information that some might prefer that she didn't. After a while, she decided to just jump right in. "I'm afraid that you'll have to make do Linda only for this year."

"Oh?" said the teacher curiously.

"As you know, my son is adopted…"

"I've heard that," she agreed. "His biological parents were murdered, if I recall correctly… something to do with terrorism."

"They were," Lana confirmed. "Well, before their deaths, they arranged for him to attend a private school in Scotland. We met with a representative of the school a month ago and confirmed his attendance."

"Well, that's a bit of good luck for him, I suppose," Mariah observed after a brief silence, during which she fished out a sheet of paper and glanced over it. "Well, he's actually satisfied all our basic requirements thanks to his talent for languages, so we will miss him, but I see no reason why that would be a problem. Where would you like me to send his transcripts?"

"You send them to my house," Lana replied. "I'll make sure that the school gets them."

Mariah flashed her an inquiring look but jotted down a message on her notepad without further comment.

August 23, 07:46 CDT.

"Some people have all the luck," Linda - who was dressed for school - muttered darkly as she headed for the door.

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll be busy enough pretty soon."

"You'll head over to Zatanna's soon?" asked his mother as she slipped on her jacket and collected her purse from the sideboard.

"Well, the sun's not up over there for a while yet," Hank noted. "I thought I'd hang here, finish my book and then bike over to Grandpa's in about half-an-hour?"

Lana considered the question and then nodded. "You'll back for dinner?"

"I should be," Hank noted, then added impishly. "As long as everything goes okay."

"Try to make sure it does," said his mother, dryly.

San Francisco.
07:16 PDT.

A pitiful wail broke the silence as Hank let himself into the apartment. "Jinx?" he asked, looking around. "Zatanna?"

The apartment wasn't a particularly big one, so it didn't take long to find the cat in the kitchen, where she was trying desperately to lap up the last few drops of water from her dispenser. Hank immediately rushed over and snatched up the device and quickly filled it and her food dish, which was also empty. That chore done, he pulled out his phone and dialled Zatanna's number. A second or two later, he heard the ringtone echoing from the master bedroom. Frowning, he walked back to that room, and easily located the device. He examined it for a moment, then glanced around the room, noting a few other things that raised his alert level even further. He put her phone back on her nightstand and returned his attention back to his own and pressed one of the speed-dial buttons.

"Watchtower, Rocket speaking."

"Rocket, this is Hank Lang A-Zero-Four," Hank began. "I have a possible Priority Red at 1616 Prescott Street, San Francisco."

"Hank, can you confirm that the Priority Red is at Zatanna's apartment?"

"Confirmed."

"What's your concern?"

"I just arrived for a training session and she's missing," Harry told her. "Now, normally I wouldn't be worried, but her phone and comms are still here and Jinx looked like she hadn't eaten in at least a week when I arrived."

Rocket didn't reply immediately, but when she did, Hank could hear the concern in the woman's voice. "That's not like Zatanna. I'll contact the SFPD and Protector, he's the other local hero… and check with the rest of the League to see when she was last seen."

"You should probably contact Mikey Dowling and her stage crew as well," Hank added. "I think her last show was about two weeks ago… they'll know if she didn't turn up."

"Good call," Rocket admitted. "I'll do that."

"Should I say here until help arrives?"

"Please."

Hollywood.
August 25, 16:05 PDT.

"Recognized, Hank Lang A-Zero-Four; Jinx C-Zero-Six."

Most of the usual residents and a handful of Outsiders were milling around the Hub, playing games and reading, as he stepped out of the Zeta-Tube.

Lia stepped over to great him, "I assume you're here to see Zatanna?" she said, eyeing Jinx, who returned it with her typical poise.

"Is she all right?" Hank asked. "And the others?"

"I think so," replied the red-headed psychic. "You can go through to the med-bay if you like."

Hank nodded and they parted company. Seconds later, he crossed the threshold into the side-room, which was bustling with activity and Dr Holt, Artemis, Violet and Zatanna were deep in their activities under the supervision of a chimpanzee in a loose-fitting suit and a deerstalker. As he watched, Zatanna cast a spell on Conner, turning him back from a marionette into his usual form.

"Are you all right, Conner?" she asked solicitously.

He considered the question, then raised his gauntlet to check it. "The spell seems to have wrecked my solar booster and drained my reserves."

"But you can fix that with a trip to the Fortress, right?"

Conner nodded, then glanced past her at Hank. "I think you've got a visitor or two."

Zatanna turned and then beamed at them. "Hank… and you brought Jinx!"

Hank crossed the distance between them and passed over the feline, who nuzzled her human tenderly. "She was in pretty rough shape when I found her, so I took her home to help her recover."

"Thanks for that."

"What happened anyway?" Harry asked. "If you can say?"

Zatanna blushed a little. "I got caught napping… literally," she admitted. "An old adversary of my fathers, Oscar Hampel, kidnapped me again…"

"I think I remember hearing about that one…" Harry mused. "I think it was your sixteenth kidnapping? Shortly before the Team was founded?"

"Sixteenth attempt," Zatanna corrected promptly. "Twelfth success. November eighty-one."

"Yeah… Didn't he break off from the investigation into my parents' deaths to go and rescue you?"

Zatanna nodded. "Hampel was turned into a marionette by my dad after that and spent the next decade trying to locate an artifact that not only allowed him to transfer my father's original spell from him to me… but also transform some of the others into puppets as well."

"But everything's all right now?"

Zatanna nodded. "M'gann was able to resist the spell and it backfired on him – transforming me back to human –- when he tried it on Mikey."

Hank snorted. "Because she's impervious to magic."

Zatanna nodded again.

Salem.
August 26, 20:30 EDT

"Are you okay, daughter?" asked her father once he removed the Helmet of Fate. "You don't look well."

"I'll be fine," Zatanna assured him. "I had another run in with Oscar Hampel, but Mikey and my friends rescued me and he's back in puppet form and under lock-and-key at STAR Labs."

Her father relaxed and nodded. "I should have done that the first time."

"We all make mistakes and sometimes it can take a fresh set of eyes to figure out the solution," Zatanna reminded him and reached for the Helmet.

He paused for a second, then released it, allowing her to take it, then put it on and transform into Doctor Fate.

September 2, 20:30 EDT.

Doctor Fate rose from their chair as Khalid - dressed in his mission outfit - entered the main room of the Tower and removed the Helmet, releasing Zatanna from the burden for another month. "How are you?" she asked.

"That was going to be my line," Khalid observed. "But I am fine. I assume you are going to London?"

Zatanna nodded, "I'd like to check in with the Strange Happenings Executive about their ongoing investigations into the 'Wizarding World' before I go shopping with Hank."

"Give him and his mother my best," Khalid said as he reached for the Helmet.

Windsor.
September 3, 09:55 BST.

Zatanna - dressed in a rollneck top and skirt - stepped out of an ankh-shaped portal, then walked briskly out of the alley onto the main road. She had only gone a few steps and was drawing abreast of a shabby, second-hand bookstore when a black cab drew up to the curb and a familiar face got out of the drivers' seat. "Hello Chaz."

"Wotcher, Zee," said the black-haired man cheerily as he moved to open the back door.

"I had a little… incident… with an old family nemesis a few days ago, but everything's okay now."

"That sounds familiar," observed the cabman. "Constantine's had a few similar clashes in his day."

"How is he?"

"Not great," Chaz admitted. "Kit left him a few weeks back and he didn't take it well… he went on a bender and I haven't seen him since."

Zatanna was about to comment but was distracted as Hank - wearing jeans and a Daily Planet sweatshirt - threw himself from the back of the car and hugged her as his mother joined them on the pavement.

"Shall we head in?" asked Lana, who wore a knit dress.

Zatanna nodded, then glanced at Chas. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Constantine'll be fine, it's other people who…" Chaz began, but then cut off his rant midstream at a glare from Lana. "I'll let you know."

Zatanna nodded, then moved away with the Langs trailing in her wake until she reached the door of the Leaky Cauldron and opened it allowing the Langs to pass over the threshold before following them and glanced around the dark and shabby interior, trying to pick out their contact … but while he was able to note a group of old women – one of them was smoking a long pipe – sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry; a pale young man in dark robes; a little man in a top hat; and the old barman – who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut – before the silence distracted him… he wasn't in sight.

"Can I help?" asked the barman. Then he paused to consider something. "Good Lord. is this… can this be…?"

Zatanna tensed a little, not quite sure where this was going.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an honour." He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Hank, dodged around Lana, and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

Zatanna glanced at Hank, who was somewhat surprised and confused at the greeting. All eyes were on them and the old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand… I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

This went on for ten or fifteen minutes and if hadn't been for the arrival of a massive, but relatively amiable man that claimed 'Hogwarts business' in a booming voice, then Zatanna wasn't sure what she'd've done to get them out of it.

"Thanks for the save," said Zatanna, between breaths to steady herself. She stepped up to the large man and glanced him over. "Rubeus Hagrid?"

"Tha's me," confirmed the giant with a chuckle. " Keeper o' Key an' Grounds at Hogwarts." He held out an enormous hand and shook her whole arm, and then promptly repeated the process with Hank. He paused in front of Lana, apparently considering doing the same, but changed his mind and grasped her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it.

"Lead the way then, Mr Hagrid," said Lana, after she reclaimed her hand.

"Call me Hagrid, ma'am, everyone does," replied the giant. "Where's me umbrella?"

He started counting bricks and after a moment he told them to stand back and tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered… it wriggled… and then in the middle, a small hole appeared… it grew wider and wider… a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

Hagrid paused for a moment for effect, and then spoke, "Welcome… t' Diagon Alley."

Diagon Alley.
10:16 BST.

Hagrid led the way to a a snowy-white building that towered over the other little shops, emblazoned with the legend Gringotts' Wizarding Bank over its burnished bronze doors. Standing beside them was a tiny, swarthy-faced man with a pointed beard and long fingers and feet wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold…

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon 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 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.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors, and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these.

The group made for the counter, Hagrid still in the lead. "Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's vault."

"You have his key, sir?"

"I've got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers.

The goblin wrinkled his nose.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely. "I see… Ragnok has left instructions that he wishes to speak to anyone requesting access to that vault personally. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin.

Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Zatanna and the Langs followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall and then the goblin held the door open for them and ushered the group into another marble corridor lined with office doors. Once they were through the door, Griphook closed it, then trotted forward until he was at the head of the group and lead them down the corridor to the final door which had the name 'Ragnok' etched on the glass.

He knocked on the door frame and received a "come in" from inside. Griphook opened the door slightly so that the elderly goblin inside was visible. "A young wizard and his escort are requesting access to the Potter Vault. You wanted to see them?"

"Send them in," said Ragnok. "You and the groundskeeper can stay outside."

Hagrid didn't seem entirely keen on this suggestion, but after a moment he shuffled aside so that Zatanna and the Langs could enter the room and handed the key over to Lana as she passed.

"Please be seated," offered Ragnok. "Mr Potter, I presume?"

"That's what they tell me," Hank replied blandly. "I've been going under another name for the last ten years."

"That would explain one or two points," mused the goblin. "And your companions?"

"My mentor, Zatanna Zatara… sorceress and sometime host of Nabu of the Lords of Order."

"I see…" said the goblin, a slight tremor in his voice. "And your current guardian?"

"My adoptive mother, Lana Lang," Hank confirmed.

"I asked to see you because in the last ten years there have been several attempts by various parties to seize the Potter Vault and have its contents redistributed to 'worthy causes'. Fortunately, Fleamont Potter left sufficiently clear instructions that I have been able to ensure that these attempts have been thwarted so far. However, as a result – particularly as you didn't have the key in your possession – I require certain bonafides before I can allow you to access the vault."

"Who has…?"

"A variety of different players for what I believe to be nearly as many reasons," Ragnok replied. "There is no need to be concerned. Such intrigue has been… more common than Gringotts is comfortable with in recent years."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Is it dangerous to him?" Lana asked.

"Nothing to be concerned about," Ragnok assured them. "I just need him to write a short declaration on some special parchment… A sharp scratch is normal, but it heals immediately."

Harry glanced over at Mera, she paused to consider it, but then nodded.

"Please write 'My name is Harry James Potter, son of James Potter'," requested Ragnok.

Harry obeyed the instruction, picking up the handsome scarlet quill and scratched out the desired missive, noting with interest that the red ink quickly filled out into a family tree.

"Excellent," said Ragnok. "Griphook!"

The other goblin eased open the door and poked his head in. "Yes, sir?"

"You may take Mr Potter and his party down to vault six-hundred and eighty-seven."

"Immediately," agreed the younger goblin. "Follow me, please."

As they rose to their feet, Ragnok picked up a folder stuffed with parchment and handed it over to Harry. "These are copies of your bank records, if you have any further questions, send me an owl."

Griphook led them back to the main hall, then down into another passageway – this time a narrow stone one lit with flaming torches with a series of railway tracks set into the floor.

Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in – Hagrid with some difficulty – and were off.

At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Hank tried to remember… left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left… but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. His eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late… they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

Hank enjoyed the ride and a glance at his companions showed that both his guardians had too, while Hagrid clearly had not enjoyed the trip as he looked very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped at the sight. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

"Impressive," allowed Zatanna.

"The gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid explained as Lana joined Harry inside the vault and helped him pile some of it into a bag. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh. Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut."

10:16 BST.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. "Might as well get yer uniform next," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."

He did still look a bit sick, so Hank nodded agreement and they parted, with the groundskeeper heading back to towards the Leaky Cauldron, while the Langs headed towards the robe shop, with Zatanna bringing up the rear.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch who was dressed all in mauve. "How can I help, ma'am?" she asked in brisk, no-nonsense tone.

"One for Hogwarts, please," his mother replied, ushering Hank forward.

"Very good, ma'am," said Madam Malkin with a nod. "We've got the lot here…" She signalled for one of her assistants – wearing a name tag of 'Raine Goldfinch' who towed Hank over to a stool in the middle of the store, while the proprietress asked his guardians if they wanted anything.

10:32 BST.

When Hagrid met them outside the robe shop, he was carrying a cage with a snowy owl inside. Hank accepted it, but then frowned and glanced towards his mother. "Mom, are snowy owls – any owls – allowed back home?"

"I'm not sure," his mother admitted. "Zatanna can you?"

"I'll look into it," agreed his mentor. "Even if they're not allowed privately, I'm sure we could fix up something with the Elf Post service."

Hagrid's heavy beard made his expression a little difficult to read, but Hank suspected that he was embarrassed at his gaff. "Where to next, Hagrid?"

"Let's get your cauldron next…" he suggested.

After the cauldron shop, they visited Slug & Jiggers, Potage's, Scribbulus' and Flourish & Blotts, before moving to their final required visit… a narrow and shabby building. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid beckoned Mera into to wait.

Hank felt strangely as though he had entered an extremely strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Hank jumped, and for a moment he sensed the fizzing sensation of Zatanna pulling up her magic, but then it faded.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Hank awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon… Harry Potter."

It wasn't a question.

"You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten-and-a-quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Hank. Hank wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it… it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Hank were almost nose to nose. Hank could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where..."

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Hank's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, very powerful… and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shook his head and then, to Hank's relief, spotted the rest of the group.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy… wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one," said Mr Ollivander, but then suddenly became stern. "But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?"

"Er - yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet, then added brightly. "I've still got the pieces, though."

"But you don't use them?" said Mr Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Hank noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmm," said Mr Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. Then he turned his attention to his guardians. "I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure, ma'am…?"

"While I have some Potter blood, I don't have any magic of my own," his mother required.

Ollivander nodded, apparently unperturbed, then turned towards Zatanna. "And you, my dear?"

"My name is Zatanna Zatara. I prefer to use my family's own magic."

"Ah, a Zatara. I never… I would be interested in…" But he broke off, shaking his head. "But you are not here to indulge my personal curiosity, so let us see what we can do for young Mr Potter." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er… well, I'm right-handed."

"Hold out your arm. That's it."

He measured Hank from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Hank suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. "That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Hank took the wand and waved it around a bit, causing most of the boxes to come flying out of the shelves and come crashing down. Hank jumped and hurriedly puts the wand back on the counter.

"Apparently not," said Ollivander, dryly, then returns to his stacks. After a moment he produced another wand. "Perhaps this… ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Try…"

Hank waved at a vase, which shattered, startling Hank.

"No, no, definitely not!" insisted Ollivander. "No matter... Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere… I wonder, now… yes, why not… unusual combination…" After searching his selection, he selected a third wand, but stopped and became thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder…" Coming to a decision, he handed the wand to Hank. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

As soon as his fingers closed around the handle, Hank felt a sudden warmth in them, he raised the wand above his head and it suddenly began to glow under it, a mysterious draft blowing his hair up and causing several sheets of paperwork in the background to float around the room.

Ollivander's expression shifted to one of surprise and he lapsed deep into thought. "Curious, very curious…"

"Sorry," said Hank. "But what's curious?"

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

Hank swallowed. Glancing at his companions, he got the idea that they weren't too thrilled at the information either.

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

Hank shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much, but he paid seven gold Galleons for his wand nonetheless, and Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

The sun was at its height as the group wound their way back down Diagon Alley and back through the wall, into the Leaky Cauldron, now well into the lunch trade.

Initially, Mera had wanted to head back to the Embassy straight away, but once she realised that the pub's patrons were content to ignore them this time she agreed to a late lunch, which Tom quickly provided.

A few minutes later, Hank paused in the middle of eating his soup. "Hagrid?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I know how I ended up with my mom," Hank began. "But even with various investigations, we haven't been able to get a consistent story, but you know the whole story, Hagrid? You know why I'm famous!"

"I'm not exactly sure I'm the right person to tell you tha', Harry," replied Hagrid. "And truth to be told, I'm not sure anyone knows the whole story, even Dumbledore… But yeh can' go to Hogwarts withou' knowin' what most people know so …" He paused to take a fortifying swallow of his mead. "First, an' understand this, 'cause it's important… Not all wizards are good. Some of them go bad."

Hank nodded here, while his personal experience of such people was limited, he'd heard plenty of stories from his 'babysitters' over the years.

"A few years ago, there was one wizard who went as bad as you can go. And his name was V... his name was V..."

"Voldemort?" offered Zatanna. "Constantine was able to tell us that much."

"That's the one," agreed Hagrid, with evident relief. "It was dark times… dark times. You-Know-Who'd gathered some followers – Death Eaters he called them – and brought 'em over to the dark side. Anyone that stood up to 'im ended up dead. Your parents fought against 'im, but nobody lived once 'e decided to kill 'em." Here, he paused again for effect. "Nobody... not one. 'Cept you."

"Me?" repeated Hank, puzzled. "That was what caused the explosion at Godric's Hollow… Voldemort trying to kill me?"

"Aye," agreed Hagrid. "There's a lotta mystery 'bout the details even now… but that ain't no ordinary cut on your forehead, Harry. A mark like that only comes from being touched by a curse...and an evil curse at that."

"I assume from your description of the attack you are referring to the Killing Curse?" asked Zatanna, then when the groundskeeper nodded, she added. "We never did investigate your scar thoroughly did we…?"

Hank shook his head, then turned back to Hagrid. "What happened to...to Voldemort?"

"Well, some say 'e died…" replied Hagrid. "Codswallop in my opinion. Nope, I reckon he's out there, still… too tired to go on. But one thing's absolutely certain. Something about you stumped him that night. That's why you're famous. That's why everybody knows your name. You're the Boy-Who-Lived."