The door to Harry's new bedroom opened and his mother entered. She brought with her a tray laden with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies. Hardly the most healthy breakfast imaginable, but as this was the last time that Lily and Harry would likely share breakfast together for a long time, they thought it was quite okay to break the rules this once.

"So, have you thought of a name for her?" Lily asked, as she crossed the room to Harry and he allowed his mother to slide an arm around his shoulders, as he gently smoothed the snowy owl dozing in her cage on the bedside table.

Harry blushed a little. "I found a name I quite liked in the book that Minerva gave to me last night. But I'm not sure if its the sort of thing you call an owl."

"What is it?" asked Lily.

"It's Hedwig," Harry replied, his cheeks turning crimson. "Do … do you think that would be an okay name for her?"

Lily smiled down at him. "I think Hedwig is a very pretty name. No, it's a beautiful name. A beautiful name, for a beautiful owl."

"Hedwig it is then," Harry beamed in relief. It had put to rest a niggling doubt he'd been having, one of a series that had begun to plague his mind since his journey into this strange and exciting new world had suddenly become so very real.

Lily noticed Harry's anxiety and inclined her head at him as she proffered a cup of the hot chocolate.

"You're worried," she diagnosed at once. "What's wrong? Are you afraid?"

"A little," Harry confessed in a meek voice.

"Of what? Being separated from us?"

"Yes, that. But not just that. I feel better having Hedwig, not just as she will connect me to you. but she'll be a great companion in her own right, I'm positive about that."

"That what is it?" Lily pressed in concern.

Harry heaved in a weighty sigh. "I was just thinking, last night while I was trying to find a name for Hedwig … I kept doubting that I'd make a good choice, because I know so little about what's right in the Magical world. And that got me thinking about other things, especially about Hogwarts.

"I … I bet I'll be the worst in the class," Harry mumbled. "I'll be so far behind everyone that I'll be rubbish. I'll make a fool of myself and I wont make you and Dad proud. I'll be an embarrassment to you."

"Of course you won't be," Lily replied supportively, squeezing Harry tight. "Lots of students who attend Hogwarts come from Muggle backgrounds. And even those of Magical families don't have much of a headstart. If you just buckle down and study hard, you'll get along just fine. In any case, Minerva wont let you have it any other way!"

Harry smiled weakly at that. "But I don't think I'll ever be able to do the things you and Dad can. Doing some magic by accident is all very well, but it seems a long way to go to be turning thimbles into tea cups."

Lily chuckled and dunked a cookie into Harry's mug, which he frowned at, then she took Harry's shoulders firmly in her hands and smiled warmly at him. "Now, you listen to me, Harry Potter. You are a wizard, and a thumping good 'un too, I reckon, once you get trained up a bit. Don't expect to learn everything straight away. Just take it one step at a time.

"I tell you what, when Sirius takes you into the Magical world for the first time today, your father will give him the key to our Gringotts Bank Vault, then he can take you to buy some spell books and things, just to give you an idea of what you'll be studying at Hogwarts. What do you say to that?"

Harry's eyes lit up with fervour. "Ooh, can I?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Lily beamed. "We'll see if we cant give you a headstart on all the others. But I expect you to learn all the books by heart if I let you go, and I'll have Minerva test you on them to make sure. Sound fair?"

"More than fair, Mum! Thank you!" Harry cried in glee. Then his eyes went very round. "Wait … did you say we had a bank vault? Does that mean we are …?"

"Wealthy, let's just leave it at that," Lily replied evasively. "Just try not to spend all of your inheritance in one go! Now, let's eat these cookies and get you ready … your father and I have to get back before the Muggles of Pont-y-Annwn notice that we're gone."

So they ate and drank in companionable silence for a while. Then Harry told his mother about the magic mirror he'd found last night and asked where it had gone. Lily replied that a mirror had been stored there by Minerva, who was taking it to Albus Dumbledore as a birthday present. She hoped it would make him blush more than the time the Hogwarts nurse complimented him on a new pair of earmuffs.

Lily feigned ignorance about the mirror being any sort of magical artefact, though she didn't meet Harry's eye as she denied his assertions about his vision in the dusty glass.

And then, the parting.

Later, Harry would recall how wet it was, such was the volume of tears shed by all and sundry. There were a few bone-shattering hugs thrown in for good measure, then some of the longest goodbyes in recorded history, but eventually they all had to bite the bullet and finally, finally go their separate ways … leaving Harry to wonder just when he'd see his mother and father again.

Sirius' solution to Harry's all-consuming melancholy was to be extra jovial. He whisked Harry away in swirl of teleportation, as he thought a few displays of magic might cheer him up. He explained that this method was known as Side-Along Apparition -when someone else was doing it for you - and that it wasn't nearly as unpleasant as when you were able to do it by yourself. Harry was pleased about this, as he was sure that he was now tasting his breakfast for the second time that morning. He rather hoped he'd prefer broomstick travel, once he finally got the chance to have a go at that.

Harry shook off the dizziness of his first taste of magical travel and looked up at the dirty sign of what looked, at first, to be a derelict building.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry read. "What is this place?"

"A pub, a fine establishment for getting wonderfully drunk in," Sirius replied fondly. "One of the most famous in Magical London."

"It doesn't look famous," Harry commented doubtingly.

"Looks can be deceiving," Sirius grinned. "This is the Muggle entrance to the pub, but more than that, this is the route most used by Muggles to gain access to the wider Wizarding world beyond."

"That makes more sense, I suppose," Harry replied in a sniffy voice. "But why are we on this side?"

"Because I'll be arrested on sight if I simply stroll onto Diagon Alley and give everyone a cheery wave!" Sirius chuckled with a sort of boyish pride. "So I have to don one of my cunning disguises first."

Then he reached into his cloak and began to wrap his head in a quite ridiculous purple turban. Harry giggled as he looked at him.

"What are you wearing?"

"It's my disguise," Sirius replied, his voice muffled through the fabric, which covered his entire head except for his eyes, which poked out with that same impish enthusiasm.

"Why are you in disguise?" Harry asked with a laugh.

"Well, I'm still wanted for the murder of your parents," Sirius explained matter-of-factly. "And thirteen other Muggles, who died in a gas explosion that unfortunately happened at the exact same moment. I'm still not convinced that was a coincidence. But I cant prove anything."

Harry gasped. "So … you think that someone was actually trying to kill my parents that day? It wasn't part of your plan?"

"No, that bit wasn't," Sirius returned. "But, like I said, I have no evidence. I cant prove a thing. I do have a theory about it. One day, when you're a bit older, I'll tell you what it is."

Harry recognised a dismissal when he saw one, so dropped the dozen or so other questions he'd lined up to ask about the incident. He filed them away for now, in that drawer in his brain marked Things I Have To Ask About My Past But That No-One Wants To Tell Me Quite Yet. He'd only known he was a wizard for three months, but already this drawer was fit to burst.

But there were still some questions he could ask. So he fired one at Sirius

"So, why the turban?"

Sirius gave a muffled guffaw. "We get lots of international witches and wizards who visit us. Lots of them wear headdresses and certain Scottish sects of the Church of Merlin insist on them as part of the religion. No-one will ask questions about my look. They'd sooner avoid me altogether."

"But what about the smell?" Harry pressed, wrinkling his nose. "You stink of garlic!"

"Oh, that!" Sirius laughed. "I got the idea from a very odd wizard, Quirinus Quirrell. He teachers Defence Against The Dark Arts at Hogwarts, you know. Apparently, he went off to research some vampires for his class and one of the lady vampires took a liking to him. Now he's terrified that she's going to come back one day and bite him and make him her eternal mate. So he goes around wearing a turban stuffed with garlic, just to ward her off.

"So, I decided to copy him. Go all in. Go hard or go home, as the saying goes."

Harry shivered. "Are … are there such things as vampires, then?"

"Oh yeah," Sirius returned simply. "I've met some. And, between you and me, I wouldn't mind getting a love bite from one of those smoking hot vampiresses … if it wasn't for the whole sprouting wings and drinking blood thing afterwards. Maybe I'll try it when the Healers at St Mungo's tell me I have a terminal disease … there would be worse ways to spend my death, after all!"

Sirius laughed deeply, but Harry wasn't entirely sure if he was joking or not.

Then he led Harry into the dingy little pub. It was quiet in here today, with just a smattering of old warlocks playing cards, and an elderly witch who was sat by herself, muttering about how eleven Sickles for an ounce of beetle eyes was daylight robbery and suggesting that the Apothecary's uniforms should be black and white striped jumpers.

"Sickles?" Harry asked quietly as they passed. "Is that … money?"

Sirius nodded. "We use three types of coin … golden Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts. Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, seventeen Sickles to a Galleon. Easy enough."

"That's nonsense," Harry scoffed. "Why aren't they simpler numbers to work with … like fives or tens?"

"Because the value of bronze to silver to gold is dependent on weight," Sirius explained. "And nature doesn't conform to the arbitrary rules we humans try to place on her, no matter how hard we try. Ah, here we are."

Sirius had led them to a small yard at the back of the pub. He reached into his cloak and drew out his magic wand. Harry watched, transfixed, as Sirius tapped his wand against the brickwork in a practiced pattern. Harry tried to follow it, but quickly gave up as he watched the wall churn and clunk and reshape itself to become a huge archway onto a truly wondrous sight.

"Wow!" Harry breathed.

Sirius grinned down at him. "Welcome to Diagon Alley! All of your school shopping will be done here, though most places do Owl-Order stuff now, too. You'll have to come here for your wand, though, because Ollivander will have to do tests and assessments to match you up with the right one."

"Cant I just use any old stick?" Harry asked.

"Well, you can," Sirius expanded. "But you'll never get quite so good results with another wizard's wand. Best to have your own. But you can only get one within a month of your eleventh birthday."

"Just before I go to Hogwarts, then," Harry nodded in understanding.

"That's right," Sirius confirmed. "It's too risky to have underage wizards carrying wands around without even basic training in their use. So just put wands and potions from your mind for the next six months. We wont be going anywhere near them."

"But we can go near brooms?" Harry asked hopefully.

"We certainly can, kiddo," Sirius grinned back. "Look down there."

They had come to a stop at a junction of several other streets, which wound off in all directions from where they were standing. Sirius was pointing to a large building that looked like an aircraft hanger some distance away.

"That's the Fizzick Alley aerodrome," Sirius explained. "It's an indoor Quidditch Centre, really … has James told you about Quidditch at least? Thank Merlin for that! … and after you've settled into the new flat a bit, we'll go there and I'll teach you to fly like a demon. All this 'no-first-years on the House Quidditch teams nonsense' … I intend to bend Minerva's ear for the next year about that, just so that she will bend the rules for you."

"But what if I'm not any good?" Harry pointed out reasonably. "What if I'm hopeless on a broom, like my Mum was?"

Sirius looked down in surprise.

"Lily … hopeless on a broom ... who told you that?"

"My Dad," Harry confessed.

"I should have guessed," Sirius chuckled. "James always was insanely jealous that Lily was so much better at flying than he was. He only tried out for the team because he wanted more time to try and chat her up before they started going out, and she was already the House Seeker. But she thought he was such a wart back then, and eventually she had enough of his outrageous flirting and quit the team to get away from him!"

Harry laughed himself silly at that. That was something to tease his father about next time they met. He turned to Sirius once his giggles had subsided.

"So, what are these other streets?"

He nodded at the other snaking thoroughfares that wound away into the distance.

"Well, this one's Knockturn Alley," Sirius began, inclining his head to the left. "You get all sorts of weird shops down there. Lots of Dark Arts stuff, but mostly the young Goths just use it to be all morose and misunderstood."

"And what about this one?" Harry asked curiously, pointing to the final corridor, where a few witches, who Harry really thought should be wearing a bit more clothing, were hanging out of red-lit windows and swooning down to wizards in long trench-robes, as they hurried by underneath.

"That's Immore Alley," Sirius replied, somewhat evasively. "And you wont be going down there until you are at least seventeen. If you're a very good boy till then, I'll take you there myself as a sort of rite of passage."

And with that, Sirius steered Harry away before he could ask any more questions.

Then they came to one final building. It was snowy-white and towered over the assortment of little shops that flanked it on either side. Standing guard at its burnished bronze doors, bedecked in a uniform of scarlet and gold was a …

"Yep, that's a goblin," Sirius replied as Harry's stunned expression asked the burning question for him. "So you'd be crazy to try and rob the place."

Harry had to agree. They walked down the cavernous hall. More goblins on either side of the wide gangway weighed out huge rubies, counted piles of gold and silver coins, and traded with alchemists for an array of other precious metals. Sirius guided them to a spare goblin.

"Morning," he said brightly.

"How can I help you?" the goblin replied, his swarthy eyes roaming Sirius' turban as he angled his nose away from that stench of garlic.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts has sent me to deposit something in his vault, number seven hundred and thirteen. It's the one guarded by the dragon, you know."

"I know," the goblin replied gruffly. "Do you have Mr Dumbledore's key?"

"Yes. Here it is," said Sirius.

He slid over the golden key, the end of which was shaped like a phoenix spreading its wings. It had small rubies for eyes, which caught the light as the goblin inspected it under a microscope.

"That seems to be in order," said the goblin, returning the key to Sirius. "Follow me. I will take you there myself."

"We will also need to visit the vault of James and Lily Potter," Sirius went on. "Their son wishes to make a withdrawal."

Harry felt very small as the swarthy goblin looked down at him over the counter.

"And does Mr Potter have his key?" the goblin asked.

"This one?" Harry asked in hope, as he held up a golden key that his father had given him that morning. The top end of this key had been crafted into an elegant letter P in a tightly weaved pattern.

"That would be the one. If you would please follow me."

Harry and Sirius fell into step behind the goblin as he trotted along ahead of them. Harry looked up at Sirius to speak in a whisper.

"He didn't question anything, like who you were or why you were going to Dumbledore's vault or anything," Harry breathed. "It's almost too easy."

"Ownership of Magical keys isn't quite the same as in the Muggle world," Sirius muttered back. "If a key doesn't recognise the one possessing it as its owner, it wont open the door it is designed to unlock. Sometimes, the very act of trying can lead to dire consequences for any would-be thief."

"Such as?"

"Being trapped in a vault until someone lets you out … and some of these vaults aren't checked for decades …"

Harry gulped at that prospect and tried not to imagine the scenario. He just hoped that his father had given him the right key …

Harry followed Sirius and the goblin to a conveyor belt of cars at the end of the great hall. It looked like the sort of thing you got into before going on the ghost train at the funfair. And the ride was pretty much the same. The cart heltered and skeltered along a network of underground rails, past a vast lake that bubbled and churned as if something was awakening within its depths, and around huge cathedrals of stalagmites and stalactites. Harry never could remember which one was which.

And then they arrived at the vault, number seven hundred and thirteen. Harry was eager to see the dragon, but it kept itself hidden in the shadows, which Sirius said warningly was the best place for it. But Harry was even more keen to see what Sirius was going to stash in the vault. What could be so big and powerful and important that it needed a dragon to guard it?

So Harry reached into his knapsack and finally touched the object that had prompted his coming to the surface world in the first place. He was hoping to feel a rush of something deep and powerful, but all he took out was a grubby little package, small enough to fit inside your coat pocket. It was wrapped in newspaper, French newspaper, at that, which was sort of interesting. But Harry had been expecting, and hoping, for something far more exciting.

How curious that he should have come all this way, changed all that he knew about himself and his world, and that others were willing to go to such great and dangerous lengths … just to possess such a tiny little thing.

"Don't be deceived by what your eyes tell you," Sirius replied cryptically as he clocked Harry's disappointed air. "Power comes in many forms in this world … and even the smallest things can have the biggest impact."

He just left the words hanging there and Harry, far from begin disappointed now, was now hotly curious about what his godfather had just hidden in vault number seven hundred and thirteen. He wished he'd asked his parents about what the Stone actually did … but as soon as the vault was sealed, Harry's felt his curiosity about it began to drift away.

It was almost as if a spell had settled on him to take away all interest in that grubby little package.

And then Harry's attention was taken by a different type of wonder entirely. It started by the visit to his family vault, where Harry was astonished to find piles of gold, mounds of silver, treasures and trinkets and precious stones of all kinds. He'd never have to worry about money as long as he lived.

So Sirius next took him to the place where he'd likely squander much of it. Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head wildly as he walked, trying to look at everything at once. He was mesmerised by the shops, the things they sold, and the people buying them. There were shops selling racing brooms, and ones full of owls and mice, and yet more with big buckets in the windows full of bats eyes and dragon livers. There was simply too much to take in, and Harry was reasonably convinced that he had forgotten more in the last five minutes than he had in the rest of his life put together.

"Let's start in here, as your mother made me promise!" Sirius chuckled, suddenly coming to a stop outside a large shop front. "Then we'll head over to Quality Quidditch Supplies … I heard that the England International Team are holding an autograph session at the supply shop, before they head off to the World Cup in Canada next month."

Harry looked up at a big awning of a book and quill above Flourish and Blotts bookshop. He opened the door and ducked inside. Luckily, the shop was very busy. Harry was able to move unnoticed to a shelf deep in the back, where he could whisper to Sirius without drawing attention.

"What should I get?" he breathed, when he was quite sure there was no-one nearby.

"Look for The Standard Book of Spells," Sirius replied quietly. "And Magical Theory. You wont be able to cast spells yet, but your mother told me about your adeptness with Ancient Runes. That's something we can explore with Minerva. Magical Theory also covers basic ritual casting and circle creation. It's not really covered at Hogwarts, but it's handy to learn."

"Here it is," Harry chimed brightly.

He held up the heavy tome and showed it to his godfather. He still looked ridiculous in that garlic-scented turban. Other shoppers wrinkled their noses as they passed, so Harry thought it best to get in and out of the shop as soon as they could. A quick scout of the shelves later and Harry had located The Standard Book of Spells, too.

"Throw it in your basket," Sirius chuckled. "That will do for now. We wont be able to carry them if we get many more."

Harry bundled the books into a mesh basket he picked up from a rack nearby and began to approach the till.

"Which coins should I use to pay?" Harry asked as he bothered the drawstring to his bulging money-bag.

"Use the Galleons," Sirius replied. Harry examined the heavy gold coins as he took out a few. "Just hand them over. Tell the cashier to put any change into the Hogwarts Hardship Fund collection tin."

"Hogwarts Hardship Fund? What's that?"

"Not all magical families are fortunate to be as well-off as yours," Sirius explained. "The Fund provides financial assistance to the most needy of students, to help with school supplies and other expenses. It's a very worthwhile cause, and they can use all the support they can get."

Harry nodded and made his way to the counter, where he paid for his books. The shop assistant thanked him warmly for his generosity, as he popped a few silver coins and little bronze ones into a tin next to the till. Harry frowned as he listened to the sound. It was disconcertingly hollow.

"Oh, I didn't know anyone actually put money into those things," came a drawl from behind Harry. "I always assumed it was a sort of joke."

Harry turned to see a man with a sour face and very long, ruler-straight white blonde hair standing close behind him. He carried a very handsome cane with an elaborate silver serpent set into the hilt. He looked down at Harry with a disapproving sort of snarl.

"You really oughtn't waste your gold on such - ahem - charity, young man," the wizard drawled on. "If I had my way, they wouldn't even let the sort of riff-raff who rely on handouts attend an institution like Hogwarts. When I join the Board of Governors next year, when my son begins his schooling there, I will petition strongly for a change in the law."

"Now, now, Lucius, be kind," said a tall witch from behind him in the line. "We need variations in the gene pool in order to survive, everyone knows that."

"If you allow hybrids to breed with pedigrees, you inevitably get mongrels, Miss Sinistra," the man called Lucius scoffed. "No use encouraging the dilution of Magical blood with any more Muggle mud, I say. Don't you agree, young man? Our sort is not simply the right sort, but should also be the only sort."

"I think I can decide the right sort for myself," Harry growled. Then he plucked a dozen more gold coins from his money-bag and made his way back to the till. He ducked under the flowing robe of a sallow-faced man with lank, greasy hair and reached up towards the counter once more.

"Excuse me," Harry grumbled as politely as he could manage to the scowling wizard, who frightened Harry a bit, as he reminded him forcibly of a vampire from one of his comics back home.

Harry ignored the sneer which came his way, and then dropped all twelve golden coins into the Hardship Fund tin without once taking his eyes from the cool, grey stare of the man called Lucius. Then Harry retuned to his godfather, who had slipped surreptitiously from the shop without Harry noticing it. It wasn't until they were clear and quite alone, at the corner of a more subdued street called Inphorm Alley, that Harry burst free with questions.

"What was that about, Godfather? All that business about Magical blood?" Harry demanded. He felt unreasonably angry and was desperate to understand why.

Sirius sighed heavily. "As you will soon learn, Harry, Magical society is quite blatantly categorised. At the one end of the scale, you have Magical families that can trace their lineage back many generations, and they are called Purebloods. Many Purebloods consider themselves the elite of our society … indeed, there is a pantheon of Ancient and Noble Houses whose members believe they are superior not only to non-magical peoples but to other wizarding families, too.

"At the other end of the spectrum, we have magic that flourishes anew in people of non-magical parents, and they are known as Muggleborns. Then there is a sort of middle ground of people who have one parent who is magical and one who is Muggle. These are known as half-bloods."

"And, I suppose, Purebloods think they are better because they've had magic in their families for longer?" Harry riled.

"That's the long and short of it, yes," Sirius grimaced. "But it's all a load of nonsense. My family is Ancient and Noble, and that makes me a Pureblood, but the most powerful witch I ever knew had Muggle parents. She was the best in my year at Hogwarts by a million miles. Did more incredible things with magic than I could ever even dream of doing."

"I wish I could have met her," Harry grumbled. "She sounds great."

"Oh, she was … and you can," Sirius quirked. "My best mate married her, after all. So the next time you go home, just call out for Mum and she should answer you!"

Harry gasped in surprise. "My Mum had non-magical parents!? But how? I've seen the things she can do! They are amazing!"

"Precisely," Sirius replied, firmly. He took Harry by the shoulders and turned him so that they were facing each other. "Which is why blood has nothing to do with magical skill, or what kind of person you'll grow up to be, or anything important like that. Nothing at all.

"Remember that, Harry. If this trip teaches you nothing else, let it be that the wonder of the Magical world is not simply confined to the content of those books that you're carrying. Let it be that all people, magical or half-magical or not magical at all, are all equally valuable. Some people will try to tell you otherwise … but I trust you to decide on the wrong sort for yourself."

Harry gulped hard at that. "Like the man at the book store? He was the wrong sort, wasn't he? I told him that myself."

"Good for you. I'm proud of you," Sirius barked in approval, squeezing Harry's shoulder. " And yes, that man was of the worst sort. He was a known supporter of the Dark Lord … the one who tried to kill you as a baby. He claimed he'd been brainwashed when it was all over, and skulked back to our side with his tail between his legs. Don't believe a word of it. Lucius Malfoy didn't need any cause to turn dark … it's as natural to him as breathing. He just didn't want to lose his status and fortune, that's the only reason he came back. One day, he'll get what he's due. I just hope I'm there to see it."

"So why did you run away from him back there?" Harry asked.

"I didn't run away … I left for you," Sirius growled. "If I'd stayed around his foul stench much longer, I'd have been too tempted to curse that conniving, bottle-blonde traitor with the worst spells I know … and I know a few. In any case, your Mum always wanted first refusal on blasting him to bits with her wand. I don't want her to be cross with me for taking that pleasure from her, now do I?"

"My Mum wants … to do … what?" Harry mumbled. "Why?"

"Ah, that's a tale for her to tell you," Sirius replied evasively. "Now, enough of this fine talk … let's head over to the Quidditch shop. I bet you've only ever used brooms to sweep the footpath … let me go and show you what they really should be used for!"