Ramblings and Dribbles

by WolfgangNH

This is a posting of ramblings, dribbles, one-shots, unfinished ideas or other stuff I just don't think deserves it's own storyline. Some I plan to finish someday, others are what they are. This is mature reading for some posts. Some items may be well developed, others are not yet, and may never be. There will many different pairings, and sometimes none.

52. The Old Ways

The Old Ways

-oOo-

Inspired by The Wand Chooses The Wizard, The Wizard Chooses The Witch by Vlad the Inhaler

-oOo-

Rambling and Dribbles: A dribble that I hope some enjoy. All updates are now in chapter 1 of Rambling and Dribbles.

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter does not belong to me.

-oOo-

Premise:

Garrick Ollivander had been looking for an apprentice for many years after his last son was killed by Voldemort. When he met a rather skinny, dark hair boy that was emanating magic, his curiosity and desire for an heir was peeked. Then the boy turned out to be Harry Potter, and then he was a fit for the brother wand that had ended his line, he saw a chance to get all he wanted.

Revenge.

An heir.

An apprentice to learn the family trade that had been going for well over two-thousand years.

As for Harry, he was pleased to be offered a chance to leave his relatives and learn more about the magical world…

-oOo-

Chapter 1

-oOo-

August 1, 1991

London, England

At one hundred and thirty-four, he was starting to feel his age. He knew he didn't move as fast as he used too, even if his mind was as sharp as ever. Her also knew that his sight was starting to go, and the potions were no longer working, so he was forced to use the wire rim glasses that where the most prevalent in the world he knew.

As it was a Thursday and the first day of August, he wasn't expecting his shop to be busy. The Hogwarts letters would have gone out this week and most wouldn't really mob the alley until the weekend. This time of the year the only customers he usually expected were those just turning eleven, Muggleborn being introduced by the professors of Hogwarts or the other schools in Britain, or those few that would go through the hassle of applying for a second wand or replacing a broken wand.

No, he was not expecting to be busy, which made it an excellent day to verify his stock. He was expected to sell sixty or so wands to new students in the coming weeks and would typically sell over a hundred a year.

Taking out the ledger, he thumbed to the last page. six hundred and sixty-eight completed wands, enough wood stock to make about two thousand more, one-hundred thirty eight dragon heart strings, forty eight unicorn hairs, two phoenix feathers, eight thestral hairs, eight and a half pints of the special lacquer only his family knew to make, thirty-eight wand holsters (they were not as popular as they used to be), the materials to make another fifty-three…

He was going down his list as he climbed up a ladder that was built into the shelves. It rolled along on a track and had stopped just where he wanted it too, so he climbs up to start verifying the wands. He didn't like carrying so many, but most wizards were impatient and rarely wanted to be in his shop for more than thirty minutes, let alone waiting for the eight to fifteen days it traditionally took to make a wand. He usually only had a handful of customers each year that wanted that type of service and would pay for it.

Years ago, the ministry had put a cap on how much he could sell a wand for, unless it was specially made. He was required to keep a certain stock level. When he had threatened to close his shop, they had agreed to make up the difference. So, where he sold all premade wands for seven galleons, the ministry would pay him three to apply the trace (regardless of who bought the wand), two to file the paperwork and then between five and thirty galleons to cover the materials and his labour. It kept people from complaining about what his prices would be otherwise, but he heard it enough from the Underage Magical department and the DMLE, as his pay came from those offices.

His hand crafted specialty wands he could sell for what he wanted, and often made over a hundred galleons on each of those.

He had made it through nearly his first stack when the bell to his shop opened.

"No one better than Ollivander for a wand," a booming voice disturbed the peaceful silence of his shop.

As he had been taught by his father and grandfather, he reached out his senses, feeling for the core of the magical and the wand they would have. A small smile came to his face to feel that Hagrid still had the pieces of the wand he had sold the gentle man, and that the core of the wand was still intact and called to the man.

It was sad to see any wand snapped, and even sadder for such a man as Hagrid to be denied the joys of using it. The other with him, though, was far more interesting.

Where most magicals felt like a warm flame, between a very bright candle to a roaring fire in a warm hearth, this one felt like a veiled sun on a cloudy day. His interest piqued, he pushed off on the shelf to slide the ladder to the front of the store.

"How do I get a wand?" a boy asked.

The ladder stopped, jarring him a little and getting the attention of the two that had just walked into the shop. The boy started while the half-giant looked up, a broad smiling coming over his face.

"Well, hullo, Mister Ollivander," Hagrid jovially said.

Ollivander's eyes were on the boy though. His hair was a mess of black, his wide green eyes shown with the power held within, the scar that was just visible under the fringe of his hair was unmistakably a lightning bolt. His aged and keen mind didn't miss the way the boy flinched back, that he seemed a little small for an eleven year old or that he seemed to use Hagrid as a shield.

Those were points he could address later.

What caught his attention was that the boy quickly radiated magic in a way he had only seen in three others at that age. It had reacted to detect if he was a threat or not, and quickly pulled back in when it was soothed.

He gave a broad smile. "As I live and breathe, Harry Potter. I remember when your mum and father came into my shop. James Potter an English oak with a thestral heart string, eleven and a quarter inches, rather subtle. And excellent duelling and transfiguration wand. Lily Evans was a Vinewood with a phoenix feather, a little rigid, which is to be expected with strong willed individuals, and ten and a half inches long. It was a wand of someone that wanted to change the world and had the power to do so. A pity they died so young, but their accomplishments are still talked about, and their son has the same potential," he said to the boy.

The boy looked a little uncertain until he heard about his parents. "You knew my mum and dad?"

"Not well, unfortunately, but I know what their wands did. I knew your grandparents, Charlus and Dorea, much better," Garrick replied.

Hagrid cleared his throat. "I thought his grandparents were Fleamont and Euphemia? Nicer people you could never meet."

"They were James' aunt and uncle. They adopted him after Charlus and Dorea were killed when he was only three years old. It was a rather sad time. But you are not here to hear about the past, are you?" The boy looked like he wanted to say something but didn't. Garrick had the sense that Harry Potter wanted to know more.

"We are on a schedule, so perhaps another time, Mister Ollivander," Hagrid said.

Harry looked disappointed.

Opportunities started to go through his mind. The power the boy had was enticing. He knew many would be looking to claim him for various reason. Could he potentially petition for have Harry Potter as his apprentice?

"Of course." He tapped a long tape measure just behind the counter. "I just need some measurements. Do you know if you prefer using your left or right hand?"

"Ah, left," Harry said.

Ollivander quirked an eye. That was unusual. The tape measure started with the length of the boys arm, the width of his shoulders, the length of his palm, fingers, his height and a dozen other measurement that made an invisible rune scene above the boys head. It would give him a basic idea of what length of wand.

"Do you know what type of magic interests you? Your mother was very talented in charms and runes, from what I understand, while your father was an Auror some renowned for his age and a transfiguration prodigy, according to Professor McGonagall," he said, moving to the middle stacks where the wands of eleven to twelve inches were. The tape measure was indicating the boy would favour a medium to long wand.

"Uhm, I don't know," Harry said. "I don't even know what those are."

Garrick looked to Harry. Usually, wizard raised children came in already wanting to practice a certain type of magic. It wouldn't mean that would be all they would do, but usually indicated a strong preference at that age. "Come, Mister Potter, you must know what you have liked? Are you more of a potions person?"

"Uhm, Mister Ollivander, I only just found out I'm a wizard," Harry told the man.

Garrick's large eyes blinked owlishly. As though not understanding, he looked to Hagrid, who looked a little guilty.

"I had to tell the poor bloke on his birthday last night. He's grown up with muggles," Hagrid told him.

Garrick still blinked owlishly.

How could the grandson of one of his friends, a pure blood for almost as long as his family, a defender of magic and its people, and the heir to the Potter name not know he was a wizard?

The lack of proper introduction when he stepped into the store suddenly hit him. He had assumed it was just because the child was only eleven. No, it was because he was a muggle-raised and knew nothing of their traditions. Granted, he didn't follow them. Not really anymore, but he knew of their importance, still believed in their importance and celebrated all the important holidays and observances in the old ways.

Charlus would be horrified to know that his grandson knew nothing about magic and the Old Way, as they were now referred to. The traditionalist preferred to think of it as the proper way to thank magic for its gift and guidance. Those that still followed the old ways firmly thought that most of the pureblood families that were dying out through squibbing or only single children was because magic was angry with them. The increasing number of Muggleborn were seen as magics revenge on those that forgot its true nature and gift.

"That is… quaint," he said, not wanting to mouth his true feelings to the young boy that was looking increasingly uncomfortable as the tape measure kept going. He swished his wand, and the tape rolled itself up before gliding back to its spot under the counter.

Remembering what his parents preferred, and that either the core or wood passed down the family lines, he searched the shelf for three English oak wands and two Vinewood wands. He made sure to pick out only the strongest cores or he feared the wand would burn out before the end of his first year.

Moving over to the counter, he gave the nervous looking boy a grin. "Now, Mister Potter, I would like you to just pass your hands over these," he said, opening the boxes and laying them out on the counter.

"Why?"

"I want you to see if you feel anything," he told him.

"Ah, sure," Harry said.

He did. There was no reaction by him or the wands. With the power the boy was radiating, there should have been something is there was a connection. "No matter. No matter. I can tell you will be a challenge," he said with some relish.

Thirty-four wands later and Harry had burned out two, send most of his shorter wands onto the floor and turned a stool into ash. He was looking extremely apprehensive, and Garrick was getting a sinking feeling.

"You have reacted most noticeably to phoenix feathers, so I think that is your core, but you have rejected all the woods I know your family to use in the last three generations," he said more to himself than the boy.

"Will this take much longer? Dumbledore said I should get him back before dinner and I have to get back to Hogwarts," Hagrid said.

"You can't rush these things." Looking at the dejected boy, Garrick closed his eyes for a moment. He had been starting to fear where this selection was going.

"I wonder," he said in a worried tone.

"Wonder what? Am I really a wizard?"

Garrick chuckled. "There is no doubt that you are. My shop is proof of that," he said with a grin as the mess on the floor. "What I wonder is if it the core that really attracts you."

"Why would that be?" Harry asked.

"The creature that the core is from has a personality. It is as important as the wood and the match they make together. I get a sense that you are someone that rises out of the ashes," Garrick said.

He moved towards the back of his shop.

"Pheonix feathers usually represent a person that is destined for remarkable things. A person that has the ability to shape the world. They are two sides of the same coin, as people say. One side is destruction. A phoenix has flames as hot as fiendfyre. It can consume all. It can also bring about life on the other side as the plants and animals use the ashes to thrive once more," he said, explaining more to the boy about the lore of his craft than he had to anyone in a long time.

"The wood is also an expression of the user. Your father's magic preferred a stiff, sturdy wood for being rather stubborn is a good trait in a transfiguration master as it takes will, the ability to imagine exactly what you want and the fortitude to bend magic to your need. Those that are such accomplished in transfiguration are most aligned with the earth.

Meanwhile your mother preferred a wand wood that was more subtle, changing and swishy. Someone that prefers charms and runes needs to be flexible and changing. You need to be cunning, willing to bend around things, but as hard as rock when needed. Vinewood is a good wood for someone like that, and one that tends towards water."

He had reached his work bench, not really knowing if they were still listening. Opening a special cabinet, he took out a book with shaky hands. He should have destroyed this wand as soon as he what it's brother was doing, but he was a master wand crafter and would sooner destroy his hands than a work of art.

Harry was watching him as he came back into the stack. He had not seen the boy so interested until now. "You are most drawn to phoenix feathers, meaning you will be a wizard of great power, most likely of great renown, but not for what everyone else thinks of you as. You wrought great change when you defeated You-Know-Who. Holly is a wood of someone that can bring about great change."

He opened the box, his hands thankfully steady, and put it on the counter. "A long wand also responded to you better, probably meaning that you are more of a water or air type of caster."

"What does that mean?" Harry questioned.

Garrick gave the boy an encouraging smile, pleased to see curiosity rekindled. "It is the type of magic that you are more naturally drawn too. Water and air types like charms. They are more fluid and varied in their application in the hands of a master. Those that lean more towards water also tend to be good potion masters. Those that tend towards air are more of a protector with the capability to bring the force of a storm when riled, but usually calm and more go with the flow types."

He indicated for Harry to pick up the wand. "Try it."

Hesitantly, Harry reached for the wand. He felt the connection before the boy's hand got less than a foot away. When his fingers were still three inches away, the wand jumped out of the box. Reflexively Harry grasped the wand. It was the reflexes of a natural fighter and sports man. Fat golden and blue sparks shot out the end as a wind wiped up around Harry.

A look of shear exhilaration covered this face.

Hagrid cheerfully clapped. "Well done, Harry. I've not seen a reaction like that before."

Garrick eyes narrowed.

His mind was whirling at the possibilities.

He could tell the boy had a fate about him.

It was the brother wand to this one that had killed his two sons.

At the same time, the pure magic that had flowed out was very unlike the more calculating and malicious feel of the one that had claimed the other wand. "This is curious."

"What is curious?" Harry said, a look of awe still on his face as he looked his wand.

"The brother to that wand did great things. Terrible, yes," he said with a darkness and bitterness that he couldn't keep out, "but great."

"The brother wand?"

"Yes. The man that gave you that scar holds the brother wand. I can tell you destined for great things, but will they be for the dark, light or something in between?"

The boy looked scared.

Garrick gave him a smile. "Given the reaction, I don't feel you will be dark."

But the possibilities of what Harry could be where things he would have to think on. He knew that if he petitioned for Harry to become his apprentice, he would have to go up against Dumbledore and others that would want him, but Garrick had many favours owed him.

He would ensure the boy was raised the proper way. The way that Charlus and Dorea would have wanted him to be, but he could feel the boy had a destiny still entwined with Tom Riddle and he could be the man to guide him to that.

Harry could also be the heir he wanted. He hadn't missed how the boy soaked up everything he said about wand lore.

Yes, Garrick might need to move on this quickly.

Besides, the poor boy looked like he could use a few square meals and having a younger set of hands to help around the shop on his holidays would be nice.

-oOo-

August 5, 1991

London, England

Garrick looked at the gorgeous snowy owl that was standing on the counter of his shop. She had flown in as the last customer left.

The owl blinked back at him, as though saying, 'I am judging you.'

He found it one of the more surreal things he had encountered in many a year. Due to past issues, all his mail was to be forwarded through the local owl post office, scanned and then he would pick it up every few days.

No one had permission to get an owl or other creature through his wards, and yet, here stood a rather prim looking snowy owl with a letter on her leg. After a moment, she shuffled forward and held out her leg, as though deciding she had found him worthy.

He gave the owl a wry grin.

"And who is your master that you can just fly through my wards? Are you carrying something that is cursed? Or maybe a portkey to kidnap me?" he asked in an amused tone.

She clicked her beak and flapped her wings for a moment in a very affronted way.

A wry smirk still on his face, he reached for the letter. Even if this rather remarkable owl could somehow get past the wards that had been layered over the shop in the last four hundred and sixty-eight years, he knew that apparition, elf travel, phoenix travel, portkeys and a dozen other ways now forgotten to time would never remove him from the shop if he didn't will it. He also knew that the letter would have either burned up or killed the owl if it had been cursed, as the wards should turn any curse on the caster.

Only those entering his shop through the front door would be able to enter without nasty surprises, or if they broke the wards.

He bowed to her when she settled down. "My apologies, young maiden. I did not mean to offend. Should we see what your master has sent?"

He was still bemused at the situation and rather curious how the owl could have gotten through.

Taking the envelope, his brow rose to see the very messy writing and ink blotches that spelled out:

Mister Ollivander
Ollivander's wand shop
Diagon Alley, London

Curious who this was, for it seemed like a rather young hand of one only learning to write, he opened the letter. There were a few smudges and other ink blots on the page.

-o-

Dear Mister Ollivander,

Please excuse the mess… crawl. I am only just learning to use a quill. This is my fourth attempt.

I know you said you knew …y family. Could you tell me anything about them? I don't know much and until my birthday, I thought my parents had died in a car crash. Hagrid won't tell me much. Even if you can just tell me about my grandparents, I would like that.

I also found a book on wands in Flouri…d Blotts. Did you know that holly wood can be good for that the get angry? I sometimes do, so I hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

-o-

Garrick's brows had just about disappeared up his forehead into his own messy white hairline.

His original assessment of the boy last week rose appreciatively. He knew the book store only carried a few books on the subject and one had to really look for them. A boy that would seek knowledge like that was a true find.

He had been pondering his thoughts on the matter of trying to apprentice the boy but had been busy with new introductions to the wizarding world and those families that did not pass down wands to the next generation. It was a long-standing tradition that, if done correctly, strengthened the wand, the witches or wizards link to their family, and pleased magic to know that her gifts were being cared for and perpetuated.

Yes, it kept his sales lower than they could be, as he suspected that the sixty or so new wands he sold a year should be closer to double or triple that number, but he would new the Old Ways and would rather see the tradition followed.

His eldest had found a match in Garrick's grandfather wand and it had served Reginald well until his death…

He frowned to think to that night. Reginald, his wife and their eleven-year old child had been killed in the early nineteen-fifties, before anyone knew of the rise of You-Know-Who. The family wands had been snapped.

It was a pain he hadn't thought about in years but had been at the front of his mind since Thursday.

With Harry Potter reaching out to him, and obviously not knowing anything about his family or the gift of magic, he felt that a great tragedy was starting to unfold.

He had lived enough tragedy and could not bear to see another life snuffed out.

Looking at the wall, it was already late in the afternoon. The people he would need to talk with would be leaving their offices soon. He was scheduled to still be open until six and being one of only two wand makers in the area, he couldn't just close up his shop. Especially since he could see Minerva leading a small girl with her hair chestnut hair in a plait towards his shop.

"If you would stay around for a bit, I will send a letter back to Mister Potter this evening," he offered.

She clicked her beak imperiously before hopping and spreading her wings. She flew up an empty shelf, seemingly content to wait.

He just raised a brow at her, surprised at how naturally she seemed to fit into the shop. When the door opened, he turned his large silvery eyes to it. With a small smile he said, "Good afternoon, Minerva. Willow wand with a hair of a rather majestic and stubborn are here a little late today," he said. "And who is this with you?"

"Good afternoon, Garrick. I have been rather busy with new students this year. This is Miss Sally-Anne Perks. Miss Perks, this is Mister Ollivander," Minerva introduced them.

"It is nice to meet you, Miss Perks. I assume you would like a wand?" he said, always enjoying the challenge of finding a good fit.

-oOo

August 6, 1991

Little Whinging, Surrey

Harry sat on the stool that he had been given when he had been given his new room. It was still something he was getting used too.

Since the first letter had arrived a week before his birthday, his aunt and uncle had been walking on tiptoes around him.

He had been told to get all his stuff out of the cupboard and to move into this room. The camp cot was leagues better than the old, thin child mattress that was in his cupboard.

He didn't have spiders falling on him anymore when his heavy set uncle trudged up or down the stairs or when his balloon sized cousins ran up or down.

He had a window, which was a novelty.

The most novel thing was that he had not been demanded to do a single chore since that day. He had mostly been ignored, only going downstairs for meals, where he actually got food every time, even if it was a quarter of the first helping Dudley would get, and they hadn't berated him.

It was like they were afraid of him and what others would think of them.

To Harry, it had been the best two weeks of his life.

Even better was that he had a trunk.

Until last week, the only things he could claim as his own was an old baby blanket. Everything else was either second hand from his cousin or he had to steal it from the rubbish. Now he had a trunk full of new things.

He had two new changes of clothes, forced on him by Madam Mulkin when he mentioned he was where the best he owned. There were books, the ones on the list as well as three others that Hagrid had allowed him to go back to the book store to get after getting his wand.

Thinking of that at once had him thinking of his wand.

He had been told not to use it before getting onto the Hogwarts Express, so he had made sure it was secure in the wooden box that Mister Ollivander had given it to him in, then buried it at the bottom of his trunk to avoid the temptation.

Even so, he found himself every morning unpacking his trunk to take it out and just feel the smooth wood. The wand thrummed in his hand, anxious to be used. He felt something in him impatient to be let loose as the wand thrummed in his hand. The temptation not to use it, to not cast one of the spells in the first year book he had already red through once, was only tempered by years of needing to be cautious around his relatives.

Hagrid had warned him that if he used his wand he could get in trouble with the Ministry for Magic, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He had a chance to leave Privet Drive and learn about his family and he would cursed to not do that.

It was still early in the day and his left hand still felt tingly from holding his wand just a short bit ago.

He was fighting the temptation to unpack his trunk again when he saw a bird in the distance. Even if his eye sight was shoddy without his glasses, he had always been a keen eye for movement. He let out a sigh of relief to see a white and black stripped owl winging her way towards him.

Even though Hagrid had told him that Hedwig would deliver messages and come back, he hadn't fully believed it until now.

When she landed on the sill of the open window, he greeted her with a pet on the head. "I'm so glad you were able to find your way back."

She gave him a rather indignant squawk.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This is the first time I've ever used an owl for mail. I'm sure you were brilliant," he placated.

She ruffled her feathers and preened under the praise before holding out her leg.

A surprised smile came over his face to see a rather large scroll tied to her leg. "Absolutely brilliant," he praised.

She clacked her peak, apparently pleased.

He pets her again before taking the scroll. The script on it was in a very flowing and elegant hand. Very unlike what he had been able to manage using the ungainly quills that wizards used. He would prefer to take some Biros and notebooks but had been told that just wasn't done.

-o-

Dear Mister Potter,

It was a pleasant surprise to receive your letter. Your penmanship can be improved on. I have sent a request to Flourish and Blotts to send you some primers I used with my own children to teach them how to write.

As to your question, I would be incredibly happy to tell you about your grandfather and grandmother.

I was in my early twenties, just out of my apprenticeship with my father, when I met Charlus. There is a tradition among most old families to see if a family wand will accept you when you turn eleven. He was one of the unfortunate ones that did not find one, so his father brought him to my store.

He was a rather curious and precocious young man that asked more questions about wands than most. I indulged him and we started a correspondence over his school years. He was curious enough that my father offered him an apprenticeship, but your grandfather was destined for other things, mainly to take up the Potter seat in the Wizengamot, the seat on the Hogwarts' Board of Governors, the family businesses and eventually to be one of the most feared commanders during the Great Wizarding War earlier this century.

During this time, we became fast friends, and when Dorea Black made her intentions known, I also became friends with her.

Though your family has been known to be reclusive at times, there is a long history that Charlus and Dorea were always proud of. Former Chief Warlock, Ministers, Headmasters and famous spell crafters and potioneers can be found throughout many history books. If you are curious, I would recommend you purchasing Terrance Lovecraft's History of the Most Magical, Richard Diggory's Moste Significant Events of the Nineteenth Century, and Emmaline Everwand's books of potions. Look for any Peverell, Potter or Black and you will get a promising idea of the lineage you come from before your grandfather was born. If you want to know more of your recent history, it might be best if you can get to Gringotts. I know your grandfather and grandmother kept meticulous journals, and I would think them far more reliable than the more fanciful dissertations I have read in the last few decades. I would particularly avoid Bathilda Bagshot, if you can, as I find she tend to go with the more revisionist versions of history backed by the current administrations in the ministry and at Hogwarts.

If you are unable to make it to a store, you can request these books by owl post. If Flourish and Blotts do not carry then, then you can try any of the book shops I have listed below.

As for your wand. Holly is a wood known for to temper those that can have some anger and impetuous issues. The phoenix feather will be a good conduit to let those feelings out while the wood will help to control it. It is also a wood that favours those that try to protect others. It will produce and easily wield magics such as shields, the patronus and other spells designed to fight off the dark or to keep you from harm.

There is much more on this topic, but I would think a proper discussion over a cuppa at some point would be better served to tell you more stories about your grandparents and wand lore than my notes.

Please feel free to ask questions until we can meet again,

Yours truly,

Garrick Ollivander, Master Wand Crafter, Lord of the Ancient House of Ollivander

-o-

Harry read the note a few times, feeling flabbergasted to understand that he had a family history. A family history that people had written about!

His grandparents had journals?

He had only seen gold, silver and bronze coins in his vault.

Where would they be?

Could he write to Gringotts to find out?

There was no chance of Uncle Vernon taking him in to London to go to the bank and he would have no idea how to get about on the tube of busses, never having gone further than the school, which was a ten minute walk away, except for the few times his relatives had been required to take him in the car.

Looking at the note again, a desire to learn more about his family had been kindled in him. He still had three weeks left before September first, and not much to do except read or write until then…

Hedwig was waiting patiently on the sill next to him, as though ready to fly. He smiled at her. "Take a rest. I need to write a few letters, if you don't mind taking them later or tomorrow?"

She clacked her beak at him as though saying, 'Of course I will take whatever you want me to.'

He pet her before she gently nipped at his finger, then hopped to take flight to roost on her perch.

Harry looked at the small desk and the quill on the desk. Sighing, he moved the stool to sit at it. He hoped he might be able to make a legible letter on the first go…

-oOo-

Chapter 2

-oOo-

August 21, 1991

London, England

It had been two weeks now that he had been trying to determine who had legal custody of one Harry James Potter so that he could approach his guardian about an apprenticeship. In that time, he had been bounced between three different departments in the ministry, each one claiming that the records were sealed, and they could do nothing to help him.

The three letters he had exchanged with the boy had only deepened his interest in the Potter heir as he found him to be a curious, rather insightful and knowledge hungry boy. He reminded Garrick very much of the boy's grandfather at the same age.

As he got to know Harry Potter, he wasn't sure if it was a desire for a friend he had forgotten about in the last twenty-nine years, or a desire for his lost children, grandchildren and his wife, but he found that he desired to have a grandson like Harry.

It was that desire, and the frustration with the ministry, which had him closing his shop on a Wednesday morning to walk up the steps of Gringotts. He figured this might only take an hour or so, so being back by noontime shouldn't inconvenience anyone.

He had sent a letter to Minerva the day before to let her know, just on the off chance there were any more Muggleborn she still had to introduce before the start of school, as the ministry did not legally allow any wizard to own a wand before they turned eleven.

He found that rule rather unwarranted. Most children had their cores stabilize enough to start consciously controlling their magic by nine, but there were those late bloomers that were incapable before they started their pre-pubescent years, so eleven had been decided on almost two hundred years ago, and trying to get people to change something that had become tradition was nearly impossible. It was one of the traditions and Wizengamot laws that he didn't agree with.

Nodding to the guard at the door, he walked into the bank. Its polished black marble floor with the gold inlaid Gringotts' crest and white marble columns spoke of the wealth the goblins had accumulated over the centuries. He quirked a smirk to think that the ministry and others thought the wizards had won most of the goblin rebellions and wars, but the devious blighters had come out on top far more often than the wizards realized.

He waited patiently for the accounts manager counter to become available as a man in rather nice robes and with a cane was led out of the hall. Ollivander recognized the wand, but not the man right away as he had never sold that wand to Lucius Malfoy. He sniffed to think of the man and the master he once followed. At some point they would all get their comeuppance. He just wasn't a violent man.

Stepping up to the counter, he waited until the goblin finished writing in a book. "Yes?" the surly little one asked.

"I am here to talk with Account Manager Orelust or the next available manager that has access to the Ollivander and Potter estates," he requested, putting a letter onto the desk that stated he had an appointment in ten minutes. If Orelust was held up, he would take the next one available as he wanted to find his answers.

The goblin took the note. After reading it, he indicated for a younger goblin to come over. There was a quick exchange of Gobbledegook then the teller said, "Earbitter will take you to Orelust."

He dipped his head. "Thank you, master teller."

The goblin returned the gesture, not as surely as before.

He was led to a small office. To goblins the office size didn't really tell the importance of the goblin. The easiest way to tell a goblin's importance was by the earrings. Silver was higher than bronze, and gold over silver. Goblin Silver trumped all. The size of the hoop was another indication: the larger the hoop, the more important or higher up the chain the goblin was. The number was also important.

Orelust was an older goblin. His left ear had six hoops. Two gold, three silver and one goblin silver. It ranked him as one of the senior members of his clan and the bank. The eight on the other ear represented that he had taken three mates from combat and retained his claim as his family head no less than five times.

When he had first met Orelust when he was about eight, the goblin had had only two bronze hoops on his left ear, and one on his right after winning his first mate. He had been an assistant to the old Ollivander account manager at the time.

He bowed his head in a formal greeting, which was shared by the old goblin. "Good morning, Orelust. I take it you got my request?" he said, knowing the goblin hated to waste time.

"I did, Lord Ollivander. Sit," Orelust said. "A drink?"

"Not today. I would like to resolve this matter of determining who Harry Potter's guardian is."

Orelust sat back in his seat and threaded his fingers together across his chest. "You are asking dangerous questions that have seen others be thrown out of this bank or face censure by the Chief Warlock."

By the way Orelust was acting relaxed, he knew he didn't fear much. "I had not thought it such a dangerous task to enquire about a potential apprentice."

Orelust smirked. "And that is why you are the first to get this far. You do not seek guardianship or control over the Potter estates?"

"They are his own. I can give him guidance on how to manage them, but it is not my right to lay claim to another's inheritance," he said, feeling insulted at the question.

Orelust gave a toothless grin. "Then Gringotts may be able to help you, Lord Ollivander. Harry James Potter, Heir of the Potters and secondary Heir of the Blacks, has just recently turned eleven. By Wizengamot law, the sealed will of his parents may be unsealed now, regardless of any binds, if he were to come to the bank and request it. It can also be unsealed if his current magical guardian gives you written permission. Until then, he is officially an unregistered ward of the Chief Warlock."

Garrick blinked his large silver eyes for a moment as he pondered what was said. Certain things were starting to make sense, and he could feel his ire rising. No heir should be denied their rights. "I see," he said. "And who is his official guardian?"

"There are no Potter's left alive, but he is secondary heir to the Blacks," Orelust told him.

Garrick got that the Gringotts was bound not to tell him. It was a riddle then. A riddle that bothered him as the only Blacks he still knew to be alive were the Black sisters and… "Sirius Black?"

The goblin's toothless grin grew.

Garrick frowned. "The man that got Harry Potter's parents killed and then killed that poor Pettigrew boy and those muggles is Harry Potter's guardian?"

Orelust continued to grin. "Did he?"

There was obviously something here that he was missing. Something particularly important. "Harry Potter is the secondary heir to the Blacks?"

"As the primary heir has not taken up his lordship over the family, he is. Should the primary heir abdicate or die, then Mister Potter would become primary," Orelust replied.

A convicted felon would usually be stripped of any heir rights once convicted and while incarcerated. If they were to ever get out, then they could petition to regain their rights, but to still be the heir then something was wrong. As he thought back, he could remember dozens of trials at the end of the last year a decade back, but he couldn't remember a trial for Sirius Black.

Orelust was watching him, waiting to see when Garrick would make the leap.

"Are there any solicitors that would take on the case to determine if Sirius Black is still the primary heir?" he asked.

"You can try. Many petitions have been presented to the DMLE and Wizengamot, but all have been rejected. If you wish a conversation with Heir Black, Gringotts can arrange it," Orelust told him.

Garrick frowned. He had been to Azkaban only once to confirm if a wand belonged to a certain witch more than forty years ago. The biting cold and feeling of despair was not something he wished to feel again. If he wanted Harry as an apprentice, though, it seemed he would have too.

"How much will it cost?" he asked, knowing the goblins never did anything for free.

-oOo-

September 1, 1991

London, England

After a very uncomfortable ride in the backseat with Uncle Vernon casting many mean glances in the rear view mirror at him, Harry now found himself outside the busy London train station of King's Cross. His uncle, not being able to hide his smirk and make a remark about, "I hope you don't get lost," and sounding sincere that he wished just the opposite, hit the accelerator and left a tire mark on the street.

Harry gulped, then took out the last letter from Mister Ollivander, who had described to him how to get onto the platform after Harry had realized Hagrid hadn't said a thing. The golden ticket was folded in the note.

His uncle had dropped him off hours early, as he was still getting going to work, so he took this opportunity to do a little bit of exploring, something he had never had the chance to do before.

Luckily the goblins had mentioned he could get Muggle money after Harry had seen someone exchanging for galleons when walking through the bank, so he had a few tenner's that he had kept hidden.

His growling stomach was pleased to find a both where he could get a steaming cup of hot chocolate and two sausage pasties. He had never had hot chocolate before, so the hot, sweet liquid was a pleasant experience, and the pastries filled him more than he had been since he could remember.

Certain that his uncle wasn't going to come and try to keep him from getting onto the train now, Harry found a bathroom to change into one of the nice outfits that Madam Mulkins had him get. Grey slack trousers, a nice white button down shirt and Oxfords. He would wait to put the light weight, stylish dark green robes on until he was on the platform. He thought they looked rather silly but had been told they were the latest fashion for a boy his age. To have open robes was all the rage now a days, or so she had said.

About nine in the morning, he finally managed to find platform nine, and then the barrier he had been told about.

Hedwig was luckily staying quiet in the bustle of the passengers around them as he stepped up to the barrier. Ollivander had told him to just walk through it, but he didn't trust magic enough yet, so he carefully put his hand against the bricks and let out a startled gasped when his hand, then part of his arm, just disappeared.

After a moment, he grinned, took the handle of the trolley he had found, then stepped through.

Just past the barrier, he walked out onto a platform that looked decades out of date in its décor, but well kept. Nothing was on the tracks and only a single woman in red robes was walking up and down the platform. She gave him a curious look before going back to her walk when she saw he had a trunk and a cage with an owl.

Seeing a bench, he went over to it. Having nothing better to do, he opened his trunk to fish out the large volume on wizarding history and the robes before making himself comfortable and starting to go through it again to find anything he could about his family.

At about half past ten a whistled echoed through the station. Harry looked up from the book to watch a shining red steam engine puff its way into the station trailing a dozen or so cars behind it. He grinned at the shiny name plate that said, 'HOGWARTS EXPRESS'.

When it came to a stop, a man hopped out onto the platform to take an old oil can to the mechanics. Why that wasn't handled with magic Harry didn't even question after being raised by muggles.

A man in a conductor's uniform stepped out of one of the coaches and walked down the train to open the doors. Hoping that was a sign to get on, he put his book away, put the robes on over his clothes then went to find a cabin.

It was twenty minutes before the first knock had come at the door. He had notices people getting on and there noise outside and inside the coach had been growing louder, but until now, no one had bothered him. Looking up from the book, a slightly short brunette girl was looking at him. "I'm sorry to bother you, but do you mind if I sit with you? I really don't want to be alone," she said.

Harry nodded. "Please. Do you need a hand with that?" he asked, seeing her struggle with her trunk and a cage holding a slightly disgruntled looing grey cat.

"Please," she said.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket. "I've only been able to practice this a few times. Wingardium Leviosa," he confidently stated, having done it multiple times when he had first sat down. He had been told to wait for the train to use his wand, so that was what he did.

She gaped at him. "I… I'm sorry. I thought you were a first year," she said, going red.

Harry grinned. "I am. Hagrid told me I had to wait until I got on the train, and I was able to get the spell to levitate my own trunk after a few tries." Once the trunk was in its spot, he held out his hand. "Harry Potter."

She just blinked at him. "Professor McGonagall said we had to wait for our first classes before we used out wand. Oh, right, Sally-Anne Perks."

"Oh, I wasn't told," Harry said, afraid he had done something wrong. "Who is Professor McGonagall?"

"The professor that told me I was a witch and took me to Diagon Alley. Your wand is longer than mine," she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a wand with a red tinge to the wood. It was perhaps nine inches long where Harry's was almost fourteen.

"Mister Ollivander said that it would be good for charm work. Shorter wands usually are good for those that work more with plants, creatures and fast casting," he told her.

"Mister Ollivander didn't tell me that. I love animals. My parents allowed me to get my kneazel, Gordon, when he kept following me around the pet store. Professor McGonagall said that is often a sign a familiar bond forming. I like your owl. He's really handsome. I like your wand too. What is it?" she enquired.

Harry blinked at the rapid way she talked. "Uhm, holly with a phoenix feather. And she's a her and her name is Hedwig. And what kind of wood is yours? It has a nice hue to it."

She looked a little embarrassed at his admonishment, especially when Hedwig clacked her beak at Sally-Anne. "I'm sorry, Hedwig. I won't make that mistake again. It's a cherry wood. Mister Ollivander said he doesn't often stock ones like this but knew someone would need it."

"Wicked," Harry said. "The book I have wand lore doesn't say anything about cherry wood. I'll have to ask Mister Ollivander about it in my next letter to him."

She took a seat across from him. "You have been sharing letters with Mister Ollivander?"

"Five, so far," he said with a smile. He had never had an adult interested in him or to be so kind before and was finding he liked the attention.

"That is so cool," she said. "Since you could do magic, I assume you already knew about magic? Professor McGonagall was telling me that Muggleborn, like me, are only told when offered to go to school, so I've only known for about two weeks."

"I didn't know until my birthday a month ago. I've done a lot of reading since then," Harry told her.

"Oh." She eyed the book on the bench next to him a little dubiously. "Is that a text book I missed? I've only been able to read the first few chapter of most of our books, like Professor McGonagall suggested."

"I've read all the first year's spell book, about half the potions book, been through the herbology book a few times, but only really looked at the names and the pictures and glanced over the others. This one is a history book that Mister Ollivander recommended so I could learn about my family. I didn't know that my parents were magical or that my family has history that goes back over a thousand years as wizards," he said with a broad smile.

"Whoa," she said, her eyes going wide.

Another knock on the door interrupted them. A sandy haired boy was at the door this time. "First years?"

"Both of us, but Harry can already do magic," she blurted out.

The boy blinked, looked to Harry and took his robes. "You're a wizard raised, right?"

"Nope," Harry said. "I've only done the one spell so far."

"But it makes our trunk float. You should do it again," Sally-Anne said, bouncing on the seat.

Harry shrugged. "Sure, if you want to join us."

The boy stuck his hand out. "Wayne Hopkins."

"Good to meet you. I'm Harry Potter," he said.

"Bril. And you are?" he said after shaking Harry's hand and hold it to Sally-Anne.

"Sally-Anne Perks. When did you find out you were a wizard?" she asked.

"In June. My birthday is June eight. You?"

"Two weeks ago. Harry found out a month ago," she told him.

"Wicked. Now you said you could do magic? Professor Sprout said we had to wait until we had our first class," Wayne said, pulling his trunk in.

Harry pulled out his wand again. "I was only told I had to wait to get on the train. Wingardium Leviosa."

Wayne watched the trunk float up and then onto the wrack with a look of wonder. "Blimey, I'm never going to get used to that."

"I really like it. I can't wait to use our wands," Sally-Anne said, bouncing in the seat again.

"Nice cat and owl," Wayne commented as he flopped on the seat next to Harry.

"This is Gordon, my kneazel. They are magical cats that are supposed to be able to tell if people are trustworthy or not. She seems to like you both, so I guess we can be friends," she told them.

"Wicked," Harry said, never having a friend before.

"That is neat. How does she do that?"

Sally-Anne shrugged her shoulders. "The book on creatures said they were bred that way to help protect witches from those that would want to hurt them." Her voice dropped low, and they had to lean in. "I think it was back when witches were hunted and burned at the stake. I found a reference to it in our history book before the Statute of Secrecy was created."

"I read about that. One of my great-grandfather's was a representative to the ICW when they made the statue," Harry said, having just read about that a few days ago.

Wayne looked to him. "I thought you just found out about magic a month ago?"

"I grew up with my relatives. They aren't magical," he said, not wanting to say anymore.

"Oh, that would have been nice to know I was wizard. I once made all the windows crack in my aunts car when she wouldn't let me get some ice cream. My parents took me to all sorts of doctors," Wayne told them with a frown.

"I blew up my dad's favourite coffee cup when I was wanted to go to the zoo," Sally-Anne said, a flush coming to her cheeks and neck.

Harry wasn't sure if he should say anything. Anything he could think of that could have been magic when he was younger was associated with an equally bad memory of Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. He was saved having to say anything as an older student stopped by. He was a tall boy with dark hair, already in the school robes and with a silver badge with a P on it.

"First years?" the boy asked.

"Yes," Sally-Anne quickly replied.

"Right. You better wave out the window if your parents are still on the platform. We will be leaving in a few minutes. Are your trunks… oh, they are already up there. Brilliant. Right, if you need anything just look anyone with a Prefect's badge on them," the boy said, tapping his badge. "I'm Greg Rivers, by the way. Seventh-year Hufflepuff."

"Thank you," Wayne said before the boy disappeared. "Mum and dad already good bye when I got on the train."

"Mu mum made sure I was on the train before leaving too," Sally-Anne told him.

"My relatives dropped me off," Harry commented.

They missed a family of redheads rushing towards the train as the warning whistle sounded because they were more engrossed in their conversations than looking out the window.

-oOo-

September 5, 1991

London, England

When the now familiar snowy owl tapped on his window, Garrick smiled. He wasn't sure if Harry would keep up his correspondence once he got swept up in the thrill of school.

Moving to the door, he opened it. Hedwig hopped off the window sill than hopping into the shop. "Good morning, Hedwig. I take it your wizard is doing well?"

She took to flight to land on the counter. With a squawk and clack of her beak, she tried to tell the man how well her wizard was. He chuckled and moved to take the scrolled up parchment that had been tied to her leg.

Harry had taken to sending the scrolls instead of the envelopes. It was easier and the magic of the owl would keep it dry and undamaged while they lived.

-o-

Hello Mister Ollivander,

I wanted to write to let you know I got into Hufflepuff! I have a few friend now. Sally-Anne Perks and Wayne Hopkins are Muggleborns, so they understand what I am talking about and get just as confused as me when one of the magically raised kids say something we don't understand.

I've liked all the classes so far except History of Magic and Potions. Professor Snape isn't very kind and asked me questions from five chapters into the potions book. I'm only glad I've read that far.

Sally-Anne said she has a cherry wood wand. I couldn't find any information on that type of wood in the book I have. Can you please tell me about its properties?

I've also nearly completed History of the Most Magical but found I don't have a lot of extra time at the moment between doing the primers to make my writing more legible, the essays we've already been assigned and exploring the castle with Sally-Anne and Wayne.

Do you know why some of the magical raised aren't as kind to us?

Sincerely,

Harry

-o-

He smiled to read the note. It was so reminiscent of the notes from his sons when they first went to Hogwarts that it had his eyes water. That may have been nearly a hundred years ago now, but it still felt like yesterday that he shared those letters with his late wife.

The sad smile on his face would have been heart-breaking if anyone had been in his store at the time to see it.

"A Hufflepuff, huh? No matter. My boys and grandchildren were Ravenclaws, Charlus, James and Lily were Gryffindors while Dorea was a Slytherin. Fleamont and Euphemia were Hufflepuffs, so he is in good company either way," he said to Hedwig, who just hooted.

He absently petted her head.

Hopefully the goblins would be able to arrange that meeting with Sirius Black soon. It was a tragedy that he didn't know about their world, but probably a blessing that he didn't understand the blood prejudices yet. Ollivander didn't care where the magic came from as long it was revered in the proper way. If Harry liked Muggleborn friends, then Garrick could do his best to teach them about what it was to be a witch and wizard.

"I'll get you a few treats and some water if you want to wait?" he asked her.

She preened, pleased she had done an excellent job to earn a treat and to serve her wizard. He moved to the back of the shop to compose a letter and go deeper into the magics of wood for the curious lad.

-oOo-

September 19, 1991

Hogwarts, Scotland

Harry laughed at Sally-Anne as she held her bag over her head to fend off the fat droplets of cold fall rain as they ran from the greenhouses to the school. "Are you afraid you're going to melt?"

Sally-Anne gave him a nasty look. "I'm not some green skinned hag," she huffed.

Wayne spun around, getting a not impressed look from the pair of pureblood witches Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, who had been cordial with them, but not overly friendly. Harry didn't know why, and just shrugged it off.

Sally-Anne let out a little shriek as Wayne splashed into a puddle and got her stockings and shoe muddy.

"WAYNE!" she loudly whinged.

He laughed as she hit his arm.

Making it into the safety of the doorway, Harry shook his head, sending water droplets everywhere.

"For Christ's sake… I swear, if you two don't stop," she growled.

"Easy there. I'm sure we can get a prefect to clean off your shoes," Wayne said. "It was so stuffy in that greenhouse."

"Those were some interesting plants though," Harry said.

Sally-Anne huffed, still upset at them.

"Want to go to the library to get the essay done now? I want to go see what quidditch is like when they do the try out Saturday and not worry about getting our work done.

Wayne shrugged his shoulders. "Fine by me."

"I don't have another pair of clean stocking," Sally-Anne complained.

"Your clothes should be clean and on your bed after lunch. They always are," Wayne said. "Do you know how the castle does that?"

"No clue," Harry replied.

"We should find out. My mum would really like it since she works so much," Sally-Anne told them.

"We'll find out and see if we can use it outside of school," Harry promised her.

She whinged about her wet shoes and stockings all the way to the library, but quieted when they went to find a table they could sit at. They had already found out that earning the ire Madam Pince was not something you wanted to do.

The other Hufflepuff first years were already at another table unpacking their bags, but with a look from Susan, he led then further in. He wasn't sure what he had done to her, but for the legendary Hufflepuff friendliness and loyalty, he didn't feel like there was much towards them, and the only thing he found his friends and him had in common was growing up the muggle world.

He had heard a few people talking about it but didn't put much stock into what he heard.

Being a rainy day, the library was relatively full. When he nodded to a table with a single bushy haired girl, Sally-Anne shrugged while Wayne didn't look as sure.

"Do you mind if we sit on this end, Granger?" Harry asked.

The girl looked up. Harry knew her from the herbology class they had just left and their charms class. The girl sniffed. "Are you going to work or talk like the other Hufflepuffs?"

"We work, but sometimes you need to talk to share ideas and solve issues," he replied.

Her glare grew less. "Alright."

"Thanks," Harry told her. Wayne and Sally-Anne shared a look before sitting down.

Taking out their books, Sally-Anne whispered, "Do you know what book Asphodel is in? I don't remember it being in 1000 Plants and Fungi."

"I remember it being in that potion preparatory book that Diggory recommended," Harry said.

Hermoine looked up. "What potion preparatory book?"

Harry looked to her. Her eyes were narrowed as she looked at him. He had seen Granger get frazzled when Harry had done better than her in charms in their first classes, getting the spells on the first try… well, to be truthful, he had already been able to do half the spells in their first year book after practicing an hour each night.

Wayne took out the book they were sharing as the ones they had ordered hadn't come in yet. "Diggory, a third year, told us about Simple Potion Brewing and Potions: Technique or Talent?. He said that most of the Hufflepuffs buy them, but they aren't on the book list."

Hermione didn't look pleased. "Are there other books? Is that why you are doing better than me in charms?"

Sally-Anne glared at Granger. "Harry does better because he's working hard. He goes over the spells each night."

Granger frowned. "You mean you cast them without understanding the theory and history? How?"

Harry shrugged, not liking the attention. "I read the description and what it's supposed to do and usually get it after a few tries."

"So, all those points you are earning because you are the first is because you are cheating?" she accused.

"I'm not cheating!" Harry said a little loudly. He had been accused of stuff like that too much in his life and Mister Ollivander said he should work hard. It was a way he could get away from his relatives when he got older.

"You are practicing outside of class. We were told to not do that for the first few months," Granger said in an accusing way.

"We were told to make sure an older student was around. I practice in the common room and make sure that at least one prefect knows what we are doing," Harry defended himself.

Granger frowned. "We weren't told that."

"Professor Sprout told us that when we had our house meeting," Wayne told her.

"House meeting?"

"The second night. Professor Sprout had us all gather and went over the house and school rules, what she expects of us and scheduled out checkups with Madam Pomfrey," Sally-Anne added.

Granger's frown grew. "We haven't had any meeting like that."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it's a Hufflepuff thing. Now, can we work or are you going to accuse us of breaking more rules?"

She glared at him before looking back at her essay and the half dozen books before her. Sally-Anne rolled her eyes then moved to look at the book Wayne had opened. Harry regarded Granger for a few.

He had lived his whole life being accused of things he hadn't done. Usually it didn't bother him, but this one really did.

"Found it," Wayne whispered, catching himself as they heard the clack of the librarians boots.

Harry turned away from the frantically writing girl, unsure what to think of Granger. She didn't seem to have any friends and had seemed rather put out with Harry as he did well in their first few charms classes.

Sally-Anne was strong in herbology.

Wayne seemed to get Potions.

Together they were making a good study group.

Madam Pince walked to the end of the aisle. She watched them for a few minutes before walking away. After reading the passage, Harry started to write about the proper growing and harvesting techniques of asphodel. They only needed half a parchment length and Granger already looked to have twice that. He was wondering if she worked too hard.

Even though Wayne, Sally-Anne and him were working hard, they had found time to explore, learn how to play a games of exploding snaps and gobstones.

As they whispered and helped each other, Harry didn't miss Granger wipe at her eyes once or twice.

-oOo-

Chapter 3

-oOo-

September 28, 1991

An island in the North Sea…

It had been many years since taking the boat from the dock on firm land to brave the hazardous seas around a large rocky outcrop in middle of the North Seas. The last time he had, it was still a small schooner that ferried people back and forth, not the muggle style, steam powered ship.

He still found it droll at times how Muggles advanced in ways he could never predict.

He did find it droll how the forty-foot-long craft bobbed in the waves, making him feel quite queasy.

When they had left Peterhead in Scotland, the sun had been out, the ocean calm and the breeze light from the ocean. Over the next three hours the weather had gone from good to bad, with five to six foot seas being whipped up by the gale force winds that surrounded the black, Norman-keep like fortress that dominated the small island.

Even being a mile away, he could already feel the influence of the dementors, and the elemental spells woven into the fortress that make it so formidable a place to approach. It was magic long forgotten, thought taboo or banned by the ministry in their foolish attempt to control magic.

He didn't miss that the families that tried to assert more and more control over their world were the ones suffering more and more as magic rejected them.

The waves didn't relent until the boat rounded a small headland and into a bay that was only a few hundred feet across. It was enough to calm the seas while waves continuously crashed against the rocks that sheltered the bay.

A middle aged man and two burgundy robes Aurors where on the dock. He could appreciate how the captain and the Aurors gently moored the boat and ties it off. It was a few, well-practiced flicks of their wands and the boat was secure.

"Afternoon, Moris. We weren't expecting another supply run for three days," the man in black robes said.

The captain, a greying hair man with a weather worn face from a lifetime spent on the water an in the elements, scratched his chin. "Like my patronus said, special orders, Clark. Garrick Ollivander has special permission to talk with Sirius Black."

Garrick looked up to the fortress on the top of the hill and shivered as dark thoughts started to permeate his mind.

The warden took the papers that Moris held out, and after looking them over, nodded. "Come on, Mister Ollivander. We'll get Black and you will have one hour. Moris, are you staying the night? The passage is a little dangerous in the dark."

Moris shook his shoulders. "You couldn't pay me to stay. I'll wait for Ollivander and then shove off. If you want, I have things for you. Compliment of Bones and Scrimgeour."

The man moved to the wooden cabin and levitated out a few crates. The warden and the Aurors grinned. The clink was unmistakably some type of alcohol, and the smells were some food that was still warm.

Clark doffed an invisible hat. "Our thanks. I'm looking forward to my leave in a few weeks. Come on, Mister Ollivander. Where this. It will keep the dementors from kissing you and keep most of the bad feelings away."

He moved out of the cabin, put on the medallion, then followed the men up the rough-hewn slippery steps to the fortress of Azkaban. After being led into a room with a single sun globe, a rickety looking table and two chairs, he sat to wait.

It was ten minutes later that a slightly emaciated, sickly looking man was led into the room. His skin had a slightly yellow tinge to it, his hair matted to his head, his grey prison robes threadbare and his face sallow. The one that was had much life to him was the man's grey eyes.

Garrick had seen men and woman that had been in Azkaban for any length of time. They usually had a haunted, partially dead look to their eyes.

Sirius Black's grey eyes were anything but dead. They held a spark and fire that time, nightmares and black magic had failed to kill. He could see the intelligence that still existed there, even if there was a hint of madness. Whether it was the madness of Azkaban, the legendary Black madness or a mix, he couldn't tell. He could tell the man's mind was anything but cowed by his conditions.

Black's magic supressing cuffs were attached to chains on the floor, and his ankles put in manacles that didn't allow him to move more than a few inches from where he was sat. When done, the Aurors escorting him said, "You have one hour. My order of the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, all recording and monitoring charms are to be suspended. You are authorized to use any force needed to defend yourself, Mister Ollivander."

Black's brows rose. When the door closed, the man gave him a cautious look. "I never thought that the assassin would be you."

Garrick returned a curious brow raise of curiosity. "Why would you think I would be an assassin, Mister Black?"

Sirius snorted. "I am not 'mister'. That was my father and others. I was thrown in here without a trial. I have been denied talking to any solicitor or law enforcement to tell my story. Obviously, someone wants me silenced, and in… I don't even know how long I have been here. In all this time, you are the only one to talk with me. So, is it to be the killing curse as I try to escape or attack your?"

Black held up his hands, which stopped at shoulder level as the chains pulled up short.

Garrick frowned. "I can assure you, Sirius Black, I am not here to kill you."

The man regarded him with a certain disbelief before lowering his hands. "Then why are you here, Lord Ollivander? If it is even you."

Garrick nodded. "I am not under polyjuice or other charms. I can swear an oath if you desire?"

"You will excuse me if I do not believe anything you will say until you do," Black replied rather darkly.

Pulling his wand, he made sure not to point it towards Black as anytime. Holding it straight up, he clearly said, "I, Garrick Ollivander, Lord of the Ancient House of Ollivander, swear that I have not taken polyjuice potion, disguised myself in anyway and only wish to speak the truth with Sirius Black, the Primary heir of the Ancient House of Black. So mote it be."

His wand glowed blue and shock coloured Sirius's face.

"Does that satisfy you, Mister Black?"

After blinking a few times, Sirius said, "Heir? I'm still the heir? But my mother… I've been disowned."

"I do not know anything about your family dynamics except that the goblins have said Harry James Potter is the secondary heir to House Black, as named by his blood bond godfather. If you were to be either disowned or convicted and stripped of your status, then I would assume Mister Potter would be the primary heir, unless there was another Black he was godson too, but I know of no other male Black that still lives," Garrick told him.

Sirius blinked.

Garrick waited for the man to process things. After a moment, he croaked, "You believe I'm innocent?"

"I believe you never received a trial and that you at least did not betray your godson as you obviously still have your magic," Garrick replied. "As to the other accusations, I have no proof to make a decision either way."

Sirius let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair, then let out a mirthless chuckle. "Well, that's something. Am I going to get a trial then?"

"I do not know. This meeting was arranged through the Gringotts. I was told not to ask about you by a few Aurors," Garrick informed him.

"Well, bugger," Sirius said. He looked down for a long moment before looking up. "How long have I been I here?"

"It is September twenty-eight, nineteen-ninety one. I am unsure the date you were brought here."

"Bloody hell! Ten years! Merlin's saggy pants! You said Harry. Harry is my godson. Where is he? How is he? He would be eleven this year. Did he go to Hogwarts? Which wand did he inherit? James or Lily's? Or maybe Uncle Fleamont's or Aunt Euphemia's?" Sirius asked, suddenly desperate for news.

Garrick frowned. "Your godson is well enough, though he was rather smaller than I remember James being at the same age. We have started a correspondence. He is a rather curious boy with some rather insightful observances and appears to have a real knack for charms." Garrick reached into his left pocket to pull out the stack of letters. "These are copies that I can leave with you, but we have not the time to have you look at them now."

A hungry look came to Sirius's features. He moved fast to grab then but jarred to a stop a few feet away. With an animalistic growl, he cursed out the chains and Azkaban. When he quieted, Garrick slowly leaned forward to leave the letter within reach of the man on the table.

Sirius hurried to take them.

"Mister Black, I am here because you are still recognized as Harry Potter's legal guardian. I wish to apprentice him and let him live with me when he is not in school," Garrick told him.

Sirius had started to read a letter before looking up. He looked rather confused. "What does this mean he doesn't know about his family?"

"He lives with some muggle relatives and appears to not have been taught anything about our world. I wish to apprentice him to teach him about magic, our customs and to learn the craft of wand making. Will you consent?" Garrick asked, knowing that the hour he was granted was quickly fading, as they had included the time it took to retrieve him.

Sirius stared at him, before a rather dangerous voice came out of the man's mouth. "What do you mean he with 'some muggle relatives'? James was a pureblood with no living relatives and Lily only had… oh, for fucking Morgan's tits! You don't mean Petunia!"

Garrick frowned. "I do not know. Harry has not said, and his records are sealed in the DMLE and Gringotts. If you are willing to apprentice him to me, I can get these details. I would also asked to his guardian while you are still incarcerated."

He took out the required forms the goblins had given him to place next to the stack of eight letters, then pulled out a blood quill.

Sirius looked to the parchments, the quill, and then him again. "I am his godfather. What the hell are you playing at?"

"I will not move to sever that bond. I may have other options to help you should you sign this contract and the transfer of guardianship. I give you my solemn word that I will do everything I can to properly raise Harry Potter as the heir to the Potters, Blacks and, if he wished, the Ollivanders. He is the last of his blood. He is one of three true heirs to the Blacks. I would offer him, on his fifteenth birthday, the choice to adopt my blood as well.

I am getting old, Mister Black. Harry Potter is the first wizard to catch my attention like this since my children and grandchildren were killed by the Dark Lord that nearly destroyed us not long ago. There is immense potential in your godson, and I would see him reach that potential," Garrick said to the angry and confused man.

Sirius glared at him for a few minutes as Garrick regarded him, hoping that this would work.

"How strong is he?" Sirius finally questioned.

"I see him rivalling the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore in raw power alone by the time he is seventeen," Garrick replied.

Sirius gaped for a moment. "Bloody hell," he said.

Looking at the contract, Sirius took it in his hands. "Is this a standard apprentice contract?"

"I will not indenture him, but otherwise, it is," Garrick replied.

"Does he know what this means?"

"I highly doubt it. Mister Potter is completely ignorant of our world. I will promise to endeavour to ensure he understands the meaning of the contract before I have him sign it. I will do so before an account manager in Gringotts to ensure there is no duplicity," Garrick solemnly stated.

Sirius took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "When would he be released?"

"I would anticipate he would be considered a master no later than his twenty-fifth year. I myself earned my mastery at the same age. If he is proficient before then, then he will be released. I will put no bounds on his life or goings, except that he may not take on any other job without my permission before then," Garrick replied.

Sirius nodded, then reached for the other papers. "If you are to take over guardianship, you will take him away from the Muggles?"

"I give my word."

"Are you asking for control over his estate?" Sirius questioned with narrowed eyes.

Looking Sirius in the eyes to ensure his word was taken as truth, he said, "I am not. I am only petitioning to be his advisor. He will learn to manage the Potter, Black and Ollivander holdings, with his decision to combine then or not after he is twenty-five. I will ask for enough control to limit his access to funds and to approve of any business decisions until that time to ensure that he does not gamble things away or spend frivolously. I will also ensure he takes up his responsibilities in the Wizengamot at the earliest possible time after he comes of age. He will be young at seventeen to do so, but he wouldn't be the first."

"Should you be released, then all Black holdings will revert to your control and guardianship will be given back to you."

Sirius frowned. After a moment, Black sighed. "No. You can't do that. I've proven I can't be trusted to do the best for Harry." For the first time the man looked defeated. "He needs someone that will put him first. Always."

Taking up the black quill, Sirius signed the guardian spot on the three forms and the apprentice contract before pushing then to the other side of the table. "I don't care if I ever get out, just ensure Harry is safe and grows up well. Please."

Garrick took the parchments to roll them up. "I give my word on my honour and magic to see it so."

Sirius gave a curt nod. He then moved to pick the letters up again. "What is he like?"

Garrick gave a small smile. "Like I said, curious and insightful. He has made a few friends. Muggleborns that he likes. They seem to be taking well to Hogwarts and he has said he already can do most of the spells in the first year spells book, though he is struggling a little with transfiguration and potions…"

They spent the next ten minutes talking about what Garrick knew of Harry before the guards came to get Sirius.

-oOo-

October 5, 1991

Hogwarts, Scotland

Wayne was tiredly picking at his breakfast while Sally-Anne was talking with a second year, Rebecca Huff, about a movie they had seen over the summer. They had found making friends with the second and third years, especially those that were Muggleborn or raised, was easier than the rest of his house.

As usual, he was oblivious to the seventh year metamorph on the other end of the table that kept casting him furtive looks. Or the frown that Abbott was sending him. He was making friends and didn't need his other housemates.

Harry was reading the latest letter from Mister Ollivander as Hedwig picked at his bacon. He smiled to see that Mister Ollivander had taken to calling him Harry in the last to letters.

-o-

Dear Harry,

I have arranged for a meeting in Hogsmeade on October 12, at the Gringotts branch office for 13:00. Please present the attached note from your magical guardian to allow you to attend. Professor Sprout or another professor may escort you to the meeting.

I look forward to discussing your last questions about the transfiguration formula, as intent and determination can be one in the same or can be two separate avenues to approach the same problem.

Yours truly,

Garrick Ollivander, Master Wand Crafter, Lord of the Ancient House of Ollivander

-o-

He was rather disappointed. The letters between him and Mister Ollivander had grown into multi-page letters where he usually answered any question Harry had and often enquired about his well-being and his friends. It was also like having a parent for once. Something he found he yearned for, but never had.

As much as he was pleased, he would potentially be seeing the man next weekend, he was a little upset that this was such a short letter.

Sally-Anne picked up on his mood. In a little over a month, the three of them had become inseparable. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine," he replied. Reaching for his bag, he said, "I have to go see Professor Sprout."

Looking up to the table, he didn't see her there. She was usually here most morning, unless there was something going on in the greenhouses.

Wayne perked up. "What? What did I miss?"

Sally-Anne nodded to Harry. "Should we go with you?"

He shook his head. "I'll meet you in the library in a little bit, and then I want to go out with the quidditch team this afternoon."

The Hufflepuff quidditch team allowed first years to practice flying, and even practice with the team, on their Saturday afternoon practices.

Sally-Anne grinned. "Wicked. I can't wait."

Wayne paled. "It's bad enough we have to fly them during lessons."

"I'll see you in the library," he told his friends as they got into a friendly argument about flying.

He found Professor Sprout in Greenhouse Five with a few upper years as they were wrestling a rather nasty looking plant. "Watch that tentacle," the professor warned as a purple tentacle wrapped around a girls leg and up her skirt. She let out a small shriek before slapping the tentacle, which pulled back as though hurt.

It took them about five minutes to lift it out of the pot and plant it into a bed on the side of the greenhouse. When they all backed away, Professor Sprout wiped her head, getting dirt across her forehead. "That was a live one."

"I swear, if it tries to feel me up again, I'll cut off all its tentacles," the girl huffed.

A boy grinned. "If you don't like the tentacles…."

The girl's wand came out. "Don't you dare finish that statement, Belby."

"Alright. That is enough. Thank you both. It's getting close to the end of breakfast. You better get up to the great hall. Five points each for your help," Professor Sprout stated.

The girl huffed. "I will be back later to make sure its rooting properly."

Belby snorted. "You just want to see if it will go further."

"Five points, Mister Belby. I do not like that type of cheek," she stated.

The boy looked a little chastened. "Yes, professor."

Harry didn't understand what the issue was, but the girl was obviously upset as she stormed past him. The Ravenclaw boy nodded to him. "I didn't see you there, Potter. Come to see the new purple-tentacle rodent trap? It's a marvellous specimen that the Greengrasses have just donated. Very rare."

Harry looked at the agitated plant, not wanting to get closer. "Ah, not really, professor. I, ah, wanted to ask if you would take me into Hogsmeade next Saturday?"

"You are only a first year. You have to wait for your third year to go in," she told him.

Harry held out the permission form with the signature he didn't recognize on it. "Mister Ollivander said I am to meet him at the Gringotts in Hogsmeade at 13:00. Here is my permission form and I was hoping you could escort me?"

She looked at him curiously, took the form and her brow rose into her hair as she read it. "I… see. Yes. I can take you in. It's a Hogsmeade weekend anyways. I've noticed that you only have a few clothes you wear outside your uniform. Do you need to stop in XXXXXXX to get some more? You are gaining a little height and weight since Madam Pomfrey started you on the nutrition potions."

Harry shuffled, still unused to adults actually caring for him. "Uhm, I'm fine."

She gave him a look as though she didn't believe him. "Be ready to go by 10:30. We will stop into XXXXX, get some lunch at the Three Broomstick and then I will take you to your meeting. You should never miss a meeting when Gringotts is involved, and it is better to be early than late."

"Yes, professor," he said, a small smile coming to his face. He would like some more nice clothes.

When he joined Wayne and Sally-Anne, it was to find them sitting at the table with Granger again. They found they were usually left alone, and Granger didn't bother them much. They settled in to get their work done so Sally-Anne and him could go flying in the afternoon and tomorrow they could do something else fun.

It was about an hour in, Wayne and Sally-Anne had gone to find some other books or go to the loo, when Granger asked, "Where do you get those books?"

Harry looked up from the new history book he was reading, finding it better than Hogwarts: a History or the one that they had to get from Bagshot.

"Which books?"

"The ones that you, Perks and Hopkins use? They are not in the library, and I have written to Flourish and Blotts," Granger asked, looking up from the parchment she had been writing on.

"The Bookend in Hogsmeade or Rivenshafts in Diagon Alley," he told her.

Granger frowned. "Professor McGonagall never told me about those."

"Mister Ollivander said I could owl order books from them," Harry told her.

They didn't say anything for a moment until she suddenly said, "I saw the grade on your history and charms essays."

Harry shrugged. "Is that a big deal?"

"How do you get O's when only writing at the length the professor requests? I hand in at least twice that and have barely gotten EE's," she said.

He shrugged again. "I only write about what is asked. It doesn't take much to summarize most of our text books and the theory."

Her brow scrunched. "You don't reference where you go the information, paraphrase, go over the history of the spells or events or quote any passages?"

"Why would you? Professor Flitwick said he wants it in our own words and history is so dry, why add more?" Harry questioned.

Hermione looked really pained at that response. "But… but… how do you learn that way? How do you still get all the spells the first time? I've done what you say and only manage to get a single spell a night, yet you seem to be most of the way through our first year. Is this from all the training you got from Professor Dumbledore before you came here?"

Harry looked at her a little confused. He had heard about the books and whispers of about his upbringing, but it was nothing like other thought. "I just work hard. I never even knew I was wizard before by birthday."

"Impossible. You are doing better than me, and I am doing better than just about anyone else. The only other ones I can't keep up with are those from old families," she said hotly. "I know Hopkins and Perks are Muggleborn, and yet they are near the top of the charms and transfiguration, getting the spells almost as quickly as I do. What are you doing to train them?"

He gave her an uncertain look. "I don't know what you've been told Granger, but I grew up with Muggles. We work hard. You see what we do here in the library. I can give you the list of books we've been able get and where we got them. I think I've spent almost ten galleons on the them."

"You are the Boy-Who-Lived. All the books say you were raised in a hidden castle, trained by Dumbledore and the best tutors in Europe. Books don't lie," she stated.

He had a surge of anger do through him. Without saying another word, he slammed his book shut, then started to jam all his stuff into his bag.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking surprised he wasn't fighting back.

"I get yelled at enough when I'm home. I won't take it here. Tell my friends I went back to the common room because I won't be around you anymore," he snapped at her.

She was taken aback. "I was not yelling."

"You bloody hell were!" he said much louder than he meant too. The clack of Madam Pince's books echoed in the library.

He grabbed his bag and started to storm out.

Hermione, upset, grabbed her own bag and books and chased after him before Madam Pince could find them. He was already out into the hallway and halfway to the stairs when Granger called out, "Potter! Wait!"

He didn't.

She ran to catch up with him. When she grabbed his arm to pull him around, he turned with an angry set to her eyes. "What?" he asked in an ice cold tone.

She took a step back, looking a little scared. "Uhm… ah… books only publish the truth. How could you grow up with muggles?"

He made an angry snort. "Books don't always tell the truth. There is fiction, non-fiction and there is made up stuff. Everything I have heard about me is made up. I am not this great dark wizard defeating hero. I am just Harry, and my friends see that. Why can't others? Now, if you excuse, I want to finish my revision so I can go flying this afternoon."

"But… you like flying?" she sounded incredulous. "How can you play like that and still do so well?"

"We study," Harry said. "Is that it?"

Her mouth moved a few times, before her eyes looked a little teary. "I… I need to well. I need to be at the top of the class. I gave up a prestigious school to come here. I… how do you do it?"

Harry sighed. Wayne and Sally-Anne were now running down the hallways.

"Are you going to accuse me of cheating or lying?" Harry questioned her.

She looked to waiver for just a moment, before shaking her head.

"Are you going to try to correct us like you do in class?"

"But if you are wrong…"

"Then point it out. Tell us where to find the information, don't lecture us like you have tried to do a few times," he demanded. Wayne and Sally-Anne slowly came to a stop to see what was happening.

"But," she said, as though trying to understand something. "But I always know what is going on. I… I don't here. I don't understand why people don't like me. I'm only trying to help. I'm only trying to fit in. I know I don't know everything about magic, but none of the students that grew up with it will explain why they don't like me," she said, tears welling up in the corner of her eyes.

"It's because we are Muggleborn," Wayne said.

Harry frowned. And older student had finally explained some of the issues they were having the other night.

"I know I am. What's wrong with that. Most in Gryffindor say they don't care, but… I don't know," she stammered.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

Sally-Anne tentatively reached out to Hermione. "They look down on us because we don't understand their traditions, ways or even how basic magic works."

"But, you, Potter and Hopkins are towards the top of the class in transfiguration and charms," she said.

"Like I said, we work hard. We practice the spells whenever we can but have also been told its good for us to have some down time to not stress our magic. I don't see the others practicing as much as we do," Harry said.

"My dormmates wonder why I practice so much with Harry. I don't think they like him. I heard Hannah and Susan saying he ignores everything about his heritage," Sally-Anne said.

"You didn't tell me that," he commented.

"I only overheard it last night," she replied looking a little sheepish.

Hermione wiped tears from her face. "Can you help me?"

Harry looked to Wayne, who shrugged his shoulders. Sally-Anne looked uncertain before giving him a little nod. "Sure. Let's go back to the library."

"No go, mate. Pince kicked us out because of your yelling match," Wayne told them.

"Madam Pince," Hermione corrected.

"Please don't do that," Sally-Anne said.

"But she's a teacher," Hermione said.

"And terrorizes anyone that disturbs her. What if we really needed a book and now can't get it because she told us to stay away for the rest of the weekend," Wayne told her.

Hermione looked horrified. "She can't!"

"She can. We can try to talk to Professor Sprout," Sally-Anne replied. "We can't take her back to our common room, can we?"

"No clue. It was never brought up," Harry replied.

"The school rules say you aren't supposed too," Hermione told them.

"Not supposed to? Or can't?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment. "There is nothing explicitly forbidding it, but there was something about requiring an escort."

"Let's go find a table in the sett and get this done before lunch," Harry said.

Wayne and Sally-Anne followed Harry, while Hermione bit her lip, uncertain for a dozen steps, before chasing after them.

-oOo-

END