AN: I do not own Harry Potter or the Wizarding World Universe.

Chapter 2

Harry felt out of place as he followed the tiny professor wizard down the lane and up one of the side streets. It was early on a Saturday morning, and there were a few people out and about, but not too many. He wanted to ask where they were going but refrained.

Anxiety and excitement warred within him as he glanced around the street. He expected to see bobbies appearing to arrest them both, called by Vernon in his anger.

"I understand you haven't read your letter, Mr. Potter. Well, I'm going to find a nice park or at least a decent place to sit down for a little bit and explain some things to you. I thought getting you out of that house might help."

Harry wouldn't have minded reading it in his boot room. He thought nodding was the correct answer. His stomach made a rather loud growl.

"Ah, yes, it is quite early. Let's find somewhere to eat if something is open. Now, do you know of anything nearby?" the professor asked, turning around with a smile.

Harry's mind went blank. He only went to Vernon's house, the school, and the small park where Dudley wanted to play. He shook his head.

A strange expression crossed the tiny man's features. Now that Harry could see him properly, Mr. Flitwick had soft brown eyes, brown hair parted down the middle, and a rather large mustache that curled at the ends.

"Not a problem, not a problem. For where there is a will, there is a way. Follow me, Mr. Potter."

Harry followed.

They walked for several more minutes before finding a bakery. Harry felt his mouth water at the smell and quickly closed his mouth. The small man strode confidently up to the tall counter and ordered juice and a pastry each.

Harry sat on the bench a little ways up from the shop. He tried to eat slowly, but his hunger just took over. The nice man tried to give him his, but Harry shook his head. Already, his stomach felt off from the pastry and juice.

"I suppose you should read your letter. Do you have any questions so far?" Mr. Flitwick asked softly.

Harry frowned. He had hundreds of questions - maybe not a hundred exactly - but he had a lot. He didn't know where to even begin, so he shook his head. A slight frown ruffled the tiny man's mustache.

"I see. Well, please feel free to read this. It may answer some of your questions," the professor said as he handed over a familiar envelope addressed to Mr. H. Potter.

"I'm Evans. Harry Evans," he said softly.

The nice man started as if someone shocked him. "You're Harry James Potter. Is… is that what you were told? Your mother was Lilly Evans. Maybe that's why," the professor said before trailing off.

Harry frowned and looked down at the letter. He opened it carefully. The wax seal broke despite his best efforts. Two heavy parchments fell out. He picked the first up.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

The next page had a list of things he needed to bring. Only, he had no money. He turned to the professor of Hogwarts and shrugged.

"Not to worry, not to worry. All will be taken care of. That is why I am here," he beamed.

Harry nodded.

"We're going to take the Knight Bus!"

Harry watched in fascination as the small man took out the stick again and held it up in the air by the street. It must be his wand like the magicians had... only... he supposed it was real. The road was narrow, with parked cars on either side of it. For a full minute, the tiny professor stood there with a smile. Just when Harry thought nothing would happen, a thunderous crash startled him. A triple-decker blue bus appeared from between two buildings and turned onto the street. The cars blocking its way somehow lept aside before returning to how they were.

Harry gasped and stared open-mouthed as the bus stopped in front of Mr. Flitwick. The sliding door opened to reveal a grinning, white-haired older man with aviator goggles. "Hop aboard!"

Harry looked at the professor, who was grinning at him. "Well, on we get," Mr. Flitwick said with a tiny wave to the open doors.

With a gulp, Harry did as instructed and got aboard. The inside of the bus was much larger than possible. There were full beds, curtains, and candles burning in brackets beside each bed. The beds all had people in them. Farther back, there was regular seating, and Harry quickly made his way to an open seat. He heard Mr. Flitwick speak to the driver.

"A witch or wizard can go anywhere in the country for eleven Sickles," the professor told him. "If you ever need the Knight Bus, just stick out your wand, and it'll find you. Now, this is going to be… unsettling for you at first. However, I can't think of a better way to show you the vast potential of Magic. She is a demanding mistress, but she will always take care of you if you have a ready mind and are willing to put in the effort."

Harry felt his body slam backward in the seat as the bus rocketed forward. Cars, mailboxes, and even a phone booth jumped aside as the driver directed the magical bus. Somehow, they fit through an impossibly narrow alley, and Harry could feel himself compressing with the bus while feeling perfectly fine.

"Amazing, isn't it? Now, Mr. Potter. We are headed to Diagon Alley. It is Magical Britain's version of Westfield Shopping Center. It is where you can find all the items on your list. It will also be where you can withdraw the Galleons you need for your purchases."

Harry tried to look at the professor, but his eyes wouldn't move from the scene out of the window. The driver had no idea how to use a steering wheel as the bus jumped a curb and squeezed through a gap between two cars.

"Ah," he managed to get out weakly.

"You may feel lost, but that is okay. You grew up with Muggles, or non-magical folk. You're entering a big world, Mr. Potter."

Harry frowned and looked at the tiny man. He took a deep breath. "Why me?" It took a lot to ask the question. He took comfort in rubbing his chafed index finger in his lap to calm down.

"Because you were born to Lily and James Potter. When a magical child is born, they are entered into the Book of Admittance by a powerful magical artifact called the Quill of Acceptance. The Quill can detect the birth of every magical child born in Great Britain. You… can, of course, choose not to attend, but I… well, I don't think that would be the best thing for you, Mr. Potter. I fear in my… disappointment with your aunt and uncle that they may not be…"

Harry nodded. He understood that the tiny man… wizard… had used magic on Vernon. He shivered. No, going back would be a bad idea.

A pained expression crossed the professor's face. "You… will still need to return until September first… when you can take the train to Hogwarts. That is unavoidable. However, I will leave a lasting impression that you will not be treated like that ever again. Do not fear, Mr. Potter. I swear to you on that," Mr. Flitwick hissed.

Anger.

Harry didn't move or speak for the remainder of the ride. The professor talked about different things at Hogwarts. The different Houses and their founders, the classes, the Headmaster, and the freedom to become whatever he wanted to be. Harry perked up a little when the professor talked about the Great Hall and the feasts for celebrations. He'd never had a feast but saw one in a book once.

The Knight Bus stopped suddenly, and the professor hopped off the seat. "We're here," he grinned and started up the narrow pathway.

Harry's legs felt weird from all the starts and stops over the last hour. It looked like many of the Knight Bus' passengers were also getting off. He tried not to stare at all the strangely dressed people and hurried to keep up with Mr. Flitwick's tiny form. No one jostled or shouted as they filed off the bus.

Harry did his best not to gape at the others in the street, but as Mr. Flitwick waited for the people to pass, he couldn't help but stare at their bulky dresses. He wasn't sure what else to call it. Once he got over the strange clothing choices, he looked around and realized he was in a different world. Owls, people on broom, shouts for Galleons, and impossibly large banners cluttered the air. If he thought the Knight Bus was strange, the Diagon Alley place was even more peculiar.

"Come, Mr… Evans," the tiny wizard said with a glance around.

Harry nodded and followed along as he tried to ignore the strange sights. His glasses fogged up when they passed by a dark cloud of something sweet-smelling.

He almost lost the professor twice as a group pushed past him. Most were headed to someplace with a big old-fashioned broomstick over the door. He managed to catch up just as Mr. Flitwick passed a building with large windows. Massive evil witch's cauldrons filled the display window, but Harry couldn't see the shop's name because people kept passing by.

Mr. Flitwick led Harry deeper into the bizarre magical shopping street. As he carefully negotiated through the crowd, new and strange things kept drawing his attention. At the end of the street, he saw a massive snowy white building that towered over the little shops around it. Carved into the stone was the name Gringotts Bank.

Harry spotted short, strange creatures in a scarlet and gold uniform. They were about the same size as Mr. Flitwick. The peculiar creatures seemed intelligent, with long fingers, dome-shaped heads, and pointed ears and noses as they looked Harry and the professor over. One of them sneered.

"Inside, if you would, Mr. Evans," Mr. Flitwick ordered.

Harry was amazed by the massive marble hall with huge windows and a diamond-shaped chandelier. If he considered Vernon rich, these people were several times more wealthy. Gold inlay in each large column made him wonder what it cost to build the place. Fifteen stations had more of the creatures he'd seen outside. They didn't look dangerous, just like miniature people. Similar to Mr. Flitwick, except with strange faces.

Harry nodded and followed along. The professor talked with another person-thing in low voices. After a moment, the tiny wizard pointed to Harry who took it as a sign to come closer.

"…vault and withdrawal. I don't have his key. Professor Minerva McGonagall was to escort him," Mr. Flitwick whispered.

"Then a blood test," the little person-thing in a black and gold uniform said with a nod. This one had longer ears but a shorter nose than the two outside.

Once they were alone, Harry bent down to whisper something but decided against it. He didn't want to get in trouble for asking questions. Instead, he looked around and kept an ear out.

There were people of all types inside the bank. Witches, Wizards, their children, some more of those person-things, and even a short, bearded thing with dark beady eyes smoking a cigar. It looked like the same cigar that Vernon liked to smoke.

"Goblins… cheat you whenever they can," a witch huffed as she looked in a bag. She even had a pointed black hat, but he didn't see she had a long green warty nose.

"Dear, the goblins are just doing their job. It's called a tax for a reason," the bald, bearded wizard in a big blue dress said with a sigh.

Harry looked around at the person-things and then at Mr. Flitwick.

"I am part goblin, yes," the professor said quietly.

Harry nodded and went back to looking around. He considered the new information. The person-things were called goblins. He thought they were green and liked to attack people. These goblins seemed… professional, like the one time he'd visited the bank with Petunia. He supposed that was true for everyone who dealt with money, paper, or whatever coin things were being passed across the counter at the nearest station.

Harry followed the half-goblin and goblin from earlier. They passed out of the massive hall and down a narrow but tall corridor. Doors on either side of the passage had names such as Odbert, Ricbert, Gornuk, Burgock, and Tokhack. At the end of the corridor, they turned right, and then the goblin knocked on a door with the name Gornac.

"May your axe stay wet and your coffers full," the goblin greeted as he opened the door.

"May your enemies fall before you and your purse secure," a deep voice answered. "Come in."

Harry followed Mr. Flitwick in, and the door closed behind him. Several thousand keys of strange shapes hung on hooks all around the room. A sallow-skinned goblin with beady black eyes pushed up his visor, which had magnifying glasses attached with gold bands.

"We wish to procure a key," the professor declared.

"And may your handle break in your hand, half-breed," Gornac grumbled. He turned to Harry. "Prick your finger on the needle and step back."

Harry glanced at Mr. Flitwick and noticed his blank stare. It was clear the goblin insulted him. He debated not doing what the goblin wanted, but at the professor's urging, he pricked his finger. It didn't hurt; it just felt weird.

Several thumps and bangs happened behind the goblin's desk, and a piece of thick paper appeared in a flash of fire. Gornac took the parchment and grimaced. "Evans Vault, Potter Vault, Black Vault, Trustee Vault attached to Potter, Trustee Vault attached to Black," he read off. "It shows you cannot enter the Potter or the Black Vaults. The Evans Vault and Trustee Vaults are available until you are seventeen, or four blood lunar cycles, whichever comes first."

Harry had no idea what a blood lunar cycle was, but he nodded.

"We'll take keys to…" the tiny wizard said slowly before turning to Harry. "I should recommend your trust vaults and the Evan Vault."

Harry nodded and turned to the goblin who was watching them closely. "The Trustee Vaults do not need keys as they are temporary holdings by Gringotts. I do not have the amount in front of me, but these two vaults will have many successful raids and will likely be plenty for one such as yourself. Send for Galleons via owl, and they will be discretely delivered."

Harry understood only a part of what was said, but he nodded. The goblin went to work and produced a black and silver key a minute later with strange shaped markings on both sides of the uneven prongs. "Evans Vault."

Harry took it and considered what to do. "May your… uh… axe be bloody," he whispered.

The grin that appeared on Gornac's face was something to behold. He showed all of his teeth. "It will, Mister Potter-Black. It will."

Mr. Flitwick led them out of the office. "We shouldn't need to go down to the vault itself, not since you have vaults set aside for schooling and expenses. Likely set up by Black and your father," he finished with a shake of his head. "Now, our next step is to see how much is available to you."

Harry stayed with the professor as they moved between two other goblins. He gulped when he heard how much each vault had in it. Even the tiny wizard looked a little stunned by the numbers. "Mr. Pot… Evans… Jarnoc's cleaver that is quite the sum. You likely will not need to worry about your finances for the remainder of your life."

Harry nodded and waited on the uncomfortably soft chair. A goblin dressed in black and gold appeared, flanked by two goblins dressed in red and gold uniforms. The lead goblin held two bags. "Potter Vault and Black Vault," he stated as he raised the right and left bags. The one on the left looked a little larger.

"Thank you. May your dagger be swift and your home secure," Mr. Flitwick said as he took the bags and gave them to Harry.

Oddly, it felt like there might be only a few coins in each, but he took them anyway and shoved them in his front two pockets.

Mr. Flitwick led him out of Gringotts and down the marble stairs. "Do not lose those bags. They are likely to contain much more than you realize. Now, you have your list?"

Harry nodded and produced both pages from his back pocket. He found the right one and showed it to the small wizard.

"A trunk first, I dare say. You'll need somewhere to put all your stuff."

If Gringotts had been confusing, the shopping trip through Diagon Alley was doubly so. Mr. Flitwick took Harry to two shops selling trunks that looked the same to him. However, whatever was wrong with the first shop was enough to make Mr. Flitwick walk away from nearly buying a trunk.

The trunk options were odd, too. Harry listened to the professor discuss compartments, enchantments, security, and several other options, none of which were the wood type or even the color of the banding that the other people buying trunks felt was important. Content to watch and listen, he tried to follow the conversation but without much success.

Eventually, Mr. Flitwick decided on a red oak trunk with a feather-light enchantment, four compartments, a security charm, and a caterwauling something or another. The professor seemed happy with the deal and asked Harry to take out one of his bags. When he opened the strings, there were indeed a lot of coins inside, and his hand even disappeared into the bag. It was startling, and he almost dropped the bag.

The professor helped him take out a thousand golden coins called Galleons. When Harry looked inside, it didn't seem to make the bag any smaller; there were still a lot of coins left.

"Thank you," he whispered to the professor as they went in search of cauldrons. At first, Harry thought Mr. Flitwick hadn't heard him, but the tiny wizard stopped and smiled at him.

"My pleasure."

Harry saw tears in the half-goblin's eyes. He didn't know what to say, so he stood there awkwardly. Mr. Flitwick went back to walking toward another shop.

It took nearly two hours to get his non-evil-witch cauldron, two sets of glass phials, a nice telescope, and a set of brass scales. Mr. Flitwick seemed almost combative with the owners of the shops, trying to get not only the best deal but also the highest quality product. Oddly, he didn't choose the big gold cauldron on display but rather a stout-looking copper cauldron almost too heavy for Harry to put in the trunk. Mr. Flitwick used magic to float it into his trunk.

That wasn't the only display of magic Harry saw. Many adult witches and wizards used magic openly to change the environment or make life easier. One older man got splashed with some blue liquid. He waved his wand over his dress and made the problem go away. Petunia would love whatever he did. Likely, she'd use it on Harry to make him go away.

Learning about robes and wizard clothes was another strange experience. Mr. Flitwick seemed dismissive of a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and took Harry to a smaller shop nearer to Gringotts. Twilfitt and Tattings felt like another trip to the stores that sold trunks. Mr. Flitwick explained that his charge needed good-quality robes before discussing specific fabrics and styles. No one asked Harry his opinion, and he was glad for it.

"I apologize for making choices for you, Mr. Evans," the tiny wizard said quietly as they left the shop two hours later. Standing there and letting the two witches take measurements had been dreadfully dull. "Those types require a certain…" he trailed off as if trying to come up with a word. He shook his head. "A certain type of person to deal with, and you are not quite there yet. You will be. You will be. I dare say you're as observant as my best Ravenclaw but not ready to voice your observations. I felt you also needed robes that would last and fit you well."

Harry shrugged. He'd paid half as much for his robes as he did the trunk, and Mr. Flitwick seemed happy. If anything, he was glad he didn't ask why no one discussed the color of the robes until he risked a peek at the letter again. All robes were to be black.

"Flourish and Blotts for your school books, Mr. Evans," the tiny professor said with a wide smile.

Harry followed along, and soon, they came to a large shop with wide windows. Books with wings flew around inside, and the store looked busy. They entered the shop, and the noise from Diagon Alley vanished. Harry felt like he was in his school's library, except for the low chatter from the shoppers.

Harry pulled his trunk behind him, the silver wheels making no sound on the wooden floors. Mr. Flitwick grabbed the attention of one of the young men in gray robes. They spoke quietly for a moment.

Harry's eyes roamed around the shop. He couldn't believe all the magic books available. He wanted to read them all. There were books about charms and spells. He had no idea what was different about each. Then there was Unfogging the Future on a stand beside Atlas of Celestial Anomalies. Abracadabra: An A-Z of Spooky Spells looked interesting because Harry knew Abracadabra was something wizards said. There was also a book about Curses and Counter-Curses and Jinxes for the Jinxed.

Mr. Flitwick had a strange expression on his face as he watched Harry. He couldn't decipher what the tiny wizard thought. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the professor. If anyone knew what he should get, then it was someone who worked at Hogwarts. "What should I buy? To get good marks?" he whispered.

The smile on Mr. Flitwick's face was probably the widest Harry had ever seen.

"Our library is extensive and even has options unavailable here. However, you should always have material for each subject at hand," the little professor said as he waved his wand. Two books floated off the shelf of a Charms Section.

"Each witch and wizard will learn at different rates. Notes are the most important thing you will learn to take. What one book explains might not make as much sense to you as what another book might write. Not all tomes are equal, and not all available texts are the most accurate. Each century has made both improvements to magic and found ourselves farther from the root of it as well," he continued as another book added to a growing pile.

Harry listened closely and wanted to take notes. He was not going to fail at this. He did not want to ever return to the Dursleys after leaving in September.

"Practice and perseverance is the only way to greatness in our world Mr. Po... Evans," Mr. Flitwick said with a glance around them. It appeared that no one was paying overdue attention to them, but Harry noticed a few older witches, wizards, and their children glancing at the small professor. He wondered if Mr. Flitwick knew or taught them at one point.

Mr. Flitwick's answer to Harry's initial question about what he needed turned out to be nearly one thousand more Galleons. The professor seemed to think he needed a personal library, and the most wondrous part was that the trunk somehow had space for it all.

Then the professor said something that made Harry's head spin after he paid the grinning shopkeeper. "This should last you about two or three years. Then you'll need more advanced books."

Harry lost count of how many books the professor chose, which wasn't even all he needed to learn. He felt a little queasy at the thought of it. However, when one of the patrons knocked over a massive stack of books and waved his wand to put them all back in order, Harry decided that reading them all might be worth it.

It was well past lunch when Mr. Flitwick led Harry out of the bookstore. "I believe it's time for lunch. I can hear your stomach," the tiny wizard squeaked with a broad grin.

Harry chose fish and chips, while the professor chose a steak and kidney pie. They sat outside in the surprisingly cool summer air. "Mr. P… Evans," the professor said softly.

Harry tried to pull his gaze away from two wizards who were making fireworks with their wands. He managed to wrench his eyes away and look at the tiny wizard.

"I do not normally do this, but please consider Ravenclaw when you attend in September. I feel you would be quite suited to my House. I'm… not strictly supposed to do this, but you would learn much. Do not force the Sorting Hat, but just consider it."

Harry knew a little about the different Houses from Mr. Flitwick's earlier explanation on the Knight Bus. Rowena Ravenclaw prized intelligence in her pupils. He nodded quickly. It would be nice to have the small professor as his Head of House. Mr. Flitwick beamed at him.

"The only thing left is your wand and maybe some potion ingredients."

Harry had been eagerly waiting for his wand. He'd seen all the other witches and wizards with one. Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. was the shop Mr. Flitwick took him to. Like the goblin with all the keys, the shop was filled with long boxes on nearly every shelf. Harry assumed they were all wands.

"Ah, I was expecting you, Mr. Potter," it wasn't a question.

Harry looked up from a box labeled E.D.S.1877, feeling a little unnerved that someone knew his name by sight. It might be some magic, but it still felt uncomfortable. The older man with pale, silvery eyes and wrinkly white skin stood at a long counter. His white hair stuck out in odd places as if he had perpetual bedhead.

"Filius! Six inches, Beech, Dragon Heartstring, rather springy. A strong combination that you have demonstrated quite well over the years."

"Yes."

Harry wondered why the wizard looked uncomfortable. The older man turned to Harry.

"You see, it is the wand that chooses the wizard. Which is your wand arm?"

Harry stood there and had a similar experience to the one he had at the robes shop. A tape measure took the length of his arm, leg, chest, and, for some strange reason, the circumference of his shoulders. The owner and wandmaker wore a peculiar expression the entire time the tape measure worked.

"Enough," the strange man said with a wave of his hand. The tape measure rolled up and returned to the counter. "You will be a tricky customer," he said. It sounded like he was talking to himself. "Not yet, even in the prime of your youth, and your body is… well… the wand will choose."

Harry looked at Mr. Flitwick, who seemed concerned. It might have been constipation. Steak and kidney pie never agreed with Harry's stomach. At least, the last time he tried to make it. The Dursleys claimed he tried to poison them.

"Walnut, eleven inches, quite unyielding," the wandmaker said as he produced a pretty wand from a black box. The silver label had W.D.U.1961 on the front. He tried to pass the handle to Harry, but there was a visible spark that jumped to his hand. Harry quickly pulled away from the wand and creepy wizard.

"No, no. Not unyielding," the wandmaker murmured. "Interesting, interesting," he muttered before returning the wand to its box.

Harry tried several wands. Not all were as painful in their rejection. Harry didn't know why, but he was sure they did reject him. The old man claimed the wand chose the person to wield it, as crazy as it sounded to Harry. However, what was crazy or impossible to a witch or wizard?

"Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather… nice and supple," the wandmaker grinned and passed the light-colored wand over.

Harry shook his head and passed it back quickly. His fingers tingled, and it wasn't a good tingle. The itch went up his arm before fading rapidly.

"Strange, very strange," the wandmaker muttered as he looked at Harry's forehead. He put the wand back in the box and seemed troubled.

Something happened after a few more wands. "Hawthorn, ten inches, Dragon Heartstring, reasonably springy," the wandmaker said with a smile. It was clear he was having fun even if Harry wasn't.

As soon as Harry's fingers wrapped around the knotted grip of the reddish-brown smooth handle, a warm feeling went up his right arm and settled in his chest. At the same time, a crack of thunder shattered the silence of the shop, and dark red and white sparks fountained from the tip.

"Bravo! Bravo!" the wandmaker cried. "Curious. A strange and strong combination. This was a wand my father made and has been here for some time. A strange, contradictory wood, hawthorn makes. Dragon Heartstring, too? Quite the paradox. I think you will do wondrous things, Mr. Potter, if you put your mind to it. This wand has chosen you. What you become will be set squarely on the work you put into your studies and your understanding of yourself. I think you'll surprise us all, Mr. Potter. A paradox indeed," he grinned before nearly skipping back to the counter.

Harry paid the strange man and left with a wand cleaning and polishing solution Mr. Flitwick suggested.

"Don't focus on what Garrick says, Mr… Evans. You will be exactly what you will be. As I said before, what you put into your studies is what you will get from them. The wand may choose the wizard, but the wizard is the only one who can control their path in life. I want to talk to you a little before we return to the spot to get on the Knight Bus."

Harry nodded and let the professor lead him to a bench across from a popular broom shop.

"I would like to… not take you back to your aunt and uncle, but I do not have that luxury, Mr. Potter. You deserve better than… no, I will speak with Albus. Through no fault of your own…" the tiny wizard said with a hiccup before trailing off. "Through no fault of your own, you do not know about our world. I would like for you to read a few books before you start with your course books. I noticed how taken you were with all the books in Flourish and Blotts. Do you like to read?"

Harry found himself nodding. He thought it a strange question, considering how many books Mr. Flitwick chose for him. Would he have wasted all that money if he disliked reading? Vernon was very clear that money should never be wasted, especially on Harry Evans.

"I'm glad," the small professor smiled. His face looked drawn, almost pale. "This will stay between us," he said, a sudden fierce look crossing his features. "Your aunt and uncle will not bother you as they have ever again."

Harry wasn't sure what the professor meant but nodded anyway.