Author's Note: Hey everyone! I know there are alot of stories like this floating around, but that's part of the reason why I wanted to do one myself. I know that I've seen this particular concept, that of Harry going back in time and raising himself, done before, so that idea isn't mine (although I can't remember whose it is, sorry). Also, to clear up the 'slightly Au' bit - expect things to be canon up until the Battle of Hogwarts in Deathly Hallows. But anyway, please enjoy, and feel free to review honestly.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. :P

On the doorstep of a quiet house, on a quiet street, in the early hours before morning, a baby lay sleeping.

Wrapped in a warm blanket, the babe was also wrapped in a special kind of magic. An old wizard's spell. It made eyes that were not meant to see him fall away, rolling off of his image, and made ears that may have heard the occasional cry or sound from him deaf to them instead. The spell was meant to protect the infant, only to be broken when his horrible aunt opened her front door to see him lying there.

With a wave of his hand, a dark figure at the end of the house's walk cast it away, as though it were a mere piece of paper and not a complex bit of spellwork.

Gentle hands lifted the basket, and the baby stirred slightly, opening brilliant green eyes for a brief moment before collapsing back into exhaustion.

"You've had one hell of a night, huh?" the dark figure whispered quietly. And then, without a single eye upon him, he turned and strode down the street.

The next morning, Albus Dumbledore would send an old friend of his, Arabella Figg, to Little Whinging with a request that she keep an eye on young Harry Potter as he settled in with his aunt and uncle.

A few hours later, he would receive a frantic fire-call from her. Harry Potter was gone. And for the next ten years, he would stay that way.

Mrs. Wilkens smiled at the dark-haired little boy who darted down the isle of the grocery store after his uncle, his trainers squeaking on the smooth floor and his hands grasping a colourful box of children's cereal.

"Is that Harry and his Uncle Jack over there?" she asked of her own son, though she already knew the answer. Douglas' head whipped over to where she had indicated, and he gave a call of delight.

"Harry! Hey, Harry!"

The boy paused, looking confused for a moment before spotting his school friend and neighbour, and giving an enthusiastic wave. Mrs. Wilkens chuckled at his behavior as both he and, now, his uncle, began to head over.

"Lucy," Jack said by way of greeting. Jack Weatherby and his nephew had moved to the neighbourhood a few years ago, and it never ceased to amaze Mrs. Wilkens how alike the two looked. If she didn't know any better, she would easily believe that Jack was Harry's father, or even a much-older brother.

"Are you still coming to my birthday party, Harry?" Doug asked excitedly, even as Harry tried to use the distraction to sneak his box of cereal into the basket his uncle was carrying.

Unfortunately for Harry, Jack Weatherby was a sharp one, and as soon as he turned to his friend Mrs. Wilkens watched with poorly contained amusement as Jack reached into the basket, being very subtle about it, and placed the box back onto a nearby shelf.

"Of course!" Harry declared. "I'll bet it's going to be loads better than Hermione's."

"Harry…" Jack scolded, and Harry ran a hand through his hair, looking a little sheepish.

"I didn't mean it that way, Uncle Jack! It's just her parents are so odd. What kind of a birthday has carrot cake?"

"Hey, now, I happen to like carrot cake…" Jack started, but Harry just rolled his eyes.

"You aren't ten," he pointed out sensibly, to which Jack seemed to have no suitable response. Instead he took the diplomatic approach and changed subjects.

Mrs. Wilkens chatted with the both of them awhile. Jack eventually seemed to recall something, and asked if Harry could stay for dinner at the Wilkens' house on Thursday, as he had to work late. Mrs. Wilkens readily agreed – Harry was a delightful house-guest – and then they parted ways.

As she passed Jack, she noted, from the corner of her eye, that the cereal box was back in the basket. It must be genetic, she thought with a chuckle. She hadn't even seen Harry sneak it in this time.

Harry chattered about Doug's upcoming birthday party, and the necessity of sugar to any gathering of children and merriment, and what he hoped his own birthday would entail until they were well away from the store and on the route home. Jack just gave an internal shake of his head and kept one hand on his charge's shoulder as they crossed the road.

The little house the pair lived in was, if Jack were being honest, not that different from the one on Privet Drive. And yet it was, too. For one thing, it was smaller – or at least it looked that way from the street. The lawn and garden were well-kept, but mostly because both of the house's residents were rather partial to puttering about outside. The exterior was nearly identical to that of its neighbours – a skinny, two-story home that was just an inch shy of being a townhouse.

It was only when you knew what you were looking for that you noticed that a lot of the plants were… well, not something you would expect to find in a normal garden plot. Or any garden plot, unless you were a witch or wizard. And some of the windows on the second floor seemed to look into two rooms at once, as if the space inside of the house had over-lapped, and so a spare bedroom was also a study, and a bathroom was also a storage space.

The pair headed inside, Jack giving Harry a reprimand when the boy left his shoes lying haphazard near the door, and unpacked the groceries.

"Are you sure Doug's not a wizard?" Harry asked as Jack put the milk away, and he suppressed a groan. "Only it would be brilliant if he were! Then we'd know each other when we went to school. He's dead nervous about going to his new school, whatsits, in the fall, you know."

Harry sent his uncle a reproachful look, as if this were somehow Jack's fault. Jack himself resisted the urge to sigh. They'd had this conversation a few times before, ever since summer break had started. He had a feeling it had more to do with Harry's own reservations about going to a new school where he didn't know anyone than Doug's.

"I'm sure," he replied, albeit somewhat apologetically, and Harry let out a gusty sigh and flopped onto a dining room chair.

"Alright, enough melodrama. You'd best put that cereal you were so insistent on in the cupboard before I see it," Jack advised. Woefully, Harry got back up and did as told, feeling a little bit better because he had gotten that.

Sometimes he thought Uncle Jack was taking too many pages from the Grangers, Hermione's parents. He distinctly recalled a point in time when there had been a lot more sweet stuff around the house. Not that his uncle had ever spoiled him, exactly, just that he'd been more lax about the candy before they'd moved back to England.

Then again, Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed to delight in telling people horror stories about teeth and the evils of sugar. Harry had thought the dentist he'd gone to when he was little had been strange, with his talking puppet shaped like a giant toothbrush and his 'war on cavities', but nothing compared to the grim and bleak portrait of pain and despair that Mr. Granger could paint when he really got going.

He supposed if you were a little bit paranoid, like his uncle could be, it would have to have an impact on you.

"Did you finish reading that book I gave you, by the way?" Jack asked, coming up beside him and steering them both towards the living room. Harry nodded.

"Oh, ages ago," he said agreeably. Harry liked books. He'd gotten picked on a bit for it when he'd first started school, as his reading level was rather advanced for the other children his age, but he'd soon proven himself to be too quick and tough to make a regular target.

"What did you think of it?" his uncle pressed, taking a seat in his regular chair and indicating that Harry should plant himself across from him. Oh. They were going to have a 'conversation'.

Harry shrugged, leaning into the armrest of his seat. "It was alright, I guess. Bit boring to be honest."

He'd been a little surprised when his uncle gave him the book. It was a sort of beginner's guide to prophecies and the 'noble art of Divination', and Uncle Jack had always said that that was a shaky business, and Harry'd never seen him do any sort of magic along those lines.

"Right." Uncle Jack ran a hand along his jaw. It seemed like he was going to say more, but then it was as if he changed his mind. "Right. Well. Anyways, I expect we'll be getting your school letter soon."

"And then we'll go to Diagon Alley?" Harry asked, rather eagerly. He'd never been allowed to go to the magical shopping district – didn't even know where it was, truthfully – as his uncle insisted that it was too dangerous, what with Harry's 'history' and all. But he'd promised to take him when it was time for him to begin his schooling, and it was one of the aspects of the whole thing which Harry felt no reservations about whatsoever.

Uncle Jack chuckled. "And then we'll go to Diagon Alley," he agreed. "But there are a few things we should discuss before that happens…"

He trailed off, and Harry waited patiently. Sometimes his uncle wasn't the best at putting his thoughts into words – it seemed as if, in a way, too many things all tried to push out of his mind at once and he had to sort through them – but he always got there.

"…You see, Harry, on the night when – when your mum and dad died, the… er… Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore, he sent you to go and live with your aunt and uncle," Jack began. Harry gave him a befuddled look.

"You're not married, Uncle Jack," he pointed out.

"No, no I'm not," Jack agreed. "I meant, he sent you to live with your mum's sister and her husband – the Dursleys. You remember, I told you about them?"

Oh, yes. Uncle Jack had told him about the Dursleys, back when Harry was eight and they'd had their big 'talk' about Harry's parents, and Voldemort, and everything. But this was new information.

"Aren't they muggles?" Harry asked, somewhat dubious. "I always thought I ended up with you because you're a wizard…"

Uncle Jack was quiet for a long moment at that, thoughtful.

"Well, Harry, to be honest, I'm not supposed to have you," Jack confessed slowly. "It's a bit complicated, but Dumbledore wanted you to be placed with your mother's family. He believed that it would strengthen the protection she gave you when she died. Blood magic is strong, old magic, and he was right about the technical aspects."

"So what happened?" Harry asked, a sense of foreboding building up his gut.

"I kidnapped you," Jack bluntly replied. "The Dursleys are pretty awful people, Harry," he hastened to explain. "Not dangerous, at least not in an immediate-threat-of-violence sort of way, but they hate magic, and your aunt always sort of resented your mother for being a witch. For anyone to grow up in that house would be a trial, but for a magical person it would be especially unpleasant. I knew I couldn't leave you there. So when Dumbledore left you on their doorstep, I took you home with me instead."

Harry pulled a face. "He left me on their doorstep?!" he asked, incredulous. Jack blinked at him.

"Er… yes," he replied. He had been expecting Harry's negative response to be centered more around the fact that he'd been abducted as a baby.

"Like the morning paper?"

"More or less. In his defense, he did put a notice-me-not charm on you, so that only your relatives would see you there."

Harry looked like he'd swallowed a frog. "…I don't think I like this Dumbledore fellow a whole lot," he confessed.

Jack wasn't sure if he should confront that unexpected comment. Instead, he decided to let Dumbledore redeem himself on his own graces, and carried on with the matter at hand. "Anyway, the reason why all this is so important is that, when we get your school letter, a whole lot of people who have been wondering where you are will learn that you're with me."

Harry blinked. "You mean that nobody knows?" he asked. Jack shook his head.

"Nope."

"Oh. …Are they going to arrest you?" Harry seemed quite distressed at this prospect. Jack shook his head.

"They'll want to, definitely. At least at first. But according to the technicalities of wizarding law, an orphan is immediately entrusted to the guardianship of their nearest magical relative. Since we're related, I'm magical, and the Dursleys are not, I had every right to go and get you from them. I just didn't tell anybody first."

"…So you didn't really steal me."

"Well, yes and no. Legally I did not. But in the spirit of the thing, I'd still say it counts."

"Why didn't you tell anybody?" Harry asked, curious and more relaxed now that the odds of law enforcement agents beating down the door had been reduced.

"Safety," Jack replied immediately. "If nobody knew I had you, good or bad, then it would be a lot harder to track us down. Then there was also that bit I told you about before, about Dumbledore wanting to put you with your mother's relatives for the blood magic..."

"Is that the real reason I can't go to Diagon Alley with you?" Harry asked abruptly, a suspicious look on his face. Jack broke into a bit of a smile at that.

"I suppose you could consider it a contributing factor, although even if everyone knew I had you, I still probably wouldn't want you to go until it was necessary. We can't glamour your scar away, and people tend to get a bit batty about that whole Boy-Who-Lived nonsense."

Harry made a face. While his supposed celebrity status in the magical world did have a certain flare of glamour to it, for the most part Harry thought the whole thing seemed a bit rubbishy. A large part of that was probably because it hindered his desire to explore said world a good deal.

"Alright then," Harry shrugged. "Should I do anything?"

"You're not mad?" Jack asked, clearly a little surprised. Harry gave him a reproachful look.

"No," he replied, as if that should be quite obvious.

Jack paused, waiting for further elaboration, but so far as Harry was concerned that simple answer seemed to settle things. So instead he merely shook his head and considered the coming days. "Just the usual. Don't open the door to strangers, and if anyone you don't know shows up when you're at Doug or Hermione's houses, then don't go with them. And if they try to take you-"

"-hit the emergency button. I know." Harry's emergency button was, in fact, a literal button. It was sewn on to the pocket of every pair of pants he owned, and if he said 'help' in parseltongue, it immediately sent the message to Uncle Jack. "Can I watch the telly now?"

Uncle Jack glanced at the clock.

"Alright," he replied. "You can watch until supper, then. I'll call you when it's ready." He headed into the kitchen at that, and Harry cheerfully began to search for the remote between the couch cushions.

A universe away, when another Harry Potter had been that age, he had only ever glimpsed a television show when his aunt and uncle were watching the news, or his cousin left his bedroom door open while he used his. That Harry had been much smaller, paler, and more spindly than this one. He'd been dwarfed by hand-me-down clothes that didn't fit, and wore spectacles held together by a lot of scotch tape and willpower. That Harry had had no friends, few possessions, and had slept in a dark cupboard underneath the stairs.

Jack shook his head, clearing it of thoughts as he put the water on to boil and started gathering the ingredients for pasta in sauce. It would have been quicker to use magic to do it, of course, but that was one of the tricky parts of their particular home.

Not wanting to live in a house to which Harry could never bring his friends, or to raise Harry in a home that was so utterly magical that he could not relate to muggle classmates, Jack had split the place into two – the first floor, which contained the sitting/television room, a bathroom, the laundry, and the kitchen/dining room, were muggle, left structurally as they had been when the house was purchased. The second floor, however, was magic, and it had many more rooms and complexities.

Nothing electronic worked on the second floor, so it was all wizard up there, and magic messed with the telephone, appliances, and pretty much everything else downstairs, so there was a no-magic rule from the landing downward. For the most part it was a good thing, though. Jack personally maintained that there was something to be said for manual labor, in the right amounts, and washing the dishes or folding the laundry never killed anyone.

He was just taking the sauce off the heat when the phone rang.

"Harry?" he called, and the sound of socked feet skidding across carpet could be heard.

"Got it!" the ten-year-old replied, pulling the phone off the received. "Hullo?"

There was a pause. Jack dumped the sauce in with the pasta and set to tossing them together.

"Just a minute," Harry said politely, and then he held the phone away from himself. "'s for you, Uncle Jack."

"Thanks. Set the table?" Jack asked as he took the phone, and Harry nodded, going over to the cupboard for plates.

"Hello?"

"JACK!" A familiar voice practically shrieked from the other end of the receiver. Jack held it away from his ear a bit, wincing.

"Ah. Sarah." He said, in a tone which implied that a very large cockroach had suddenly crawled out from under the fridge.

"Jack, Jack, darling, you're going to want to kiss me very shortly!" the voice on the other end replied, still loud enough that someone in the next room could hear it. Harry snorted as he plunked two plastic cups onto the table, and Jack shot him a playful glare.

"Sarah, the Imperius curse is quite illegal. And it doesn't work over the phone," he informed her, rolling his eyes.

"Ha! But no, you'll be flipping over the moon for me on this one. You remember you wanted me to dig up dirt on that Umbridge woman…?"

The rest of the conversation was lost to Harry, as the volume dropped to more normal levels and Jack leaned into the wall, his voice adopting his 'business' tones all at once. Sighing, Harry placed the forks, and then decided to take the initiative and spooned two healthy servings of pasta onto both plates. Uncle Jack could be a very long time when his voice took on that tone, and Harry had learned long ago that it was best to just tuck in rather than wait.

He was about halfway through his plate before Jack rejoined him, looking rather pleased. "Is it alright then?" he asked, gesturing to the pasta. Harry shrugged and nodded.

"It's not gourmet, but it'll do," he said. Jack rolled his eyes. Harry had picked up that line from television, and the first time he'd used it, his uncle had almost shot his dinner out of his nose he'd been so surprised and amused. Now he was practically married to it.

"Shall we check on the potion after dishes?" Jack suggested, after the pair had eaten in companionable silence for a while. Harry nodded enthusiastically.

Jack would never have imagined himself as a potions nut when he was younger, but free from certain negative influences in his life, he found that the subject was actually innately… peaceful. It saved him from having to make too many trips to places like Diagon Alley, especially when he began growing many of his own ingredients, and when Harry was old enough to safely be around simmering cauldrons, he actually showed an aptitude for it.

Currently, the pair of them were going through the first-aide potions in one of Jack's simpler medical texts. They'd done one or two a week since break began, and were now on a simple burn salve. Harry had thought the best part was when he'd gotten to mash the solid ingredients together by hand. There'd been all kinds of gross things in there.

Dinner was soon finished, and after helping his uncle by drying dishes, the pair made their way upstairs. At the first door on the left, Jack pressed the handle inwards, twisted it once, and then let go and opened it properly. A small potions lab opened up before them. There was one table in the center, with room enough for two cauldrons (upon which bubbled the current project), a comfortable work station, and shelves stacked with the ingredients both bought for stores, and collected from the garden.

Harry dashed over to the cauldron and peered at it, careful not to lean too far and get scolded. Jack waited for him to make his own assessment, and after a moment, his charge looked up at him with a disappointed air.

"I don't think it's done yet," he proclaimed. Then he hopped down from the stool which was by the table for the sole purpose of his examinations, and went over to the book lying by the work station. Jack meandered towards the cauldron and took it in at a glance as Harry flipped the pages to his book-marked goal.

"…yeah, it's not even red yet," he sighed. "This is the most boring part."

Jack shrugged. "Unless we've botched something, I don't think it'll take any longer than the morning."

Harry perked up. "Can we get started on the next one, then?" he inquired. Jack chuckled.

"After what happened last time? Really?"

"…that was a fluke."

"Well, you've certainly learned to clear up properly since then, I'll grant you that."

"I cleared up properly before! It was just… you miss one spot, and…"

"Exactly." Jack leaned near one of the shelves, pretending to mull the idea over in his head as Harry glance at the book, and the next potion on the list. "Well… alright. So long as you agree to take a bath tonight."

"Deal!" Harry declared, and the next few hours were passed pleasantly enough, until Jack glanced at the clock and promptly commanded his nephew into the upstairs bath. Harry went, grumbling a bit because he'd been engrossed, and Jack cleared up their work and set aside the ingredients they'd prepped as he heard the water run.

His knee twinged. It was so faint, that it wasn't anything he would have noticed if he hadn't been standing still, thoughtful in the immediate aftermath of tidying. But it was enough that he couldn't dismiss it as a mere itch, or a trick of the mind.

Pulling up the stool, Jack sat, and let it sink in. For around a decade he'd managed to avoid it. Well… not really avoid it. He'd done things, made preparations, kept his ears and eyes open, but for quite awhile now it had all been in anticipation of something later. Technically it still was. And yet, he knew it, they were standing just behind the starting line now, and by summer's end the race would have begun. Not in earnest. Not yet. But enough so that all the old demons would be sure and rear their ugly heads.

Quirrel had returned from his trip to Albania, Jack knew. And he'd brought something with him.

Suddenly filled with a nervous energy, Jack stood, went down the hall, and knocked on the bathroom door. "Alright, Harry?" he asked. An affirmative response came back. Satisfied, Jack headed back in the direction of the potions lab, only this time he simply opened the door without any fuss. A bedroom was revealed, with a simple, comfortable-looking bed set into the middle of it, and a chest of drawers to one side. There was also a closet door, and a nightstand with a few still, muggle pictures set on top. Most were of Jack and Harry, but there were some generally scenic ones as well.

Heading over to the closet, Jack moved a broom lying atop a battered old trunk, and then pulled it open. Reaching in and shuffling around a bit, he eventually produced what looked like a simple piece of parchment, and gently tapped it with his wand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he intoned, and ink spread across the page as if being pulled along by very fast-moving spiders.

It didn't take him long to find him. There in his office was a dot labeled Quirinus Quirrel, pacing back and forth. And close to that name, written in lettering so faint that you could easily miss it, was 'Tom Riddle'.

But of course, Mr. Riddle didn't have a dot of his own.

The old hatred began to bubble up. For several long minutes, Jack simple stared at Tom Riddle's name, watching it swish back and forth in the office. He wondered if he and Quirrel were speaking with one another, discussing their plans for the Philosopher's Stone. Or was Voldemort merely slumbering as his host took a rare moment to, perhaps, regret his decision to share his body and soul with a monster? Or revel in it?

When he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, Jack muttered a quick 'mischief managed' and placed the map back into the trunk. He tried to clear his thoughts as he bid Harry his goodnight, going so far as to tuck the boy in, though he was getting rather big for that. If Harry minded, he kept his peace on the subject.

"Uncle Jack?" he managed instead, as the other made to leave. Jack paused, questioning, in the doorway. "Those people… Dumbledore… they won't be able to take me away from you, right? Make me live with the Dursleys?"

Jack offered him a reassuring smile. "They won't," he confirmed. "Trust me."

And Harry, slipping off into sleep, did.

The next morning, as Harry piled his helping of scrambled eggs onto some toast, there came a knock at the door. Jack gestured at him to sit, and Harry listened, suddenly all nerves, as his uncle went to answer it.

"Good morning, Mr…?"

"Weatherby," Jack replied, and Harry could hear a strange tone in his uncle's voice. Putting down his toast, he slipped over to the kitchen doorway and leaned, just a little, until he could make out some of his uncle's back. He thought he saw a wisp of silver on the other side of the door, just above Jack's head.

"Mr. Weatherby. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am here concerning one Harry James Potter."

"Well, come in then, headmaster. We thought you might pop by. Your timing is impeccable," Jack said politely, and Harry pulled away from the doorway as his uncle leaned back to let the other man, Dumbledore, in.

Harry didn't want to be seen. He was sure he wouldn't be in trouble for it, not with his uncle at least, but the insecurities he'd felt needling at him the night before began to pluck at his mind again.

"I am correct in assuming that you have Harry Potter here?" Dumbledore asked, and his voice was laced with something… dark. A threat, a promise, a warning all in one. Harry gulped, and his mouth went dry. His earlier apprehensions regarding the man who had allegedly left him on the doorstep of his magic-hating relatives began to resolve into a genuine distrust and dislike in that instant.

"Sit down, Albus. Would you like some tea? We were just having breakfast."

Jack's reply sounded… well, almost taunting. As if he were taking some small, gleeful, tiny revenge by being so polite and relaxed.

"I would like to see Harry. Now. Before I have a team of aurors tear this house apart…"

"You followed his Hogwarts letter?" Jack interrupted. "I expected you'd do as much. I could have taken him out of the country if it were my wish to keep him from you, you know – there would have been no means for you to find him then. Harry! Come out and say hello to Professor Dumbledore!"

Harry did not particularly like the sound of that, but his uncle sounded confident and fearless, and that reassured him. He walked from the kitchen, taking in the sight of the elderly man who stood before his uncle, with an expression on his face like vengeance come swiftly.

It softened when he turned to look at Harry. Dumbledore was very old, that was Harry's first impression. He was dressed in a sporadically colourful suit that only matched in so far as chaos went with chaos, and a long, silver beard drooped down from his chin in a very Merlin-esque fashion. Blue eyes twinkled at him from above a delicate pair of spectacles. It seemed to Harry that he was being put under some sort of invisible inspection.

"Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter. Harry, this is the man I mentioned last night," Jack offered, coming to stand beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Hello Harry," Dumbledore greeted, his expression unreadable. "You know, a great many people have been looking for you for-"

"I know," Harry replied. "Uncle Jack told me."

He didn't at all appreciate the deep look of concern that comment garnered.

"Harry, why don't you go finish your breakfast? I do believe the headmaster has a lot of questions he'd like to ask me, and I don't think he wants to ask them all in front of you. It might inhibit his expressiveness."

Harry gave his uncle an appraising look. "Do you think he wants to swear at you, or hex you?"

Jack chuckled. "Possibly both. If the professor is agreeable, we'll cast a silencing charm."

"Don't be too long," Harry advised, shooting Dumbledore a nervous glance. "You said we could have Hermione over," he reminded. Jack nodded, and then, double-checking his wards on the kitchen, turned back to Dumbledore.

The older wizard cast the charm, his expression one of deep mistrust.

"I wasn't aware that James Potter had any living relatives under ninety, apart from Harry," he declared. Jack cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Reading his mind already? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You'd want to be sure he wasn't under a glamour, or some kind of trick."

"You are familiar with legilimency?" Dumbledore inquired, a slight change in his expression the only betrayal of his startlement. Jack thought the answer self-apparent, and so ignored it. Not that he had much of a chance too, either, as Dumbledore seemed to immediately realize that was off-topic and moved on with due haste.

"What you have done is… who are you? How did you find Harry, and why did you take him from the safety of his relatives? Why haven't you come forward before now?"

Jack spread his hands. "Sit, please, professor," he encouraged, and after a long, tense moment, Dumbledore did as requested. His eyes twinkled like mad. Up until now, Jack had made no eye-contact with him. This time he did, but the reaching probes of the other's mind slid off his internal shields like rain on wax paper.

"What I have done is taken a boy from a home where he would not have been loved, and raised him as best as I could. I am Jack Weatherby, and I found Harry because I knew where he had been taken. I did not pluck him from the 'safety of his relatives', as you so inaccurately phrase it, for he is still technically in the 'safety of his relatives'. And as for not coming forward… well, I'm certain you can appreciate the abundant number of threats to his well-being. Perhaps it was a little over-cautious, I'll grant, but I saw no reason to explain my actions."

The two men regarded each other in silence for a long while. Jack took in the familiar countenance of Albus Dumbledore. It had been years and years since he'd seen the man in person, and he'd forgotten how intimidating he could be when he was not playing the part of the genial grandfather. Not that he disliked Dumbledore – no, Albus Dumbledore was among the people whom Jack hoped to help, to protect and save – but he couldn't honestly say the he trusted him anymore, either.

At least, he did not trust him to be infallible, nor did he trust him to do what was right for Harry. Neither did he doubt the man's noble intentions.

"Jack Weatherby is an assumed name?" Dumbledore asked at last. Jack nodded.

"It is," he said, and if the honesty surprised the other man, it didn't show.

"Am I correct in believing that you will not tell me your real one?"

"You are."

"And how, exactly, are you related to Harry?" Dumbledore gained a little intensity for this question. Jack leaned forward, his manner rather conspiratorial as he cast a glance about the room.

"…Genetically." He stated dryly. Dumbledore did not look amused. Jack sighed and leaned back. "Honestly, I would assure you of my noble intentions, but you won't take my word. You clearly know that I must be related to Harry, however, because of the blood wards on this house. The auror curse-breaking team outside won't be able to get past them, by the way. Old magic."

"It is indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "Not unlike the spell I put in place at the Dursley residence. Am I correct in assuming that is where you encountered it?"

Jack smiled. "You are," he replied. Dumbledore's eyes were still hard as diamonds.

"I do believe the auror curse-breakers will be able to get through, however. Certain additional factors were taken into place when I set up my protections at Harry's aunt's home…"

Lily's sacrifice. Jack waved a hand rather airily. Dumbledore was wrong, but he didn't need to know that. "Assuming they even do manage it, what gives any of you the right? The very fact the wards exist proves that I am Harry's relative, and a wizard. I am within my legal rights to take custody of him, and am under no compulsion to answer to you."

"Harry has been missing for ten years! You have to answer for that, even if antiquated pureblood laws would favor your claim!" Dumbeldore snapped, and Jack's eyebrows went up. He'd never heard him talk like this, like his temper had gotten the better of him.

"The only person who has any right to demand answers of me is sitting in the next room eating his eggs," Jack said, feeling his own anger simmer up from beneath the surface. He'd become a better master of his emotions over the years, but they were still a fierce thing when riled. "You were a friend of Lily and James', you were an open opposition to Voldemort, you are the head of the school which I intend to send Harry to, but you are not his guardian. Not his keeper. I am not your employee, your servant, I am no part of your Order, and as I have broken no laws, I need not answer to you in your Wizengamot capacity."

"If you try and send aurors after me, I will repel them with equal force. And what is more, I will extend my grievances to the Ministry of Magic, along with a detailed expose on your attempt to place him with an unsuitable muggle family. The wizarding public will just eat that up, don't you think? I know Lucius Malfoy would love to get some of the comments the Dursleys would make on the front page of the Prophet. Now me, I know how to talk to reporters, but I don't think 'get off my lawn, you filthy freaks, before the neighbours see you' would spin Harry's alternate guardians very well."

Jack saw Dumbledore's eyes flicker, briefly. Following the gaze, he glanced down at his sleeve. With a sardonic smile he rolled it up, revealing the pale, slightly scarred but otherwise unmarked forearm beneath. He repeated the process with the other sleeve as well, just for good measure.

"The only ones who know about the Order of the Phoenix are its members, the Death Eaters who fought them, and a few privy individuals in the MLE, yes?" Jack said. "But of course, that's just naivety. People talk. They always do, and rumours spread."

"…You say his name," Dumbledore offered, his face now an unreadable mask. He didn't know what to make of Jack, that much was clear.

"I do," Jack agreed. "Although, I must say, if he were to actually come back to full power again, I probably wouldn't. Just to avoid the unpleasant inconvenience of frequently summoning Death Eaters to my location, mind."

"You believe he will come back?" there was a curious note to the old wizard's voice.

"I am certain that he's still out there. Whether or not he actually comes back, or is 'finished off' before he can get that far remains to be seen."

Dumbledore sighed, raised a hand to his wrinkled brow as he suddenly seemed to relax, just a little. Giving in to the headache this entire affair had given him.

"I would offer you some of the anti-headache draught Harry and I brewed last week, but I don't think you'd trust me quite so far," Jack intoned lightly.

"With regards to your claim of Harry's guardianship, there is the matter of his godfather…"

"Sirius Black. I know." Jack leaned into his seat, a familiar stone settling into his stomach. "He hasn't attempted to contact Harry since his release from Azkaban, nor has he attempted to evoke his right to guardianship. If he had, I would have at the very least discussed the matter with him. And before you ask, yes, if he had addressed a letter to Harry and sent it off with an owl, it would have made its way here. I wouldn't have denied him that – if he had sought it."

"Mr. Black has been impossible to track down since his release."

"He's hunting the rat, I'm sure," Jack replied. "If those bunglers from the Ministry hadn't let him escape from custody – I mean, they knew he was a bloody animagus…" he trailed off.

"There is also the matter of his years of imprisonment to consider. Four years in Azkaban for a crime he did not commit has undoubtedly wrought havoc with his mind."

Jack shrugged. "The healers pronounced him sane. I read about it in the Prophet. I'd have written him a letter myself, but frankly I didn't know what to say. No, my money says he's hunting down Pettigrew. That one cares more for avenging his friends than raising their child."

"You seem rather harshly critical of him," Dumbledore noted. Jack glanced away for a moment, and to the other it seemed a somewhat guilty expression passed fleetingly across his face.

"Perhaps I do, at that. And perhaps I'm wrong. Maybe he has been hunting me all of this time, myself and Harry – and simply never thought to do anything as mundane as write a letter. Maybe he's given his godson up for dead… or perhaps I simply shouldn't judge him for choosing the weight of vengeance first."

"It is also possible that something unfortunate befell Mr. Black after his release," Dumbledore offered.

Jack stiffened for a second, but then nodded. "…I suppose it is," he agreed quietly. "Regardless, as he has made no move to claim Harry, and was unable to at the time when I did, my own claim still stands."

"And if Mr. Black were to turn up tomorrow, demanding his rights?"

Jack shook his head. "If that were to happen, I would first seek to discuss the matter with him. But if he were unreasonable, if he simply wished to take Harry and be away, I would fight him, if only for the reason that it would not suit Harry to be so terribly uprooted."

Dumbledore held his gaze for a moment, and then glanced about the room, seeming to take it in properly for the first time. "This seems like an ordinary muggle residence," he mused. Jack nodded.

"It's a half-and-half. The first floor is muggle. Part of it's for guests, but part of it's also for Harry's sake. And mine. Most wizards act as if living muggle-style is like being condemned, but I find it can be pleasantly distracting. The upstairs is a more magic-influenced environment. We don't have a floo, though – security reasons."

Dumbledore nodded, taking in his words and explanation. "I must confess, when Harry vanished, I imagined a considerably darker fate for him than that of an unknown relative whisking him off to a quiet life," he declared.

"I figured you would be keen enough to know it wasn't all an illusion," Jack replied with a slight nod of his head. "Others would have demanded veritaserum and all sorts of melodramatic measures before accepting the idea."

"Do not mistake me, Mr. Weatherby," Dumbledore said sharply. "I have by no means put you past suspicion."

"Good man," Jack said agreeably. "I wouldn't put me past suspicion either. Or any of your professors, which brings us on to more immediate concerns – such as Harry's upcoming education."

Dumbledore seemed to brighten a bit at that. "Ah, yes. You mentioned that you do in fact hope to send him to Hogwarts?"

"I do," Jack agreed. "Provided certain precautions to ensure his safety are taken."

Dumbledore frowned. "It is a well-known fact that Hogwarts is the safest location in all of wizarding Britain, Mr. Weatherby," he declared, a slightly scolding tone to his voice, as if to chastise Jack for suggesting otherwise.

"If you will humour me, headmaster," Jack replied, "I'd like to tell you a story."

Curious, Dumbledore acquiesced. Jack carried on with a nod.

"It's a story an old friend of mine told me once. You see, a long time ago, there was this wealthy, rather paranoid man who lived in a secluded estate. The paranoid man was always afraid that someone was out to get him, as a fortune-teller had told him that he would die a most grisly death, and so he vowed to make his home the safest he possibly could. The place became a veritable fortress. He took out all of the windows, so that no one could break in through them, or hit him by spell or projectile through the bars. He warded the place against wizards and muggles, werewolves and vampires, and all manner of nasty magical creature. Every day he took plenty of vitamins and ate a balanced diet to keep his health up, and he made sure the house was spotlessly clean, so that he was rarely ever ill and never terribly so. Each door in the house had a dozen locks on it, and only he knew the combination to any of them – and they were all different. The doors, the walls, the whole house was reinforced to the nines, so that a bomb could go off in one room and you wouldn't even notice from the next.

The man also kept a dog, a loyal guard dog, who was his eyes an ears on the property and patrolled every day until evening, when the man would quickly let him in to be fed and sleep, before bolting the door shut behind him again.

One evening, the man was feeling particularly paranoid, and so when he opened the door to let the dog in he did so with undo haste. It was only when he had re-latched the last lock that he realized his mistake – the dog was not his dog at all, but a mangy, starving wolf, who had seen the man drag his dog inside every day and had known that was his chance. As the man struggled to re-open his locks, the wolf lunged and tore him apart. It was a most grisly death."

Dumbledore regarded Jack solemnly as he finished his tale. "So you see, professor, any place is only as safe as the people – or animals – in it."

"I understand your concerns, Mr. Weatherby. Surely you must know that student safety is of the utmost importance to me." He wasn't at all certain what to make of the look Jack gave him at that. It was, strangely, knowing – as if he saw somewhere a half-truth or secret.

"I have… concerns regarding two members of your staff," Jack said, not responding to Dumbledore's comment. The old wizard's brows went up in mild affront.

"You are awfully audacious for a man who could still be accused of kidnapping…" he noted. Jack grinned.

"Only with the best intentions, I assure you. But fine. Let me make myself plain, let us set this whole matter into the open before we go any further. My blood wards are strong. Even if you took Harry to his aunt and uncle's today – which you won't – I think it would be safe enough to assume that he would have a good deal of trouble considering the place home, which is an important aspect of such magic. Likewise, I doubt his aunt would take him. A baby is one thing. A ten-year-old is another, as I'm sure most adoption agencies will tell you. Not only would you be making enemies of the both of us, but you would be physically endangering Harry in a very large way. If you try and keep him at the school, I will have you charged with kidnapping. I'm certain the trial would drag on, perhaps even for a year or two, but at the end of it I would win, and Harry would resent you greatly for trying to separate him from the only family member he's ever had.

And if, on the off chance you manage to produce Sirius Black from the woodwork, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Black's claim is legal. Yours isn't. Satisfied?"

"You will have to come to the Ministry to validate your claims before an official judge," Dumbledore replied after a moment of stillness.

"Ah. You see, there's a bit of a loophole with that," Jack countered, having expected this to come up. "I looked into it you know. During the war with Voldemort, so many witches and wizards were dying that the Ministry relaxed the standards for custody claims, so that the only requirement was that proof of blood and magic – or, barring any surviving magical relations, blood – be provided to a member of the Ministry or Wizengamot in order to claim any children orphaned at war time. Technically speaking, Harry was orphaned during war time, albeit at the very end. And when you came to this household, Chief Warlock, you were immediately presented with proof of blood and magic. Literal blood magic, in fact."

If Dumbledore were at all inclined to look flabbergasted, he would have then. As it stood his jaw did go a little slack. Jack grinned.

"I thought that was a nice touch, personally. The paperwork at the Ministry should be finished self-updating by now."

"… I… see…"

"Normally, I find the Ministry's tendency to just let things automatically flow like that – without paying proper attention to it – a bit annoying, you know. But at the moment I'm actually rather fond of the habit. Of course, by tomorrow morning if whoever works in that department bothers to read any of the papers under their nose, they will have gotten word out, and it'll be known that Harry Potter has been claimed by a magical relative… but I already knew that would happen."

Dumbledore regarded him solemnly. "Had you attended Hogwarts, Mr. Weatherby, I am almost positive you would have been in Slytherin."

"Nah," Jack replied, shaking it off dismissively. "I wasn't this crafty when I was eleven. In fact, I was a bit of an open book back then."

"Indeed?"

"Oh, sure. Life will do that to you. The loyal Hufflepuff at eleven gets betrayed by their best friend at twenty, and suddenly the loyalty is tainted with suspicion. The brave Gryffindor jumps into the fire, only to find that it actually does burn, and afterwards their courage falls short of the flames. The wise Ravenclaw discovers that all of their knowledge cannot stop their family from dying, and rejects their studies as futile. And the cunning Slytherin's ambition leads to their own deception and enslavement, and ultimately renders them powerless."

"I take it then that the open book of eleven-year-old Jack Weatherby was read by malevolent eyes?"

"Read, misread, spat upon and the pages burned," Jack agreed quietly, some part of himself retreating into a darker place. "But I like to think I'm still an honest man, when I can afford to be."

Dumbledore opened his mouth, and as if he could predict the questions that would come – and he probably could – Jack broke in abruptly.

"When I can afford to be. Besides, lies and secrets may breed one another, but they are not the same. And we should get back to the matter at hand. Your school."

"I have full confidence in my staff, Mr. Weatherby. Most of them have served at the school for years, and are exemplary instructors…"

"…And my problem isn't with most of them, although I would say your definition of 'exemplary' needs some brushing up on if the rumours I've heard about Snape and Binns' teaching methods are any indication. On the note of Snape, however, I have further concerns revolving around his status as a Death Eater."

"Former Death Eater," Dumbledore said promptly. "Severus has exonerated himself. He has my implicit trust."

Jack snorted. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word over the rest of wizarding Britain's for the man's character." Actually, Jack knew that Snape's status as spy and turncoat-for-the-light was a genuine one. That wasn't really the issue, but it was something he could latch onto. "From what I've heard, he's an abysmal teacher – Hogwarts has produced no new Potions Masters for the duration of his employment, or indeed, very many potioneers at all – he has a unquestionably shady history, a personal motivation to dislike Harry, and a remarkably unpleasant personality. Not to mention the fact that he only 'changed sides' at the very end of the conflict."

"It was a critical point, I assure you," Dumbledore said solemnly. "Severus has gained my trust for reasons personal to him, which I cannot divulge. I refuse to remove him from his position at the school. Even if I were to agree to such a thing, it is far too close to the new school year to do so now."

"I thought you might say something like that," Jack nodded. "But from my position, Severus Snape is a sincere issue, and if I hear one whisper of danger with regards to him, I shall take Harry out of your school whether or not it was the one his parents went to. I don't want to. I would like him to attend Hogwarts, and learn all he can. But he has an aptitude for Potions, and I won't see him hindered by a former Death Eater, no matter whose trust the man has."

"I assure you, I have the utmost confidence in Severus' abilities to see past decade-old differences," Dumbledore said solemnly, and Jack wondered if he really believed that.

"Very well. I'll let that particular matter rest for now. The second issue, however, is one I will not be moved on," he carried on. "Professor Quirrel, your Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor."

"Quirinus?" Dumbledore asked, clearly surprised. "He only recently returned from a trip abroad. His credentials are very solid. What is your conflict with him?"

The fact that he's got Voldemort stuck on the back of his head, Jack's internal voice snapped, but he fought it down. "I believe you yourself have begun to suspect what I do. Quirrel's 'trip abroad' was to Albania, was it not?"

Dumbledore nodded, his gaze on Jack growing sharper.

"And something lurked in Albania, something which he brought back with him. A shadow. A wraith."

"How did you learn this?" Dumbledore asked. "I had begun to suspect that something was awry with him, I will confess, but only just…"

"The answer to that is another of my secrets, I'm afraid. But suffice it to say, it's not garlic the man is hiding in his turban. I won't have Voldemort teaching Harry Defence Against the Dark Arts, whether in person or through Quirrel by proxy."

"You mean to imply that he is literally possessing Quirinus?" Dumbledore asked, rising from his seat. Jack nodded.

"Of course. You don't think he brought him to Scotland in a bottle, do you? The fool willingly let Voldemort's soul possess him. Frankly, I don't know what you're thinking anyway, letting a man whom you at least suspect of harboring that monster teach school children."

"The Defence position is always re-opening," Dumbledore defended somberly. "It is difficult to fill, particularly because of its reputation, and particularly on short-notice. I had only just begun to suspect… but I admit, I had also thought to keep him close. Where I could watch him. I believe I know what Voldemort seeks to gain, now that he has gathered enough strength to begin taking such steps…"

"I won't ask you what it is," Jack replied, not adding that he already knew, "but Quirrel goes. At the very least he needs to be exorcised of Voldemort's presence, and if that doesn't fry his brains beyond repair, I would say his teaching credentials ought to be severely undermined by his willingness to share body-space with a dark wizard."

"I promise you, the matter shall be thoroughly explored, and if what you claim is true then he will be dealt with accordingly." Dumbledore agreed. "Although filling the Defence position now will be trying…"

"At least he ought to have most of his lesson plans done," Jack offered. "Anyone willing and competent should be able to pick it up from there."

The conversation turned almost normal after that, although Jack could easily see that Dumbledore still had many questions he wanted answered. But he insisted that there wasn't time enough, Harry had probably grown restless in the kitchen, and finally Dumbledore yielded Harry's Hogwarts Letter, and with one last, long check of the boy, left.

"I'm surprised he didn't make me lift my shirt and look for bruises," Harry muttered darkly as the headmaster left. Jack sighed, resting a hand on his head.

"I put him an awkward position. Sometimes it's easier to believe the worst of people than the best, especially when you've spent a lot of time dreaming up nightmare scenarios…" Remus is going to kill me, Jack thought, feeling a twinge of guilt about that and not for the first time.

Harry pulled the Hogwarts letter and supply list from Jack's unresisting hand, and poured over it.

"Can we go to Diagon Alley today, then?" he asked, excited. Jack ruffled his hair, noticing that Harry had taken the opportunity to wash the breakfast dishes whilst he and Dumbledore had been talking.

"Oh, very well," he agreed, to Harry's delight. "But, not until this afternoon! Hermione's coming over, remember?"

"Oh. Right," Harry muttered to himself, and Jack grinned at his sudden disappointment with the idea. He had purchased their house in this neighborhood because he knew Hermione's family lived here. He'd wanted Harry to have friends before he went to Hogwarts, and knowing that the Weasleys or any magical family would recognize him on sight, his thoughts had immediately turned to his muggle-born friend.

Of course, moving them to the same area and enrolling Harry at the same school had only left a potential there – Jack had considered approaching the Grangers himself, but couldn't come up with a context that didn't sound weird or suspicious. In the end, however, Harry managed to make friends with the girl all on his own.

Harry couldn't abide bullies. It was one of his most consistent traits, and a good one at that. When he'd seen Hermione getting picked on by several classmates for being a 'teacher's pet', Harry had stepped in. He'd met Doug in a similar way.

The phone rang, and Jack answered. After a few minutes of polite conversation, he hung up, and turned to Harry with a grin.

"I hate to disappoint you, but I'm afraid Hermione's gone and cancelled. It seems something's come up at the Granger household and they're going to be away for the day."

"Really?!" Harry said, with perhaps more enthusiasm than was polite. Jack gave him a look, although there was no genuine reprimand behind it, and Harry backtracked a little. "I mean, oh, darn. Still, no reason to let the day go to waste, right? Can we go to Diagon Alley now?"

"I don't see why not." Harry gave a whoop of delight and ran to go get his shoes.

"Hat, Harry!" Jack called after him. "We don't want to get mobbed if we can avoid it!"

Harry made a face, but deciding not to press his luck, slid a dark-green cap onto his head. The hat pressed down his fringe and successfully hid his trademark scar.

Jack got ready at a more leisurely pace, which caused Harry to dance from one foot to the next as he wrestled with his impatience, until finally the two were out the door. They took the familiar route to the nearest bus station, and Jack had to shush Harry from pestering him with magic-oriented questions when they got on, lest the boy unintentionally break the statute of secrecy.

Jack didn't own a car. For one thing, he didn't care for them very much in general, and for another, he'd never learned how to drive one. Magical, self-driving cars were available in the wizarding world, but they were expensive, and illegal to use without going through a good deal of Ministry paperwork. Jack just didn't have the patience for that, and public transportation suited him fine anyway.

"Can't we take the Knightbus?" Harry asked in a whisper, after they'd found seats.

"I'd prefer to keep my breakfast down, thanks," Jack replied with a look of distaste, and Harry laughed.

The boy was a veritable ball of excitement the entire trip. Though neither he nor Jack realized it, the two made an amusing pair; the silent man, purposeful and calm, and the near-identical boy bouncing around him, filled with gleeful exuberance.

The pair drew a few curious glances in the Leaky Cauldron, but Harry's hat and the fact that no one was earnestly looking for him did the trick, and they passed through without garnering any cries of 'it's Harry Potter!' or such. Jack was relieved, though he kept one hand on Harry's shoulder and one eye on the patrons the entire time.

When the entrance to the alley opened up, Jack allowed himself to enjoy the look of unabashed wonder and delight on Harry's face.

"Got your list?" Jack asked, and Harry nodded and handed it to him. "Alright then. You think about where you'd like to go first-"

"The Quidditch shop!"

"-while we go to the bank," Jack finished, shaking his head in fond amusement. He should have known, really. Harry had been as big of a Quidditch nut as he was, ever since he'd gotten him his first toy broom. "Alright, but only because it's your first time," Jack replied agreeably, and the pair took the scenic route towards Gringotts, letting Harry drink in all the strange sights and sounds.

"Can we get an owl?" Harry asked, spying one as it flitted through the air from the direction of the post office.

"Maybe," Jack agreed.

"Can I get a broom?"

"No. First Year students aren't allowed brooms, and they're expensive."

"Can we go to the book shop after the Quidditch shop?"

"I don't see why not. We'll need to buy your school books anyway."

"Can we… is that Hermione?!" Harry stopped mid-sentence, and Jack felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth as he followed his nephew's line of vision to the familiar bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl and her parents. They were being led through the throng of shoppers by McGonagall, who appeared to be explaining things as they went.

"Well, I guess we know why she cancelled," he said in amusement as Harry gaped at the sight.

"Hermione's a witch!" he suddenly crowed in delight, and then before Jack could stop him, took off towards her at a dash.

Internally cursing that little bit of recklessness – they would have to have a talk when they got home about not running off into crowds – Jack swiftly followed.

"Hermione!" Harry called out, and the Grangers and McGonagall all stopped at the sound.

"Harry?!" Hermione and her parents said incredulously in unison. Jack sped up as he saw the expression change on McGonagall's face. After all, Harry looked just like James, and if she knew where Dumbledore had gone…

"Well, this is a surprise! Dan, Jean." Jack greeted the Grangers with a nod of his head. "Hermione's a witch then, is she?"

"You're a wizard, Harry?"

"Did you know she was magic, Uncle Jack?"

"You are familiar with the Grangers, Mr…?"

"Weatherby. And I might have had an inkling or two, Harry, but don't look at me like that. You never asked," Jack said, scolding his nephew for the brief glare he received. McGonagall was giving him a very piercing look. "We got our Hogwarts letter this morning as well. I take it you're getting the grand tour?"

"We are," Jean replied with a smile. "You're a… a wizard, then, Jack?" It seemed the concept was taking a while to sink in. Jack nodded.

"I am. Sorry for keeping mum about it, but we have some rather restrictive laws on who we tell what."

The Grangers promptly forgave him – they really were nice people – and introduced Professor McGonagall, who was having a hard time tearing her gaze away from Harry by that point. For his own part, Harry was chattering away excitedly with Hermione, who looked… well, frankly a little relieved, and Jack did the same with the Grangers, who seemed similarly reassured by the sudden arrival of familiar faces.

"Well, we won't keep you any longer," Jack said at last. "Harry and I were going to head for the bank, and I'm sure you'll want to finish your orientation and everything. If you'd like to stop by for dinner, though, you're more than welcome. I was muggle-raised myself so I know it can be a little overwhelming at first."

"You don't say?" Dan declared. Then he and Jean briefly conferred before promptly agreeing to stop by around six, and Harry and Hermione exchanged their goodbyes before Jack began to steer his charge away.

"Finite!" McGonagall suddenly declared sharply, aiming her wand at Jack. There was a pause in the general bustle of shoppers as passersby stopped to stare, and the Grangers looked at her in surprise. Jack raised an eyebrow, and the Transfiguration professor looked distinctly disappointed that her spell had yielded no results.

"Professor?" he inquired. Slowly, McGonagall lowered her wand.

"…My apologies, Mr. Weatherby. It seems I was mistaken about something," she managed after a moment. Jack inclined his head.

"Well, no harm done. Dan, Jean, Hermione. 'Till this evening," he said in farewell, and once they were well enough away, let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Is she batty? Why'd she cast that spell at you?" Harry demanded as they made for the front steps of the bank.

"Because she's very clever, and hasn't spoken to Dumbledore yet," Jack replied. "She heard Hermione say your name, and probably knew that the headmaster had gone to track you down this morning. But I look just like you, and that made her less certain that you weren't just some other boy named Harry. She wouldn't expect you to be with a relative," he reasoned.

"So she thought you were wearing a glamour," Harry concluded, finishing the thought.

"Precisely," Jack agreed. The pair entered the bank, and Jack realized he hadn't bothered to reclaim Harry's key from Dumbledore. Or of any of Lily and James' other possessions, for that matter. It wasn't really that important – Jack had more than enough money to cover their expenses – but he would have to address the issue soon enough.

At least it kept him from looking money-grubbing.

"Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there."

Harry read the inscription on the silver doors before the pair made their way into the vast marble hall. "What are they talking about? Angry goblins?" he asked, following his uncle to one of the many goblin clerks.

"Oh, lots of things. Traps, dragons, possibly a sphinx or two – the high security vaults have some pretty nasty protections."

Jack presented the clerk with the key to his own vault, and they were led off to a cart. The Weatherby vault wasn't as deeply located as the Potter one, but the ride was still fair enough that Harry enjoyed it, looking eagerly out the sides for any glimpse of a dragon. Once they'd returned to the surface, however, Harry's mind flew to the impending trip to the Quidditch store, and he chatted about how badly the Chudley Canons had been beaten in the last match to come over the wireless.

"Can we go to a proper game sometime, Uncle Jack?" Harry asked. They'd never actually been to a Quidditch match – in truth, Harry hadn't been to most places in the magical world yet.

"Maybe," Jack said agreeably. "They'll have games at Hogwarts, too, don't forget."

"Think I'll get on a team?"

"I'd say you've got a fair chance."

They didn't actually buy anything in the Quidditch supply store, although Jack agreed to keep an open mind towards the fact that Harry's birthday was coming up. The book store was fun, if a little crowded. Jack let Harry pick out one frivolous book to go with his school texts, and Harry happily perused the shelves, eventually emerging with a small green book entitled Magical Reptiles of Britain, by Ophiucus Olles.

The apothecary was the next stop, and Jack had to refuse Harry several times when the boy asked for ingredients that seemed particularly bizarre or fascinating, but would only be used in potions still too advanced for him. Instead they stuck to the school supply list. Harry's disappointment didn't last once they were out of the shop, though – the excitement of the alley was still too much for him to be dimmed by petty things.

"Lunch?" Jack suggested, and Harry grinned. They stopped at a little café with brightly coloured umbrellas outside, and ended up swinging past Florean Fortescue's for some ice-creams as well. The pair then headed for the Owl Emporium.

"I think barn owls are nice looking," Harry put in as they examined the cages.

"Don't be silly. Snowy owls are the best," Jack replied, and an agreeable hoot answered him from behind. A beautiful white owl sat in her cage there, strangely almost hidden behind two screech owls. For a moment, Harry thought his uncle might have been hypnotized. Then, shaking himself out of it, the man reached over and plucked the cage from the racks.

"Well. We've found her," he said softly. She was a nice-looking bird, Harry had to admit. His uncle bought her and a packet of owl treats, and it was only once they were moving away from the shop that he seemed slightly guilty about failing to consult his nephew first.

"Here, I'll let you two make proper introductions," Jack offered, handing him the cage.

"What should we call her?" Harry asked as he examined her politely. It was kind of funny, really. He'd never taken his uncle for an animal nut.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something," Jack replied. There was an odd note to his voice again – Harry gave him a thoughtful look.

"Me?" he asked. "I think she's your owl, Uncle Jack."

That point was rather lightly debated on the way to Madame Malkin's clothing shop. Jack insisted that she was both of theirs, but Harry maintained that it was perfectly alright, his uncle was allowed to have a pet – he needn't feel embarrassed about it. A girl owl with pretty white feathers was a right manly familiar.

"You don't like her?" Jack had finally asked, and Harry shrugged.

"She's a nice owl. But I'm pretty sure she's yours."

The owl gave a rather affirmative-sounding hoot.

Harry then launched into an explanation of how he'd read a book on magical familiar last year, and how certain wizards and witches, and even squibs, just had better affinities with certain animals, which pushed them past the normal sphere of pet or companion and into the traditional magical bonds.

At the clothing store, Jack hung around, keeping an eye on the proceedings especially when Harry was asked to take his hat off. The boy wisely pulled his fringe across his forehead, but it might not have been a necessary precaution – there were so many students in for fittings, it being the day the letters were sent out, that Madam Malkin barely paid him any mind.

"There's an awful lot of black," Harry remarked as they left the shop, with regards to his school robes. Jack shrugged.

"It'll brighten up a bit when you get Sorted into your school house – then the house's colours will show up on your tie and trim and such, but yeah, I suppose it is a bit dark." Particularly by Harry's tastes, Jack mused, as the boy was quite fond of vibrant colours. His lime-green shirt attested to that quite clearly.

"So, wait, if I end up in Hufflepuff, I'll have to wear even more black?"

"Yup."

"Bugger that, then."

"Harry!" Jack scolded, trying not to laugh. "I think the fact that the other colour is bright yellow balances it out in the long run."

The discussion of Hufflepuff fashion sense tapered off as they arrived at Olivander's. Before they went in, Jack took the opportunity to shrink all of their purchases and stuff them into his pockets. Except for the owl, of course, whom he slipped up and called 'Hedwig', much to Harry's amusement.

"I knew you'd already named her," he declared smugly. His uncle didn't often do things just for himself, and so Harry didn't begrudge him it.

Jack rolled his eyes, but did seem faintly embarrassed as he led Harry into the wand shop.

"Ah…" said Ollivander when they entered, taking in the sight of them both. His eyes flickered briefly to Harry's cap, or more specifically, to the portion hiding the top of his forehead. "Mr. Potter, and…" he paused, taking in Jack. "…friend. I had hoped you might find your way to me this summer."

Harry shifted, uncomfortable. He glanced at Jack, who gave him a reassuring nod, and then it was down to business as Ollivander set about deducing which wand would suit his current client. Jack took a seat on a dusty old chair by the door, and fed Hedwig an owl treat as they watched the scene unfold. Wand after wand was placed into Harry's hands. Most were snatched away almost instantly. A few produced a spark here or there, but nothing substantial.

As he worked, Ollivander explained the intricacies of wand selection to Harry, who seemed to be getting just generally put-out by the whole process.

"Phoenix feather, willow, eleven inches. Very good for enchanting," Ollivander said, and when Harry took the wand he had his best results yet. White sparks flew, faint and whispy, from the tip.

"Hmm. Not bad. Still, I think we can do better…" Ollivander began, moving to take the wand, but Jack stopped him.

"Set it aside, if you will," he requested instead. The wandmaker regarded him for a moment, as if he had forgotten that the man even existed, but then gave a dismissive nod and did as requested.

More wands were produced, Harry looked like his wrist might be starting to cramp, and finally Ollivander, with a contemplative look, disappeared into the back room. He re-emerged shortly after with a most familiar item.

"Holly, eleven inches, supple, with a single phoenix tail feather. An unusual combination, this one," Ollivander said. Jack watched as Harry gave it a wave, and…

A few sparks. He blinked. So did Ollivander. So did Harry, for that matter, who seemed to have been expecting a bit more of a reaction going off of the wand's introduction.

Clearly disappointed, the wandmaker moved to take it, but once more Jack halted him. "I would appreciate having that one set aside as well," he requested. Ollivander did not seem well-pleased, but did as asked, and Harry took the opportunity to rub his wrist. After a moment, Ollivander disappeared into the backroom again, mumbling quietly to himself.

"Does it always take this long?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure," Jack confessed. "I took a while to find mine, too, but I do believe the process is faster for some."

After a minute, Ollivander emerged once more, this time holding a wand which just screamed 'freshly made' for some unfathomable reason. "Yew, nine and a half inches, unicorn tail hair. Another unusual combination," he offered. Harry took up the wand and swished it through the air, to a raucous shower of multi-coloured sparks. He grinned, turning excitedly to Jack.

"It worked!"

"So I've seen," Jack agreed. He re-directed his attention to Ollivander. "We'll take all three, and a wand-maintenance kit."

Ollivander looked as though he might protest, but after a moment he subsided, and pulled a kit off of one of the shelves.

"The unicorn which gave the hair for that wand was quite a lovely creature," he said instead. "I do believe she died quite recently. A shame. She gave only the one hair, you see, as she was still quite young."

"How did she die?" Harry asked, as Ollivander rang up their purchases and gave Jack the price.

"Attacked," Ollivander replied. "It takes a rare resolve to become the sort of being capable of killing a unicorn."

"I wouldn't phrase it that way," Jack cut in, handing over the galleons and gathering the wands.

Ollivander looked at him, then, and it seemed as though his eyes saw straight through Jack. His occlumency shields remained strong. But for some reason, that failed to reassure him.

"Of course you would not, Mr. Potter," the old wizard replied. Jack stiffened, and then, rather briskly, led Harry out of the shop.

"Creepy," Harry declared, once they were back on the street.

"Every time I see that man, he never fails to alarm me," Jack muttered, casting a suspicious glance backward. Then he shook his head and gave Harry his wand, tucking the other two away.

"What did you buy three for?" Harry inquired.

"You have to ask, with your habit for breaking things?" Jack replied. He grinned. "We'll talk more about it later. For now, let's get you your school-standard cauldron and quills and things, shall we?"

Harry nodded agreeably, and a few minutes later was trying to talk Jack into buying him a self-writing quill. He failed, but did actually manage to obtain a self-inking one.

"Why they don't just let you take pens, I'll never know," Jack muttered. Harry nodded his agreement, but then paused as their trip to the cauldron shop brought them past a store declaring itself to be the 'Magical Menagerie'.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. Jack paused, listening, and then his eyes widened slightly.

"Death! Death to the prey! Kill you, dead, dead, dead!"

Curious, Harry started forward, listening to the sound of what was obviously some sort of snake as it continued to throw death-threats into the air. Jack gave the shop-keeper a nod as he followed. A familiar, squash-faced cat yowled at him from beside the counter.

"Die! Pain, suffering, a thousand poisons course through your veins!" the voice continued.

At last Harry tracked it down to a space nearly lost behind a tower of clattering bird-cages, mostly filled with ravens. It took him a moment to deduce what had happened.

One of the rattling bird-cages had knocked into a rather unstable-looking column of miscellaneous creatures behind it, and at least one cage had tumbled downwards to collide with a snake cage below.

The reptilian occupant of said cage was currently rounding in on – or attempting to round in on – the occupant of the fallen cage, as the bars between them had split open. Harry blinked at the 'prey', which turned out to be a very sleek-looking white rat, who was currently throwing the decimated remains of his little rat-house at the snake's nose. His aim was pretty good, too.

Harry felt his uncle lean of his shoulder.

"I want him!" Harry suddenly declared on impulse.

"The snake?" Jack asked, sounding exasperated. This would not be the first time Harry had asked for a snake as a pet. "You aren't allowed to take snakes to Hogwarts…"

"Not the snake, the rat," he replied. "Hey, you snake, piss off," he hissed at the necklace-sized serpent.

"You piss off!" the snake replied testily.

"Language, both of you," Jack threw in, as he couldn't resist. Then, being taller than Harry, he reached over and pried the cages apart, letting his nephew pluck the white rat from the ruins of his former home.

"I can't believe you want a rat. That's almost worse," Jack mumbled, unable to suppress the image of 'Scabbers' resting in false innocence on Ron's lap.

"He's cheeky," Harry replied, grinning as the tiny rodent sat up in his hand and examined him.

"Oh, well then. You two will be the best of chums, I'm sure."

"So I can have him?!"

"Since you seem to insist that Hedwig is mine, I don't see why not." Jack agreed. "But you'll have to take proper care of him while you're at school."

Harry swore he would, and so Jack purchased a decent-sized cage and other rat-oriented equipment. As they left the shop, Hedwig eyed the new acquisition speculatively, and gave an inquiring hoot. Jack chuckled.

"He's a pet, not your dinner," he replied. She looked vaguely disappointed. Frowning, Harry took the cage from his uncle, and insisted on carrying his new pet in his front pocket after that. Jack shrunk his cage and put it in his pockets, with the rest of their shopping bags.

After a few more minutes of Harry and Hedwig giving one another the stink-eye, Jack relented and opened her cage. Whispering their address to her, he let the owl take off, and watched her snowy form disappear into the sky.

The rest of the shopping passed without incident, and Jack felt decidedly relieved that it had as he and Harry rode the bus home. There were so many ways that it could have gone wrong, even in these quieter times, he knew.

"So what are you going to name him?" he asked, gesturing to the whiskered face as it peered around, openly curious.

"…Harry Jr.?"

Jack cocked an eyebrow, and Harry shrugged.

"I hope whomever you marry when you grow up is a little better with names, in that case," he replied.

"He likes it," Harry insisted, fishing a broken cracker out of his pocket. Jack wondered briefly what it had been doing there in the first place as his nephew fed it to the rat. "I'll call him Junior for short."

"Just so long as you don't name him heir to your fortune."

"Hey, at least I didn't fall in love with an owl at first sight."

"Like a rat's any better," Jack joked, tugging his nephew's hat.

They continued on in a jovial manner until they got home, and Harry dashed upstairs to set 'Junior' up in his cage and go through all of his books and things. Jack saw Hedwig in a tree outside, and opened an upstairs window to let her in, setting her cage in his room and gently petting her feathers.

She gave a soft hoot, and playfully nipped his finger.

"You probably aren't aware of the full context of things," Jack said quietly, "but it's very good to see you again."

Hedwig gave him a look, as if to say that of course she understood, and then settled down to grooming.

Jack left the room, instructed Harry that he should wash up before supper, and proceeded downstairs to figure out what he was going to make for dinner with the Grangers. He decided that simple was probably the name of the game after a day full of startling revelations, and pulled the ingredients for a fairly inoffensive curry out of the fridge. Harry clambered down the stairs a few minutes later, with Junior still in his pocket.

"You can't have him at the dinner table," Jack called after him as Harry headed for the sitting room.

"I won't," Harry assured, although he sounded slightly disappointed about it.

The Grangers arrived at six on the dot, with an almost uncanny sense of punctuality, and Harry all but dragged Hermione into the house.

"Can I show her upstairs?" he begged of his uncle. Jack nodded.

"After dinner, though. And say a proper hello to Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

Slightly chastened, Harry greeted the Grangers, who were simply amused.

"Well," Jack began as they sat down. "You three have had quite a day, I'm sure," he commented. Dan and Jean laughed, although he could see a bit of the strain from it all around both of their eyes. Hermione looked frazzle too, he noted, but also as if she were only just coming down from an excited high.

"I remember when I learned I was a wizard," Jack offered. "It was wonderful and strange all at once. And of course, my immediate reaction was that it couldn't possibly be true."

"Your parents were normal, then?" Dan asked, and Jean batted his arm as Hermione's cheeks pinked in embarrassment.

"Dan, don't say it like that," she scolded.

"Sorry, dear. Hermione. I didn't mean it that way, it's just that other word…"

"Muggle?" Jack offered.

"That's the one. It sounds a bit… offensive."

"'Non-magical folk' is the politically correct way of putting it," Jack offered, nodding his head in understanding. "But even then it's probably a little rude to define people by what they aren't."

"Honestly, Dan, it doesn't sound any worse than most of these magic-folk words. Hogwarts and Gringotts and the like… I think it's just the culture," Jean Granger insisted, and when she'd gone 'honestly' in her slightly-scolding tone of voice, Jack had felt for a moment like he'd slipped and gone back in time.

"I still don't like it," Dan insisted. "Especially not the way that bloke in the book store said it."

"Ah. I see you've encountered the bigoted element already," Jack noted, an apologetic tone to his voice. "Every group of people in the world has them I'm afraid."

"Professor McGonagall warned us about it. She said they were like the magical equivalent of extreme conservatives," Jean agreed. "They don't much care for wizards and witches who are born outside of the community."

"Putting it mildly," Jack nodded. Then, noting the worried looks his comment garnered, hastened to reassure them. "Things have improved considerably over the last decade, though…"

The talk carried on, Dan and Jean asking questions that they either hadn't thought to ask McGonagall, or which they felt she had glossed over a little. Hermione and Harry seemed to be carrying on their own quiet conversation on their end as well, and Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he saw Harry stuffing crumbs into his pocket. Which was wiggling.

He'd be lucky if that rat didn't weigh twice as much by the time he was getting on the Hogwarts Express.

After dinner was finished, Harry took Hermione upstairs almost straight away, and Jack shook his head. He led the Grangers back into the sitting room, and then produced a bottle of firewhiskey from a locked drawer.

"Wizard liquor," he said lightly, pouring them both modest glasses. "Forgive me if I think you could use a stiff drink at the moment."

"What went on between you and the professor earlier today, by the by? If you don't mind my asking?" Dan enquired as he contemplated his drink. Jean took a tentative sip, turned red, and promptly set hers back down.

"Oh, that. No, I don't mind," Jack agreed. "She likely thought I was wearing a glamour."

"Glamour… you mean like a faerie charm to lure and deceive, like in the old stories? Or something else?" Jean asked.

"Actually, you've more or less got the right idea," he said with a nod. "But in specific, I do believe she thought I was making my facial features and such look different. It's a little complicated."

"Everything about this seems 'a little complicated'," Dan replied, taking a drink. His reaction was not dissimilar to his wife's. "Is it some wizard etiquette?"

"Ah, no. What she did was actually rather rude, but given the context, I was willing to forgo my right to be offended."

"Why did she suspect you of being disguised?" Dan pressed. "She acted very oddly afterwards, you know. Jean had to get on her to get back to answering our questions instead of asking her own. She wanted to know all sorts about you and Harry."

Jack leaned back, running a hand across his brow. "It's a long story," he replied. "But since Hermione and Harry are friends, and Hermione's going to be going to Hogwarts and all, I suppose you have a right to know it…"

And so Jack began. Not divulging a lot of specifics, he whittled down the essentials of Voldemort, James and Lily, Harry's remarkable survival, and his stepping in to take Harry rather than his muggle relatives. The Grangers seem a bit offended at his casual dismissal of Petunia and her family as unsuitable, so Jack took a moment to clarify that.

"If they were good people, I wouldn't have had a problem with it," he assured them. "It wasn't about magic. It was about their attitudes."

Then he had to explain how, legally speaking, what he had done wasn't actually kidnapping. And when that was over, it was time to go through why it was that the headmaster of a school had the authority to decide who an unrelated orphan ought to be raised by.

Oddly enough, the more bizarre concepts were the ones that the Grangers seemed to accept the most easily. That Harry had survived a killing curse didn't strike them as utterly preposterous. He supposed, from their perspective, it was no more bizarre than the existence of a killing curse.

"So, if I've got the right of it, then Harry's real name is Harry Potter, and he's sort of famous in your world, and Professor McGonagall thought you were disguised because she believed you had kidnapped him, and made yourself look like his relative?" Dan clarified.

"Right. Because I kept it quiet that I had him."

"So that this Voldenort person's followers wouldn't come after you?"

"Yes. But not just that," Jack agreed. "There would have been others too. There still might be. People who want to raise him to be the next Dark Lord, people who want to turn him into some sort of Champion of the Light – not to mention admirers who might give him a bigger head than he needs to stay healthy, or detractors who will criticize everything he does to try and knock him off the pedestal everyone else is trying to yank him onto…" Jack trailed off.

"Poor thing," Jean murmured. "People can be so utterly silly sometimes."

"So what does this mean for our Hermione?" Dan asked, drawing things back to the Grangers' immediate concerns. Jack shrugged.

"She'll have some trouble at school, first because she's muggle-born, and second because she's Harry's friend. Children can be cruel, and they can parrot the doctrine their parents have taught them without realizing what they're truly saying. Everyone's going to have one eye on Harry, especially as it'll be his first year back in the magical world after disappearing for so long. Sooner or later the spotlight will hit those around him. But Harry's a good friend, and I think the two of them will be a lot of help to each other."

"And if this Voldemort person comes back, like you said he might?" Jean asked.

"The only man Voldemort ever feared was Albus Dumbledore," Jack offered. "That was why he never dared to attack the school. If he comes back I don't doubt he'll target Harry, but he'll be weaker before he's strong again. I can't say Hermione wouldn't be in any danger – anyone close to Harry would be a potential target, as Voldemort fights dirty – but I can promise you, none of us want that monster anywhere near our children. Not even his own followers."

"Professor McGonagall said that when we see Hermione off to school, we won't be able to see her onto the train, since the platform is a place only magic folk can get to," Dan said seriously. "It's going to be like that for us this whole way, isn't it? If we let her go, we're sending her off to someplace we can't follow. Some place where there are people who'll hate her for what she is, and murderers waiting in the shadows…"

"And the whole world is like that," Jack said solemnly. "Not just the magic one. But I can't pretend to know what it's like from your perspective."

The adults sat in contemplative silence after that. Jean and Dan asked a few more questions, which Jack answered, and slowly Jack tried to turn the conversation more towards the light, appealing aspects of the magical world. He explained about floo powder, as it seemed to be a gap in their knowledge, and the various things Hermione would learn to do at Hogwarts. He was frankly surprised at how little McGonagall had actually told them, but then again, he supposed it was easy to forget what muggles might not know when you'd lived around magic your whole life.

He reassured the Grangers as well by giving them a few books he'd purchased ages ago with Hermione in mind, centered around muggle-borns and entering the magical world. He also gave them the contact information for a muggle-born attorney who was very good at dealing with cross-culture legalities and protecting muggle rights.

"Some magical people will try and keep you in the dark, not to mention use your lack of familiarity with our laws against you," he explained. "It's a good idea to make sure you know what they're about before you make any deals. You'll want to warn Hermione about magical contracts, too. You can't make those, but she can, and they can look very innocuous on the outside. Magical oaths, too, but they're harder to make unknowingly."

The Grangers peppered him for more information on magical contracts after that, which Harry happily provided them with, assuring them as well that Hermione would probably learn much of it on her own. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's already cracked open a book or two," he offered good-naturedly.

"Oh, you should have seen her in the book store!" Jean agreed with fond mirth. "We had to pull her out of there for the rest of the tour."

"Harry will probably give her more, too," Jack mused. Sure enough, Hermione appeared at the top of the stairs then with Harry, her arms holding onto a few texts that she'd undoubtedly borrowed from their study.

Jack waved the pair of them down, and seeing this as their cue to head home, the Grangers went to get their coats from the rack.

"Harry said it would be alright if I borrowed these," Hermione explained, lifting the books. Jack nodded.

"You're more than welcome to any of our library," he assured her. "Just don't forget to come up for air when you start in on them."

"I won't," she murmured embarrassedly, accepting her coat from her mother.

They bid the Grangers good night, and when the door had shut behind them, Jack turned to Harry. He noticed for the first time that Junior was on top of the boy's head.

"…So it's a literal rat's nest now," he noted. Harry looked at him in confusion, and then, realizing, reached up and pulled his pet from its perch.

"I didn't even notice him go up there," he muttered. Junior was promptly placed back into his pocket. Harry fidgeted a bit.

"I told Hermione," he confessed. "I mean… she's already seen my scar, and I figured she'd probably read about it in some book or other…"

"I thought you might," Jack replied reassuringly. "Don't worry about it, Harry."

"…Everyone's going to call me 'Potter'," Harry mused rather somberly after a moment. "I don't even know if I can answer to that. I'm used to Weatherby."

Jack regarded him silently for a time. "I know," he said at length. "But it will get easier with time."

Harry could only nod.

Another Note: Just to clear up a few things: 'Jack' is Harry, although so far, you and he are the only ones who know that (and possibly Ollivander, but who can say with that man?). Exactly how and why he came back in time, and what he's done since then, will be revealed throughout the course of the story. I don't have any pairings planned, and probably won't for a long while yet, although I can promise there will be no Ginny/Harry except, perhaps, in passing mention of Jack's past. The next chapter will probably be up soon, but after that, expect a slightly longer delay. Oh, and thanks for reading!