A/N: I started this fic when I was still in high school. When I more or less abandoned it to die in the cold, I wasn't busy, or burned out, or depressed, although I've been those things since. I just wasn't feeling the magic anymore. Harry Potter was a big part of my growing up, but as I went back and reread the books I found it harder and harder to feel emotionally involved. I occasionally tried to come back to it, but it just wasn't coming together in a way I was willing to accept. I moved on to other fandoms, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, etc. and just never really felt like Harry Potter was what I remembered it to be. If you have any interest in those fandoms, I'm over on AO3 under the same handle.

But I'm back. I'm BACK. And to be honest, this fic was no longer up to my writing standards. So I'm going to be rewriting it, upping the quality of the writing significantly and (hopefully) finishing it. But be forewarned – I have no intention of making this shit last all seven years of Harry's schooling. That's just ridiculous. Let's get to it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I wish I did, but I'm just playing in JK Rowling's sandbox. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit's being made.

—ML—

The final battle of a war is usually dramatic in stories, and generally goes to the same formula. The hero overcomes his personal limitations to win, casts his enemy down, and lives forever on a steady stream of sponsorship royalties and groupies.

But as Harry James Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Won, the Chosen One, He-of-Many-Titles, looked around the smoking, stinking battlefield that used to be Hogwarts, living forever sounded about as appealing as a threesome with Snape and the Giant Squid.

Lord Voldemort was dead. Finally, truly, properly dead. Harry had defeated Voldemort through a trick. Rather than fight a duel he knew he had no chance of winning, Harry had fired a high-powered Blasting Hex at the castle and dropped the entire Gryffindor Tower on Voldemort. His last words had been "Avada- oh, bugger me," and then a revolting splat.

Harry had never been under any illusions that everyone would make it out of the final battle alive, especially considering that most of the fighters on the side of the Light weren't old enough to smoke. Sending children into the meat grinder of war was a great way to make sausage, but not a great way to have plenty of survivors. But the carnage had been worse than he could have imagined.

Ron had died fighting Fenrir Greyback, the transformed werewolf savaging him violently even as Ron had blown apart Greyback's midsection with his dying breath. Ginny had been hit by a stray Killing Curse trying to save her brother. Moody, Lupin, Tonks, and the Weasley twins had all died fighting the Death Eaters. McGonagall and Flitwick had been seriously wounded, and Madam Pomfrey was unsure they would live through the night. Slughorn had fled at the first sign of battle, but chances were he hadn't made it far. Hermione's death had hit him the worst. She had pulled him out of the way of a curse, taking a cutting spell in the back in the process. She had died in Harry's arms as he tried to staunch the bleeding, her eyes filled with pain and fear in her last moments.

Harry moved slowly through the battlefield, finding the bodies of his friends. Their faces seemed to stare at him, angry at their own deaths and blaming him from beyond the grave. Oliver Wood. He had died fighting Lucius Malfoy. Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnegan. Luna Lovegood. Ginny Weasley. Neville Longbottom had fallen while fighting Bellatrix. His eyes were still open and fixed straight ahead. Harry moved to close them gently, but Neville's hand snapped up and grabbed him by the wrist. The boy groaned in pain and clutched at the gaping belly wound Bellatrix had given him before he had killed her.

"Level with me," he rasped, his face contorting in pain. "How bad is it?"

"You're going to be just fine." Harry responded a bit too quickly.

The boy made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "You always were an awful liar. Did anyone else make it? Luna? Ron? Hermione?"

Harry shook his head, ignoring the tears that were pooling at the corners of his eyes. "No. I'm sorry, Neville."

Neville grimaced again. "Did you get him?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I got him."

Neville closed his eyes, nodding firmly. "Good." His eyes never reopened.

The tears fell freely now as Harry let out a roar of pain and anguish, his scream echoing across the lonely battlefield. The boy sat there among the bodies of his friends until a large figure approached, the battered and bloody form of Hagrid emerging through the dust and smoke.

"Blimey, Harry, I wasn't sure what had happened," Hagrid said softly. "Are you…are you all right?"

"I'm pretty far from all right, Hagrid," Harry replied.

"I know." The big man shrugged. "Stupid question."

"What am I supposed to do after this, Hagrid?" Harry asked. "I…I didn't really expect to survive. What now?"

"I don't know," Hagrid admitted. "You're bleeding."

Harry pressed a hand to the side of his head, just above his ear. It came away bloody. "Must have been a near miss."

"Come on, get to the Hospital Wing. I'll…I'll take care of them." Harry stood, but before he could take a step Hagrid had wrapped him in a hug strong enough to make his bones creak. "I'm sorry you had to go through this, Harry."

"Thanks, Hagrid. I…you were there for me, before anyone else was."

Hagrid snorted. "Harry, I'd never try to replace your parents, but to me you've always been my boy. Now go on."

When he arrived in the Hospital Wing, Harry was struck by how empty it was. A harsh truth of an enemy that used Unforgivables without restraint meant that there were rarely many wounded.

Harry saw McGonagall and Flitwick lying in the two beds farthest from the door, McGonagall deathly pale and Flitwick writhing in pain. His old Transfiguration teacher had been hit with a blood loss curse by Macnair, and Flitwick had taken a modified form of the Cruciatus Curse, that continued to cause pain on a lesser scale even if the caster was killed. Yaxley had been just finished casting it when Kingsley hit him in the neck with a cutting curse, beheading him. The boy sat between his former teachers, speaking quietly to McGonagall.

"It's over," he said softly. "But lord, the cost…"

"Cost of war," McGonagall replied. "It's the way things are."

"I just wish there was a way to go back, and change what happened."

McGonagall looked at him sadly and shook her head. "Harry, I'm sorry to say that I do not know of any way to go back far enough in time to stop this from happening. A Time-Turner wouldn't take you back far enough." A groan sounded from behind Harry, and he turned to Flitwick.

"There might be a way, Potter," Flitwick grunted out. "But it'd be risky." Flitwick dissolved into more groans of pain for a few moments, and then continued, "My question is, Harry, are you willing to take the risk?"

Harry didn't hesitate. "Yes. There's nothing left for me here."

"It won't be easy. But I think we can do it."

—ML—

It took four months. McGonagall finally passed after almost two weeks, soldiering on as best she could even after the continued effects of the curse left her confined to a bed. Flitwick took pain relieving potions hourly, watering them down as much as he dared to prevent his mind from being dulled too far.

Considering there were almost no leads on what they were attempting, four months was nothing short of spectacular. After a certain point, understanding the mechanics of the magic required was beyond Harry, and several spellcrafting experts were brought in, paid out of the remaining Potter fortune and sworn to secrecy under Unbreakable Vows. Harry spent the intervening time researching, learning as much as he could about the previous seven years in between writing bank drafts and planning.

It was a monumental task, but anger is a driving force. Even a small amount of it can be a productive thing, if controlled and directed. Harry had enough anger to power a small country, but rather than the burning fury he had experienced many times in the past, his anger was icy cold.

Finally, they were ready. The ritual took place in a cavern magically excavated in the bedrock below Stonehenge, timed for the proper arrangement of stars and phase of the moon. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the cavern were etched in a dizzying array of runes, and Harry tried not to look too hard as the symbols seemed to move and crawl past each other.

The room was already thrumming with magic, drawing from the ley lines underneath Stonehenge, a circle of goblin-crafted crystals glowing as they absorbed magic and stored it for use.

"Are we ready?" Harry asked, looking to Flitwick, who was leaning heavily on a cane, his eyes slightly glazed.

"As ready as we can be," the tiny professor replied. "We'll either send you back in time or crack the planet in half. Either way, it should be quite a show."

Harry paused. "Professor."

"Filius," Flitwick said. "You're no longer my student. One day in the past you will be again, but it has been a pleasure, a privilege, to help you through this."

"Thank you, Filius," Harry said softly. "I…I'll do my best."

The Charms professor forced a smile. "When you meet me, mention August 17, 1969, and tell me you need my help. Tell me what's happened. I'll help you."

"I appreciate that." Harry took a deep breath. "Let's do this."

Harry took his position, his wand in hand and forcing raw magic into the air as he kept his eyes closed. Flitwick began casting, linking up to the massive pool of magical energy that was coursing through the room. The symbols around Harry began to glow, seeming to crawl faster as the thrumming rose, pushing the boundaries of pain as Harry's ears began to ring. Harry risked opening his eyes and regretted it as light poured in from every angle, the symbols beginning to blur together until it seemed the entire room was white.

Harry almost stumbled forward a step as the sound in the room abruptly ceased, and the light faded. Harry was blinking away the spots in his vision as he took in his new surroundings.

A warm, soft light surrounded Harry. Wherever he was, it was not the Dursley home, where he should have ended up. Instead, it looked oddly like…well, the lobby of an office building. He was just inside the front the door, a thick oak plank. To his left, there was a desk. To his right, there was a bank of elevators, and Harry gulped. I'm in royally deep shit. Must be Tuesday. An elevator dinged, and the doors opened, a woman emerging. She was tall, fit, and casually dressed, wearing black jeans, a dark green t-shirt, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. A cigarette dangled off her lower lip.

"You did have a rough go of it, didn't you?" She asked gently.

"Who are you? God?"

"Not exactly. The closest I would be to anything you could understand is Fate. When things start to get too unbalanced, I...provide a nudge."

"You manipulate events," Harry surmised.

"Not exactly. I poke and prod, give people the flash of brilliance they need when they need it most."

Harry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "And that was the payoff? Couldn't you have done better?"

Her eyes narrowed. "This doesn't play out according to a plan, boy. It's not a script or a tidy little novel that wraps up years later in a neat bow with marriages and children. Do you know how many times you could have died? How many thousands upon thousands of times your entire world could have ended? How many things could have changed that would have drastically altered your tiny little planet?"

"Is this the part where you tell me how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things?"

A scoff. "Hardly. I've been here watching as long as there's been a here, and I've never seen anyone or anything in this universe that wasn't significant. There have been people who have tried what you tried, you know. Some more successfully than others. None truly made it worse, but few made too large an improvement. Cautious, I suppose. But if you think you can do better than your first attempt, by all means, give it a try."

"That's why I came," Harry declared. "I won, but the cost was too high. Those people…they deserved a chance to live."

"And didn't you?" she asked. "Don't you deserve the chance to live your life too?"

"I lost that chance years ago. I'll live when I can, but priorities, you know?"

She smirked faintly. "Very well." An elevator door opened, revealing a massive tunnel, brightly lit, with what looked oddly like a giant slingshot pointing down. She passed him a vial, and Harry paused. "That should improve your Occlumency shields, and keep Tom Riddle out of your head. The rest is on you."

Harry nodded. "It's more than I expected."

"When were you planning to land?"

"I was thinking the day I got my first Hogwarts letter, but I suppose the day I met Hagrid would be better, wouldn't it?" She stared at him. "Right. Not going to answer. Suppose you've done more than usual already. Day I met Hagrid, then."

Ten minutes later, Harry was regretting ever leaving his timeline. He had been dressed in a black bodysuit made of some plastic-like material and loaded nose-first into the barrel of the slingshot. He had been given a smooth, streamlined helmet and told to not hold his breath.

From his position, Harry couldn't see anything, but heard a hissing sound and then a felt massive kick behind him. The Boy-Who-Lived found himself shooting towards the Earth at a dizzying speed. All he could see below him were thick clouds.

Remembering the last piece of advice he had been given, Harry tried to draw breath, only to find he had been screaming at the top of his lungs. He managed to stop, only to start again a moment later when he realized he had no way to slow his descent.

He blew through the clouds, freezing rain soaking him to the skin as he passed through, and spotted the tiny rock that held the hut Vernon had dragged them all to. Well, it was a good plan. For about five seconds. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

The ground came up and Harry snapped upright, looking around wildly. He was back. It had worked. Ignoring how odd his body felt, he adjusted his battered glasses and glanced at Dudley's watch. Three…two…one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered, and Harry couldn't resist the smile spreading across his face. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands. Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you — I'm armed!" Harry was already up and walking to the door, and Vernon scowled. "Get away from the door, boy, don't think I won't-"

"They're clearly coming in," Harry replied, missing the knob on his first attempt. "Might as well be polite." He snagged the knob on his second try, ignoring the cold as it swept into the tiny hut.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

"Pardon me, but could I come in?" Hagrid asked politely. "Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…"

"Come in, you must be cold," Harry replied, stepping out of the way.

"You will do no such thing!" Vernon shouted as Hagrid entered the hut, brandishing the rifle and finding the gumption to advance, pressing up against the couch. "I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon squeaked and fell back a step, clearly realizing how outmatched he was. Dudley had vacated the sofa at a speed that belied his size, and was busily cowering in a dark corner of the hut.

"Yeh'll be Harry, then?" Hagrid asked, looking back to the boy.

"Nobody else wants to be," Harry replied. "What part do you play?"

Hagrid chuckled. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. S'why I'm here. Well, part of it." He patted down the pockets of his massive overcoat. "The other reason being a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right." He fished out the slightly squashed box Harry vaguely recognized, and the newly minted eleven-year-old tried not to notice how his hands shook when he took the box. Inside was the same large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing he remembered. The first birthday cake he had ever received.

"I...thank you, Mr. Hagrid," Harry said softly, very deliberately ignoring the burning in his eyes. "It's lovely."

Hagrid shuffled slightly. At his size, it looked rather comical. "Think nothing of it, Harry. Please, just call me Hagrid, everyone does. What about that tea then, eh? I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

"Sorry, we're fresh out," Harry said. "But if you can get the fire lit, we'll get something going."

Hagrid bent over the fireplace, and a few moments later a roaring fire occupied the space, warming the hut and chasing away the damp. The sofa groaned in protest under Hagrid's weight as the giant sat down, fishing out odds and ends from his pockets and quickly working up some sausages and tea with Harry's help.

"Sure yeh don't want any?" Hagrid asked, looking to the Dursleys. Vernon had settled for glaring at him murderously as Petunia did her best to conceal Dudley. It was a bit like trying to hide a mountain behind a beanstalk. After a few moments of silence, Hagrid shrugged and poured out two cups of tea. "Guess it's just yeh and me, Harry."

The two clinked mugs. "Cheers," Harry said, taking a sip. "Sorry, you mentioned Hogwarts. I've never heard of it. Is that a social club of some kind?"

Hagrid paused with the teacup halfway to his mouth. "I'm sorry?"

"I've never heard of Hogwarts."

"Yeh don't know where yer parents learned it all?"

"Learned all what? I don't know anything about my parents!"

The teacup exploded in Hagrid's hand and the man roared to his feet. "Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy — this boy! — knows nothin' abou' — about ANYTHING?"

"I'm pretty good at maths," Harry allowed. "Although my spelling could use some work."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Yer world. My world. Yer parents' world."

Harry stared at him. "You're an alien?"

"A what?"

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode. "DURSLEY!" he boomed.

"Look, calm down, Mr. Hagrid," Harry said.

"Just Hagrid," the giant replied. Harry tried not to grin.

"Just Hagrid, then. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anything about my parents, and I don't know what Hogwarts is or what 'our world' is. But if you could just sit down and explain to me, I'm sure I could understand."

By the time Harry had finished talking, what little of Hagrid's face could be seen past the hair was a rather unpleasant shade of purple. The man took a bottle from his pocket and took another swig before visibly calming himself. "All right. Have a seat, Harry." Harry obediently sat down next to Hagrid, munching on a sausage. "Yeh ever done anything yeh couldn't explain? Anything strange, or bizarre? Something impossible?"

"Well, I grew my hair back overnight, and once I accidentally jumped all the way onto the roof of the school's kitchens," Harry admitted. "And I accidentally set a snake on Dudley recently."

Hagrid frowned slightly at the last part. "Well, I'll lay it out for yeh."

"Stop!" Vernon commanded, finally finding his balls. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"

The glare Hagrid gave him could have soured milk. "You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" said Harry eagerly, trying to escalate the situation as any good miscreant would.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry — yer a wizard."

Harry stared at him a moment. "I beg your pardon?"

"A wizard," Hagrid repeated, fishing around in his coat again. "I reckon it's about time yeh read yer Hogwarts letter." As Harry skimmed through it, Hagrid scribbled out the note to Dumbledore Harry vaguely remembered him sending and attached it to a very affronted-looking owl that was unceremoniously chucked out into the storm. "Any questions?" Hagrid asked as he sat back down.

"Quite a few," Harry said.

Vernon interrupted before Harry could start asking. "He's not going. We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

"You knew?" said Harry. "You knew I'm a — a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!" She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. "Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as — as —abnormal — and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry glared at her. "So you hated her. Was it because she was strange? Or was it because you weren't? You wanted to go so badly, and couldn't? That she got the magic, and you didn't?"

Petunia had gone whiter than usual. "How dare-"

"You told me my parents died in a car crash!" Harry bellowed. "You lied to me!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!"

Harry paused. "Every kid knows my name?" Hagrid nodded. "Oh, that doesn't sound good at all."

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious. "I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh — but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

"Not knowing what?" Harry pressed. He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys. "I'm kind of in the dark here. Maybe you could fill me in?"

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…" He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then began. "See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. People don't like saying his name, they're still scared o'him. They call him You-Know-Who. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Dumbledore, the bloke who's the Hogwarts headmaster?" Harry asked, holding up his Hogwarts letter.

"That's him," Hagrid replied. "Good man. Taught yer parents. Taught me. Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side. Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em… maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old."

"I think I can guess the rest," Harry said darkly as Hagrid blew his nose.

"Sorry," he said. "I knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find. You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Harry shuddered. "So…my parents died because of him…and I lived? Why?"

"Nobody knows," Hagrid replied. "But You-Know-Who vanished. People think he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back. Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you stumped him, all right. Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…"

"Load of old tosh," Uncle Vernon interrupted, having apparently found his voice again. "Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end —"

Hagrid made to leap from the sofa again, but Harry beat him to it. "Vernon, please, shut up. This man is talking."

But Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight. "Haven't I told you he's not going?" he hissed. "He's going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"

"If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His name's been down ever since he was born. He's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won't know himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" Vernon yelled.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER —" he thundered, "— INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Harry was biting his lip, trying to choke down laughter as Vernon roared and pulled the Dursleys into the other room. Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard. "Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

Harry hugged him. "That was the best birthday present I've ever gotten."

Hagrid paused. "Yer welcome, Harry," he said thickly after a moment. "Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts, though. I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.

"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

Harry looked up at him. "You're having me on. You got expelled? For what, being too nice and cuddly?"

Hagrid seemed unsure of how to react. "Well, it's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow. Best get some kip." He shrugged off his coat, draping it around Harry's shoulders. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' doormice in one o' the pockets."

—ML—

Harry awoke to an owl tapping on the window, an edition of the Daily Prophet in its beak. "Hold on a moment, I'll let you right in," he said softly, poking Hagrid. "Oi, Hagrid, there's an owl here. With a newspaper. Is this normal?"

"For us, it is," Hagrid chuckled into the couch. "There's some change in my coat. Give 'im five o' the little bronze ones." Harry managed to dig out the coins and offered the owl a leftover sausage as he filled the pouch tied to the bird's leg. The owl was still swallowing its tip as it flew off through the open window.

Hagrid sat up, rubbing at his face. "Best be off, I suppose. We'll need to go by your vault."

"I have a vault?" Harry asked innocently.

"Yeh have two, I'm told," Hagrid said as they packed up. "Yer trust fund, what yer parents left yeh, and the family vault. I don't think we'd need to go by that."

"I'd like to," Harry replied immediately. "I…I don't have anything from my family."

Hagrid growled angrily. "Then we'd best be going. I'll help yeh as best I can."

"Where is this bank, anyway?" Harry asked as they bailed out the water that had gathered in the boat.

"Gringotts bank," Hagrid explained. "Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe — 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry managed to mask his snort as a sneeze, not letting on that he and two other teenagers had robbed the place successfully, albeit with inside help.

—ML—

The trip to London was rather uneventful, despite Hagrid's size and general inability to avoid seeing unusual. The Leaky Cauldron was just as dark and grubby as he remembered, and most of the same people were there as well as were every other time he had visited. The two old wizards in the corner had been playing cribbage the last time he had passed through the Cauldron, and didn't look to have moved in a week from the dust gathering on them. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this — can this be —?"

"Uncle Fester?" Harry muttered, looking Tom up and down.

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. "Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter… what an honor." He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

It didn't take nearly as long to get through all the shaking hands again, although he had a hard time looking Quirrell in the eye knowing what he would do. "Was that Professor back there all right?" Harry asked as they exited out the back of the pub.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?"

It was good to see Diagon Alley again, in its prime instead of the wreck it had become during the war. Hagrid easily navigated through the hustle and bustle, Harry following in his wake with his head down.

A faint smile spread across Harry's face as they entered Gringotts, the goblins hard at work as Hagrid led the way to the counter. "Morning," Hagrid said pleasantly. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's vault. He also wishes to visit the main Potter vault, but I'm afraid he doesn't have the key for that." Hagrid managed to fish out the key to Harry's trust vault – which unbeknownst to him Harry had relocated the night before – and the letter from Dumbledore. "This is about the you-know-what in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

Harry had half-expected Griphook to show up again, but rather than being taken directly to the vaults, they were whisked through one of the many doors leading off the main hall and asked to wait in an office. Hagrid's chair squeaked and thickened to accommodate his weight, and their chairs had barely gotten warm before a goblin entered the room.

"Ah, Mister Potter, pleasant to finally see you in person," the goblin said. "Welcome to Gringotts. I understand you wish to visit your family's vault."

"Yes, that's right," Harry said. "I understand I'm the last remaining Potter."

"That's right, yes," the goblin replied. "As such, you are essentially emancipated, but up until now decisions regarding your accounts with us have been made by Albus Dumbledore. As he arranged your current living conditions and your parents did not leave a will stipulating otherwise, our reports have been going to him. However, now that you have rejoined the magical world, we will begin sending you the standard monthly statement."

Harry nodded. "Excellent. You said he's been making decisions regarding my accounts. Has there been anything unusual done?"

The goblin fished through several statements. "Mr. Dumbledore has made several investments in your name, mostly low-risk ventures that have added a healthy margin to your balance. The standard Hogwarts tuition deduction was made this morning when we received confirmation that you were to attend, and of course the usual taxes have been deducted over the years as part of the Gringotts service."

"Thank you. Now, since neither of us has a key, how do we go about accessing the main vault? I'm not looking for a financial withdrawal, mostly just to poke around and see if there are any sentimental items I would like to retrieve."

"We can certainly accommodate you." He fished around in the desk, pulling out a small inkpad. "Simply press your thumb here, and we can verify your identity. Security reasons, you understand."

"Of course." Harry pressed his thumb on the pad, feeling a light suction on his thumb. The boy was stunned to find a spreading red stain on the pad when he pulled away his thumb.

"It pulls a small sample of blood through the pores in your skin. Painless, and very effective." The goblin put the pad back into his desk, and a small sheet scrolled out. "Your heritage has been verified. You are in fact Harry Potter, last scion of the House of Potter."

"Good to know I am who my underwear says I am." Harry saw a slight twitch in the goblin's face, around the edges of his mouth. Not wanting to embarrass the bank by having one of their tellers actually smile, Harry changed the subject. "Are there any properties that the Potters own in Britain?"

The goblin shuffled to a new document. "Well, in terms of residences, the Potters owned an apartment in Hogsmeade Village, a flat here in Diagon Alley, their residence in Godric's Hollow," he looked up, "I believe you're familiar with that one. And of course, Potter Manor and the surrounding land in Scotland. Now, the state of these properties is…questionable. The apartment in Hogsmeade has been rented to various people for the past seventeen years and has provided a tidy income. The flat in the Alley is vacant. The Godric's Hollow residence was never rebuilt, and Potter Manor was burned to the ground during the last war. The lands have been held, but as it stands there is no domicile there." Harry nodded, his chest tightening at the idea of seeing the house his parents had died in or the remnants of their ancestral home. "There are quite a few businesses that the Potter family has interests in, as well, whether through investments or renting space," the goblin went on.

"No need to run through those now," Harry said.

"Very well. We'll make a list available for you to review." A soft chime sounded, and the goblin opened a desk drawer. "Ah, here we are." He held up a golden key, similar to the one to Harry's trust vault. "I would warn you, however, that the vault has not been touched since it was last accessed."

"Which was when, exactly?" Harry asked.

The goblin paused. "Why, the day after the previous account holders died, of course."

Harry twitched. "I think we're done for now," Hagrid broke in. "Should probably get moving. Lots ter do and all."

"Of course," the goblin said. "We'll have a clerk show you to your vaults."

The two followed another goblin through the halls towards the vault tracks, and Harry carefully nudged Hagrid. "What's in vault seven hundred and thirteen?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell yeh that," Hagrid said. "Very secret Hogwarts business."

"Oh, Dumbledore must trust you very much, then," Harry replied confidently.

"He does," Hagrid nodded. "After all, not many people know what's in there. It's just me, him, and Nicholas-" He paused. "I'd best not say any more."

"Of course," Harry said, reaching up to pat him on the arm. "I wouldn't want you to get in trouble. You're my only friend." The giant's eyes were suspiciously watery as they clambered into the cart.

Reasoning that they were safe behind layers of Gringotts wards, Harry took pity on his friend and cast a mild anti-nausea spell he had picked up as they took off. It took more effort than his previous wandless magic ever had, but Hagrid looked far steadier than he had the last time they had taken a trip on a Gringotts cart when they clambered out at Harry's vault. "Vault 687," the goblin announced. "Key please." Hagrid handed it over, and the goblin calmly unlocked the door, stepping out of the way.

"I…wow," Harry said, still somewhat stunned by how much raw wealth was available to him. He hadn't visited Gringotts under pleasant circumstances in years, and on his previous visit to his own vault had been in a hurry to get out of there as quickly as possible. "All this is mine?"

"Every Knut," Hagrid replied with a grin. "Now there's seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, that's the gold ones, and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. This ought to be enough fer a couple o' terms, plus yer kit." The door closed behind them as they returned to the cart, and the goblin held the key out for Hagrid. "Best yeh keep this for yerself, Harry. Just in case." Harry pocketed the key, slipping it next to the one for the main Potter vault.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen was as Harry remembered it, and Hagrid tucked the grubby little package deep inside his coat as quickly as possible.

Vault seven hundred and twenty-two was a few stops beyond, and Harry's heart pounded as he handed the key over to the goblin. The door slid open without a sound, and Harry stepped into a vault almost as roomy as he remembered the Lestrange vault being during their break-in. There were heaps of coins, as he had expected, the amount dwarfing the fortune he had seen in his other vault. But the real value was in what took up the remainder of the vault's space. Paintings, books, dozens of items that presumably had sentimental value, and countless objects that Harry couldn't recognize even with his research. He did recognize a few items and made a mental note to retrieve them later. He pocketed a signet ring with a family crest on it, setting aside a pair of mirrors he recognized as well.

"Oh, hello there," a voice said from under a tarp. "Is someone there?" Harry pulled back the tarp and found an older man staring back at him. "Greetings, young man. I suppose we're related somehow. Stop by for a chat, or are you in a hurry?"

"I am at the moment, but I could certainly come back," Harry replied. "I'm Harry Potter. Who might you be?"

The man paused. "Fleamont Potter." Harry didn't quite catch the grin in time, and the man scowled. "Yes, yes, get it out of your system."

"Fleamont?"

"It was my grandmother's dying wish that her son perpetuate her maiden name. And before you let loose any smart remarks, remember that I went through seven years at Hogwarts fighting people who made fun of my name!"

Harry marshaled his face into a neutral expression. "Of course. Are we directly related? Did you know a James Potter? I'm his son."

The man scoffed. "James? He's my boy. Strapping young lad, my pride and joy. Where is he? He ought to be down here now, explaining why he's taken so long to have us meet. Why, you're practically Hogwarts age! And his wife! Lovely girl, Lily." Harry grimaced. Fleamont leaned back slightly. "I see. That is…unfortunate. There was a war on, but I had hoped, of course. I suppose after so long I was only fooling myself. Do you have anyone to look after you?"

"Not…not really," Harry admitted. "They died about ten years ago."

"Ten years?" Fleamont sat down hard in the chair behind him, pale. "My goodness. Are you all right? Can an old man do anything to help you?"

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "I…well, not at the moment. But I'll get back to you. It's nice to talk with family."

"Of course, young man. Stop by anytime. And…" Fleamont broke off, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Hagrid? Rubeus Hagrid? Is that you?"

"Aye, Mr. Potter," Hagrid said from the door. "Nice ter see yeh again."

"And you as well, my boy!" Fleamont called. "Good to see you in good health! Keep an eye on Harry for me, would you?"

"I'll keep both on him," Hagrid promised. "He's a good boy."

"See that you do!"

"Well, we'd best be moving on," Hagrid said to Harry. "Shall we?"

"Oh, before you go, please cover me up again, I could use a nap," Fleamont requested as they left.

—ML—

Harry tried not to scowl as he spotted Malfoy getting fitted for his school robes. "Hello," he said calmly. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Er, yes," Harry replied, momentarily thrown by the boy's civility before remembering this Malfoy didn't know him yet.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

"Be careful, wouldn't want to get expelled on your first day there," Harry warned.

The boy snorted. "They wouldn't dare. Have you got your own broom?"

"No, but I spotted a rather nice one on the way over here," Harry said, trying not to be too unsettled by the pleasant conversation as Madam Malkin continued her work.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Not for a long time," Harry answered truthfully.

Malfoy shrugged. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No, but I suppose nobody really does until they're Sorted, do they?" Harry asked.

"I…well, no, that's true," Malfoy admitted. "But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know about that," Harry mused. "Hufflepuffs do have a reputation for not being the brightest candles in the room, but there's a lot to be said for hard work and loyalty, isn't there? That's how you build things."

Malfoy paused again. "Hm. I suppose." He looked out the window and his eyes widened, and Harry glanced over, suddenly remembering where Hagrid had been at this point. The giant was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in. "Who's he?"

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts as the gamekeeper. Good man."

"Really?" Malfoy asked. "I heard he's a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"Well, from what I've seen of people getting drunk, everything seems like a great idea when you've tied one on," Harry said. "And I'd guess that doing magic while you're pissed is tough. Besides, not everyone can live in manors, right? Otherwise there wouldn't be anything special about them." Malfoy was silent, clearly trying to come up with a response.

"Why is he with you?" Malfoy finally asked. "Where are your parents?"

"My parents are dead," said Harry shortly. "He's been helping me with getting my stuff."

"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they? I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families."

Harry forced a smile. "Actually, I was born to a witch and a wizard, but if you go by all the old nonsense I'm a half-blood. After my parents died, I was raised in the Muggle world. Hadn't heard of Hogwarts until yesterday." The boy paled. "I didn't catch your name, actually. I'm Harry Potter." Malfoy paled further.

"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin interjected before Malfoy could answer.

"I suppose I'll see you at Hogwarts," Harry said, hopping down off the stool.

The two dug into the ice cream as they walked away from the robes shop, Hagrid easily hefting the packages. The half-giant looked down at Harry's frown and tilted his head. "What's up?"

Harry sighed, wiping a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. "That idiot back there. Talked bad about Muggles, wizards from Muggle families, and you. I might have hit him if he'd kept going."

"Ah, don't fass yerself over that," Hagrid sighed. "There's a lot o' wizards and witches out there, think they're better because their parents or grandparents or however far back were our folk. Think bein' born from Muggle parents is some kinda sin."

"They sound like idiots."

"They are," Hagrid said fiercely. "Well I'll tell you, Harry, yer mum was as Muggle-born as they come, and your father was as pure-blood as they come, and neither one o' them would have heard a bad word about Muggles or Muggle-borns. Lily was a good friend ter me, and one o' the finest witches Hogwarts has seen in years. Yer blood's got nothing ter do with what kind o' wizard yeh'll turn out to be."

Harry paused mid-lick, looking up at Hagrid. "Hagrid, I don't mean to be rude, but were both your parents human?" Hagrid flushed. "Oh, I mean… I didn't mean anything by it, it's just you're the largest person I've ever seen, and…"

"Suppose you'd find out sooner or later," Hagrid mumbled. "Me mum was a giant. Me da' was human, though."

"Your mum was a giant?" Harry asked, his eyes wide. "That's so cool!" Hagrid stared at him. "Did you know her? What are giants like? Are there many around? Do you have siblings?" Harry's semi-feigned childlike enthusiasm and fountains of questions seemed to lift the big man's spirits as they finished their ice cream, made stops at various shops along the Alley, and approached Ollivander's.

"Let's see here," Hagrid mumbled, checking the list. "Ah, just yer want left…and I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Harry shuffled nervously. "You don't have to, Hagrid."

"I know I don't have to," Hagrid scoffed. "But I want to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at — an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

It didn't take long to reach Eeylops, and it took Harry less than twenty seconds to spot Hedwig among the others. "Her," he said. "She's beautiful."

"Oh, the snowy one?" Hagrid asked. "She's right pretty, at that. Look at those eyes. Probably smarter than I am, too." The owl snuffled, shuffling into the cage without complaint as Hagrid counted out the coin.

Ollivander's was just as quiet, dusty, and mysterious as it had always been. Harry waited quietly, assuming that the wandmaker took some measure of enjoyment in surprising his customers.

They didn't have to wait long, and Ollivander's dusty voice sounded a minute later. "Good afternoon."

"Hello there," Harry replied calmly.

Ollivander frowned slightly, clearly unsettled by Harry's lack of shock at his sudden appearance. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." He moved closer, still not blinking. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

"So there's really no link between the wizard and what kind of wand they'll use?" Harry asked.

"Well, not precisely. Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand. So it is difficult, at times, to predict what sort of a wand a wizard will use."

"That must make things difficult."

"But worth the trouble," Ollivander replied primly. "Unfortunately…" He gestured at Harry's forehead. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did that," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…" He shook his head. "I'd have crushed it to dust myself." He spotted Hagrid, having somehow missed the giant in the tiny shop thus far. "Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now — Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Harry, thrown by the sudden shift back to him.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. He stepped away, the tape measure continuing its work on its own. The elderly man was taking down boxes from the shelves, and Harry diligently took each one and gave it a wave until Ollivander handed him the one he recognized. Harry was unable to hide his grin as he felt the warmth rushing up his arm at being reunited with his wand, giving it a wave and sending a stream of sparks flittering through the air. "Oh, that's the ticket. Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry, trying to oblige him, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar." Harry swallowed hard. "Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

They paid and left without further incident, and as Hagrid put Harry on the train home and handed him his ticket for the Hogwarts Express, Harry carefully slipped out the other side of the train, heading back towards Diagon Alley.

There was work to be done.

—ML—

The flat may have been vacant, but the lock opened easily as Harry stepped inside, setting Hedwig's cage down. "Sit tight a moment, girl, I'll let you right out," Harry promised. The owl snuffled, mid-cleaning as Harry dropped the rest of his packages onto the sheet-covered couch and quickly explored the flat. The flat was comfortably furnished, and while it needed a cleaning it clearly had seen some careful maintenance from its previous occupant. Harry set his owl's cage on a table, opening the wire door and the window. "All right, girl, I'm going to call you Hedwig. You can go hunt for tonight or wait here, but I'll be making sausages and bacon in the morning." The owl's eyes widened, and she snuffled quietly as Harry set to work cleaning.

—ML—

The next month took longer than Harry had expected. The next morning, Harry had left out a plate of bacon for Hedwig and had wandered through Diagon Alley and into London, picking up a set of higher-level textbooks that he remembered looking through prior to The Trip, as he had come to refer to it mentally. He had exchanged the standard trunk he had procured for a higher-priced one that had a series of small, magically shielded and concealed compartments in it that he could store items that needed to be kept secret in…like, say, a Horcrux. In London, he had picked up newer clothes, a spare pair of glasses, and several sets of contacts. At the least, I'll be able to go through the more dangerous situations without worrying about breaking my glasses. One less thing to worry about. Now I only have to deal with evil wizards, giant spiders and basilisks, werewolves, and evil teachers. Sounds like a rich secondary school experience. A prepaid mobile phone had been pricier, but he had a sneaking suspicion it would prove helpful during the summers, even if it was useless at Hogwarts. He had mailed Vernon a letter detailing his intention to never return, and then set to work.

Despite being unable to use magic, Harry began training his body, working out in the apartment and practicing his Occlumency. In between reading ahead to refresh himself on the first-year tasks he would have to do, he made multiple trips to Gringotts, retrieving a few paintings and several other items he had a feeling would be helpful. His research before The Jump had never included a visit to Gringotts – after the heist, Harry had been less than welcome at the bank.

It was mid-August by the time the boy found something that he felt would make a real difference. He had been digging through the Potter vault, ignoring any textbook that he could recognize the name of, and had found a hardened case containing several memory strands and a Pensieve. The wizard's eyes had bugged out when he saw the label reading "For Harry" on a bundle of the strands, and he had immediately grabbed the lot of it and retreated to his flat.

Harry set the Pensieve on the coffee table and quickly sorted out the strands, finding one labeled "From Mom," and another "From Dad." Dropping the memory strand from his mother in first, Harry consulted the pamphlet that had been in the case with the Pensieve and manipulated several runes on the edge of the bowl. A miniature version of his late mother rose from the bowl, speaking softly.

"Harry, I hope you never have to see this memory," Lily Potter said. "But in this world, you never know. If James…" She paused, swallowing hard. "If James is gone as well, know that we both love you more than anything." Harry watched silently, blinking hard to stave off tears. "But you're not alone. Sirius should be with you. He's a good man, but don't ever tell him I said that. Remus Lupin should be around too. Now, I hope we had the time to raise you right, but just in case – he's a werewolf, yes. But he's also one of the finest men I've ever met, even if he is grumpy around the full moon. Don't hate him for what he suffers from, Harry. Peter should be around as well. We're planning to hide out under a FideliusCharm, and Peter's to be our Secret-Keeper. Your father wanted Sirius, but Sirius felt that would too obvious. Now, hopefully this won't be a problem by the time you see this message, but there's a prophecy about you. I didn't hear the exact wording, but it pits you against the Dark Lord. I never wanted this for you, Harry. Neither did James. He was furious when he heard about the prophecy. Not just with Dumbledore, but with himself." She shook her head. "Silly man. Said that his actions were what made you fit that prophecy. Harry, if Voldemort is still out there, you're going to have to be strong. I would never want you in harm's way, but Voldemort will come looking for you if he's still alive." She glanced off to the side. "I need to wrap this up. I'll always love you, Harry. Goodbye." She blew him a kiss, and the memory ended.

"Thanks, mum," Harry said quietly, ignoring the tears trickling down his face. He started his father's message a few moments later.

James wasn't as collected as his father was. "Hi, Harry," James said quietly, his eyes clearly red from crying. "I…I hope one day I can show you this message and we can all have a good laugh about it. But if you're seeing this without me, without your mother…" He paused, taking off his glasses and wiping angrily at his eyes. "Then there's a lot you need to know. First off, I love you. Your mother loves you. We'd do anything for you and we would never have left you without parents if we had the choice. Second, you're not alone. Sirius had better be there, or I'll come back and kick his butt until Hell won't-" he broke off, glanced to the side, and nodded, before turning back to Harry. "Sorry. Remus should be around as well. They both adore you as much as we do. If we're gone, though, Peter probably needs help. He's our Secret-Keeper, Harry. Unless he tells someone, there's no way for them to find us." He sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know why your mother has so much faith in Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm. I respect him, don't get me wrong, but lately he seems like he's not seeing people as much as chess pieces anymore. Can't blame him, there's a ruddy war on, and he's got the lives of everyone-" He paused again and sighed. "Yes, Lils, I know. I know. Look, son, if we're not around, we've done what we can to make sure you're comfortable. Sirius is your godfather. He'll take care of you, no matter what. And I know it doesn't mean much, but we've left you enough so you'll never have to work a day in your life. If we took Lord Arseface with us, celebrate. If he's is still around…you may have to fight. You should never have had to deal with this, son. But this is how things are. I love you, Harry. Good luck in the times ahead, and don't forget that we'll always be with you."

It took twenty minutes to stop crying. Harry blew his nose, scrubbing his face clean with a handkerchief.

"You really are the last of us, aren't you," Fleamont asked quietly from his portrait against the wall once Harry had cleaned himself up.

"Looks that way," Harry replied. "I…I don't know if there are any other Potters. Sirius Black is in prison. He was convicted – wrongfully, it seems – of betraying my parents and murdering Peter Pettigrew. I don't know where Remus Lupin is."

"You're not alone, my boy," Fleamont reassured him. "You have evidence that could exonerate Sirius. He's a good boy, always been a wonderful friend to James. You even have a place for him here." He paused. "And you have me as well. I may be old, but I can still wrassle with the best of them!"

Harry gave the man a smile, feeling fresh tears coming. "Thanks, Grandad."

Fleamont beamed. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to be called that!"

—ML—

One week before the end of August, Harry spotted a familiar face in Diagon Alley. He managed to catch up to her outside of Flourish and Blotts, the girl coming out with a stack of books almost as large as she was. "Oh, pardon me," he said bumping into her deliberately. She teetered, dropping a handful of textbooks. "Oh, how clumsy of me, let me help you."

"Oh, thank you," Hermione replied, setting down the stack. "Aren't you a little young to be walking around the Alley on your own?"

"I could ask you the same question," Harry pointed out with a disarming grin.

"I'm not alone," Hermione said primly, although her cheeks pinked slightly at Harry's grin.

"Ah, another upcoming first-year?" A voice asked. Harry glanced up to see Professor McGonagall standing over them. Her eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition.

"Indeed I am," Harry replied. "Are you a Hogwarts professor?"

"Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration professor," she said, holding out a hand.

Harry took it, giving her a firm handshake. "Harry Potter, at your service, Professor. Sorry, just had a bit of a collision here with…I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Hermione," the girl said quietly. "Hermione Granger."

"With Hermione, here," Harry went on, giving the girl another smile and receiving a shy one in return. "I've already got my things for Hogwarts. Did you mind some company?"

Harry could see a brief war waging itself inside McGonagall's head. She knew he shouldn't be alone in the Alley now, when Hagrid had gotten him his school things weeks earlier, but she couldn't leave either one alone. And the boy could tell she wanted to see him, the same strict maternal care that McGonagall prized winning out. "Very well, Mister Potter, if you would accompany us?"

Harry gave her a grin, and the woman's face softened slightly. "Gladly. To answer your question, Hermione, I'm only eleven, yes. I live here in the Alley, though." McGonagall gave a quiet gasp of surprise behind them. "I…see, my parents…" He paused. "I'm an orphan, really."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione said immediately.

Harry shrugged. "They died when I was a baby, so I've had time to come to terms with it. I used to live with my aunt and uncle, but they…they're Muggles, you see, and they aren't really…tolerant, of our world." Hermione nodded, but Harry could see McGonagall's lips thinning out of the corner of his eye. "So I moved out. My family owned a flat here in the Alley, and I'm taking care of myself pretty well. Are you Muggle-born?"

"How did you know?" Hermione asked.

Harry tapped his nose knowingly. "Hagrid – he's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, you see – took me to get my things, and mentioned that Muggle-born students get accompanied to the Alley their first time so they don't get lost."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the prospect of a friend. "Oh, are you Muggle-born too?"

Harry rocked a hand back and forth. "Sort of? My parents were both magical, but my mother was Muggle-born like you. I was raised outside the magical world." The two continued the 'getting to know you' ritual as McGonagall purchased Hermione a trunk and they stowed away her books.

Harry paused outside the Magical Menagerie, looking in. "Say, Hermione, are you a cat person?"

—ML—

"And you can use my owl any time," Harry promised as they reached the door of his flat, ignoring the growling coming from Crookshanks' carrier. "Well, provided you bribe her with some bacon first. She's bringing home dead mice constantly, but she's also got a growing addiction to pork. I'm worried one of these days I'll come home and find she's got an entire pig through the window somehow." Hermione giggled as Harry opened the door.

His flat was neatly organized, well-furnished, and beyond a takeout box on the table was spotless. McGonagall had asked to see it out of concern, but seemed unable to find fault with Harry's housekeeping. "Ah, hello there," Fleamont called from the wall where Harry had finally gotten around to hanging him up. "Wait a tic, Minnie, is that you?" He winked rakishly at her. "As foxy as ever!"

McGonagall blushed. "Why, Fleamont Potter! What if Euphemia heard you?"

Euphemia Potter stuck her head in the corner of the frame, having traveled from her own portrait. "Why Minerva! Don't you remember-"

"Yes, thank you, not here," McGonagall said loudly as Hermione and Harry fought back giggles. "I was merely checking up on Mr. Potter's living conditions, last I heard he was living with his aunt and uncle."

"Ah, yes, them," Fleamont replied darkly. "You know me, Minerva, I'm a fair-minded man, but if those Muggles are half as bad as Harry has told me…" He growled. "Let's just say I'm glad he's here. We keep after him to keep himself clean and fed, but he hardly needs it."

Harry poked his head out of the kitchen. "The Dursleys had me cooking and cleaning for them, I learned fast. Anyone fancy a cuppa?"

"Actually, we had best be going," McGonagall said. "Ms. Granger here needs to get home."

"Of course," Harry replied with a nod. "Drop by sometime, I'll let you two catch up."

McGonagall looked warily at him, before nodding. "Very well." Hermione took a firm grip on her things, McGonagall took a firm grip of Hermione's hand, and with a crack they Apparated away.

"Well, that ball's rolling," Harry said softly. "I just hope this works."

—ML—

September first finally came, and Harry was ready to leave an hour before he needed to. He had called a cab through a tip from Gringotts and tossed a handful of Galleons on the front seat.

"All yours if you can get me to King's Cross Station in London in less than half an hour, without getting us pulled over." The cabbie gave him a grin and hit the gas, throwing Harry back in the seat.

Twenty-two minutes later, the car screeched to a stop outside King's Cross Station and Harry lurched out of the backseat, fighting the urge to projectile vomit all over the curb. The cabbie got out and calmly unloaded his trunk and Hedwig's cage as Harry steadied himself and spoke in a hoarse voice. "Well, you better be going. I think the cops might take a while to figure out where you went after you took that shortcut through Stonehenge, but that won't last forever."

The cabbie nodded. "Well, it might take them a bit longer to figure it out if you hadn't been screaming the whole way." The cabbie stopped and gave him a long look. "Look kid, I know who you are. My name's William Matthews, but my friends call me Billy." He held out a small card. "You ever need my help, just ask." As the cabbie drove away, Harry palmed the card and examined it. On one side was a Muggle phone number, but on the reverse side was a note- "Just stick your thumb out. I'll be there." Harry slid the card into his back pocket and walked into King's Cross Station, still swaying slightly.

—ML—