So this chapter is some 10k words. It was originally supposed to be two chapters, but they just seemed to mesh well together. I've decided to make the first three chapters of this story 'Part One, in which Harry comes to the past'. Part Two will be about him learning and acclimatising, also about the beginning of the war. Part Three will be about the Great War itself. Classic storytelling, my man.

Thanks for the wonderful feedback! (someone suggested a Harry/Ariana pairing to me and I realised I hadn't even thought about romance in general. Harry might have a brief affair with someone, but I think generally, this will be more of a friendships-in-war kind of story.) I've just begun reading LOTR (what, for the first time? Yes...) so maybe that has influenced me (where stories about friendships are concerned).

And finally, Dumbledore! My favourite character to write !

Due to the late hour, Harry ended up staying the night at Garrick's. He spent the entire night clutching his wand, waking up every now and then to admire it, then go back to sleep. It felt odd, to have somehow created a 'life' for want of a better word. He was impatient to try some magic, but decided to listen to the voice of reason and wait until morning, when he was sure a mispronunciation of a spell wouldn't land him in St. Mungo's.

So upon waking up, Harry sat up in the cot that Garrick had provided for him in the attic and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He examined the wand again, this time scrutinising it. Somehow, overnight, some of the runes had 'bled' out to the outer side of the wand. They no longer glowed, but their burnt quality contrasted starkly with the white wood.

Glancing around, Harry noticed a broken stool standing in the corner.

Pointing his wand at it, he intoned, "Wingardium Leviosa."

That was perhaps a mistake, because the wand answered with such enthusiasm that the stool shot up into the air, didn't stop at the ceiling and broke a hole through the roof. Harry winced. Well. That was unfortunate.

This time, slightly more subdued, he cast a reparo on the roof, the stool gone. Hopefully not in space. It wouldn't do for muggle astronauts in the future to find a rickety old stool floating through space.

He made the cot and decided to find his way back downstairs into the kitchen or living area, where he was sure to find Garrick. He was already a day late to Flamel's apprenticeship, but perhaps today, he'd be able to pick up his new identity and then go directly there, without having t explain why he didn't have the documents instantly at hand.

Harry had been too tired the night before to properly take in the house, but now, slowly making his way downstairs, Harry marvelled at the way magic saturated this place. The only wizarding dwellings he'd been other than Hogwarts had been the Weasley family home and Grimmauld Place.

The Ollivander household was ancient, this much was clear, but well cared for. Everything was made of a combination of dark woods and massive stone slabs, probably something common for the Middle Ages. The staircase was in the centre of the house, rooms pealing off of it in like leaves off a tree. As such each room was guaranteed at least one window, while the staircase was only lit by one skylight in the shape of a tiny glass dome.

Reaching the bottom, Harry was spat out into a living area which also branched out into the kitchen and the dining room. Everywhere he looked, there were either chess-sets fighting with each other, or paintings muttering amongst themselves, or wallpaper featuring dragons which jumped from the wall to the ceiling every now and then.

However, it was in the kitchen that Harry found human life. And it was not Garrick,

Rather, an older gentleman sat at the kitchen table (a massive slab of wood with a few cracks in it). He looked remarkably like Garrick, although his features were somewhat harsher and he was taller and naturally more mature. He was undoubtedly Garrick's father. Well, this was awkward.

"Ah, good morning," the man said pleasantly, barely looking up from the morning paper. Harry hung around the entrance to the kitchen awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Eventually, the Ollivander sighed and closed the paper. He nodded at the chair opposite his.

"Why don't you sit down. Gruppy!"

A house-elf popped right at his side and Ollivander ordered him to serve Harry some breakfast. Harry was of course astute enough to understand that the wandmaker's request had been more of a demand and silently took the offered seat. Instantly, a bowl of porridge appeared in front of him, accompanied by a pot of tea. Harry thanked the elf, who bowed and then disappeared.

They sat in silence for a few moments longer. Harry slowly ate the porridge, trying not to appear too hungry; he hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day. Ollivander observed him with narrowed eyes, hands folded in an unassuming way, whilst Harry felt his wand burning in his pocket, eager to jump into his hands, if its help was needed. He realised suddenly that the wand was sensing his anxiety and was responding in kind.

"Garrick is often impulsive, but I was not aware how much until now," Ollivander said. His voice was raspy and low but commanded attention. Harry was very much reminded of Garrick in the future.

Harry blinked at him, spoonful of porridge half way up to his mouth.

"Pardon, sir?"

Ollivander smirked briefly and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs as he did so. He seemed dangerously relaxed.

"My son undoubtedly told you that I was collecting woods and as such could invite friends into our house, our workshop without supervision to do whatever he wished. Garrick… is very trusting and he is willing to share his loyalty much too quickly. The wards alerted me of an intruder yesterday, but alas, I was only able to return this morning. Imagine my surprise, when just now they alert me that a single wingardium leviosa has broken through the physical wards also — I hope you repaired the roof?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times. Then blushed.

"Erm, I apologise for the intrusion, sir. I met Garrick yesterday and he mentioned something about my magic fighting my wand. We debated about some theory and he offered to make me a new one, that wouldn't conflict with my core. It was quite late when we finished, so he offered to let me stay here… I hope that wasn't a problem, sir."

Ollivander raised his eyebrows and then gave a small and thoughtful nod. "The workshop was in disarray when I arrived and the magical residue was magnificent; your wand must be very powerful. After all, you used the thestral hair."

His eyes were scrutinising Harry's every move. He, in turn, briefly considered the course of action. He could blame everything on Garrick and escape unscathed but in the process loose his only friend in the past. Or…

"Sorry," Harry said wincing again. "I was drawn to the thestral hair, Garrick explained that it represents life and death somehow — he was unable to see it — I insisted it would pair well with the yew wood—"

"Boy, I know my son, it was not you who insisted. He has been ranting on about his wandmaking theories for a few years now and has wanted to try to make one in his way for months. But perhaps your foolhardy loyalty isn't completely worthless." Ollivander gave his beard a tug and briefly, his eyes went past Harry's shoulder, staring into nothingness. Then, those silvery eyes snapped back at Harry.

"That thestral hair was very hard to procure, I had various experiments planned for it," he paused. "But it seems that my son got there first. I'm curious how did he get the yew to bind with the thestral hair?"

Harry shrugged. Then pulled out the wand and placed it on the table between them. In an instant, the other man leaned forwards, inspecting it without touching. His eyes widened in surprise.

"These runes are Garrick's?"

"I think he spent an hour or two writing them, while I gave the wood the shape," Harry replied. Why was this significant? What exactly had Garrick done?

"May I?" Ollivander gestured at the wand, his professional interest winning over his fatherly ire. Harry nodded once, although he felt some indignation at his rude assumption that Harry would say yes.

The man reached to grab hold of the handle, but just as his fingers were about to touch it, the wand rolled out of the way. Harry let out a surprised laugh. Ollivander's hand stilled in surprise.

"Incredible! This wand is truly sentient!"

"I thought all wands were?"

Ollivander looked at him oddly. "Well, yes, but not to this degree, son."

Harry pocketed the wand again, slightly insecure with the hungry way that Ollivander was examining it. The wandmaker leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms this time. He examined Harry more seriously now.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Harry Evans, I work at Foos' potions and alchemy store. Or I begin today," he said. Ollivander's eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

"You're Flamel's new apprentice?"

Did everyone know that 'Foos' was Flamel? If so, then it was a shoddy pseudonym. Ollivander waved a dismissive hand, evidently registering Harry's shock.

"I saw him a day or two ago, he was ranting on and on about his new apprentice. He's really excited you know."

"Father, you're back!" Garrick was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He greeted Harry with a grin and then slumped down in the chair next to his father. The elder Ollivander smiled briefly, before a stern expression crawled onto his face.

"Garrick, your irresponsibility brought me back. I have seen the wand and it is an incredible feat and a definite success. I am sure that it will revolutionise wandmaking forevermore. However, your actions leave me no choice but to punish you two. Not only did you break into the workshop without my presence, but you also brought in an outsider who you apparently knew less than a day. Yes, he is Flamel's apprentice and apparently somewhat trustworthy, but your actions have been foolhardy."

As Ollivander spoke, Garrick's head slowly lowered more and more so that by the end of the speech, his chin was touching his chest in shame. His cheeks were flushed red.

"Now, Mr. Evans' was, I presume, under the assumption that everything was as it should be, therefore, from you I shall only demand that you work a total of a month for me in the workshop, to pay back for the ingredients used in your wand. And you, Garrick, your punishment will be dealt with later," Ollivander said. His hand briefly fell on his belt causing Harry's heart to drop to his stomach. Was that a hint at what Ollivander was going to do to Garrick? Or simply a coincidence? Harry swallowed harshly, hoping very much that it was the latter scenario. He knew slaps and 'educational abuse' was common in the 19th century, but given what he had endured at the Dursley's, even where modern standards dictated that such abuse was totally unwarranted and even illegal, he felt dread for the other boy.

"Is this understood?"

Both boys nodded meekly. Ollivander's stern gaze relaxed and a small smile graced his thin lips. His eyes found Harry's.

"Off you go then, Mr. Evans. I shall expect you in the store every Wednesday and Friday for the next month."

.

By the time Harry found his way back to Flamel's store (now with his fresh new documents in hand), it was past noon. He entered the store and a bell rang, giving a signal to someone at the back of the store. While he waited for someone to appear, Harry examined the store.

It was small and had three tight aisles, all completely filled with vials of varying sizes. On the other side of the store there was a similar setup, just with little boxes to pull out, probably with the raw ingredients for the same potions. There were several books on alchemy or potion-making. All in all, it was quaint, and absolutely not the place where one would expect to find the greatest alchemist in history.

"Yes, hello, may I help you?" A woman's voice had spoken. Harry emerged from the aisle and turned to face the counter. The woman who had spoken was beautiful; her skin was radiant and her eyes bright and youthful, full of energy and life. She had elegant eyebrows and a full mouth. Her hair was drawn into a loose bun. She was wearing a sort of brewing tunic that Harry had seen Snape wearing once or twice.

"Oh, hello," Harry said, smiling easily, feeling instantly warm. She had that sort of infectious energy. "I'm Harry Evans. Uh, the owner of the store invited me to become his apprentice a few days ago?"

The woman looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "Yes, yes, I think he mentioned you in passing. Nicolas likes to pick up strays every now and then — ah, ah, ah, do not protest that, Harry. No boy, at fifteen agrees to become an apprentice if he has no home."

This sort of mothering statement translated into the next few hours during which Harry was shown a room to stay in (a large bed, desk, bathroom and working space), some of the house, drawn a bath, and prepared a meal for. And yet, there was a no sign of Nicolas Flamel.

Eventually, by late afternoon, Harry came down to the store where Penerelle showed him the ropes there. Apparently as part of his apprenticeship duties, he'd also be working in the store, giving him a real salary, which was considerably higher than that which he had received at the Leaky Cauldron.

It was, however, during dinner, that Nicolas Flamel finally arrived.

Penerelle and Harry had just sat down to enjoy a meal prepared by him, when the fireplace in the living room, which one could just catch a glimpse of through the open door, lit up with green flames and the figure of a man stepped through. This was Nicolas Flamel. The proud man stood there for a second, then dusted off his trench before wandering into the kitchen. He barely acknowledged Harry's presence.

Nicolas was somewhat subdued as he ate and barely said a few words until he had cleared his plate. Then learning back, he crossed his arms. Penerelle glanced between the two mean, one ancient, one a student and seemed to automatically sense the tension. She gave a short cough.

"Ah, boys, I'll be in the greenhouse. Nicolas I trust you'll clear the plates — Harry cooked for us."

Nicolas looked surprised at this but gave his wife a nod and a quick kiss on the cheek before she disappeared up the stairs. Harry didn't remember ever having seen his aunt and uncle sharing any sort of public intimacy with him and Dudley and could only recollect a handful of kisses Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given each other, and even then with a lot of blushing.

Nicolas made barely a single gesture before the dishes and pots and pans all jumped into the air and began scrubbing themselves over the sink. Harry stared in amazement at the casual display of magic.

"Shall we?" Nicolas had stood up and had extended a hand in the direction of a hallway Harry was surprised he hadn't seen as of yet — disillusionment charm?

At the end of this hallway there was a door, seemingly ordinary, save for the various runes etched almost imperceptibly into the frame. Nicolas gave this frame a few taps and the door swung open, revealing the most ridiculous and grand study Harry had ever seen.

A desk stood a little to the side, next to the fireplace. Above it hung a Renaissance painting of someone who looked rather a lot like Flamel. His father? Another relative? Each wall was covered with books or scrolls. Indeed, the tomes and journals overflowed this room and some had been left in stacks under the bookshelves. To the left, Harry had a direct view to Diagon Alley from a half-moon circle.

"Please sit, Harry."

Harry took a seat in the armchair that Nicolas had just summoned for him, whilst the other man took his place behind the desk.

"I spent my day at the Ministry, attempting to register you as my apprentice. Formalities you see; a status as apprentice gives you a considerably higher worth, perhaps that of a Hogwarts student, regardless of your blood-status. You can get away with much more magical experimentation — and you are legally allowed to carry a wand."

"My surprise came, however, when I discovered that your file at the Ministry is very lacking. Harry Evans, hmm?" The man looked at Harry over his glasses. Glasses that had only just appeared on his slightly hooked nose.

Harry said nothing, unblinkingly staring at his new mentor. The man sighed and clasped his hands together.

"You have a right to your secrets, Harry. By God, I've lived with a fair share of them my whole life. Even now, Diagon Alley knows me as 'Emmanuel Foos', but you must understand the position you put me in. Regardless of what you say today in this office, I shall take you on as an apprentice, which actually involves an oath of confidentiality."

Harry sighed and glanced briefly at the back of his hand. The scars of 'I must not tell lies' had not disappeared just quite yet and they screamed at him to tell the truth. Could he really tell the truth to this man? He seemed innocent enough. Then again, he'd had some five centuries to perfect whatever persona he needed in the moment.

"My name is Harry Potter," he finally said through slightly gritted teeth. Nicolas leaned back, showing no emotion as Harry began to speak. "Evans was the maiden name of my mother."

"I—" Harry hesitated. "Look, can we do the oath of confidentiality before I tell you the rest?"

Nicolas' eyebrows furrowed and Harry could practically see his brain working out a problem. Then he eventually gave a nod and extended a hand, indicating to Harry to grasp it. There was an odd tingling to Harry's magic as their powers connected. He supposed that it was rare for his magic to come into contact with such a powerful individual as Flamel.

"I, hereby accept Harry Potter as my apprentice and swear to protect him as I would a protect kin until he reaches his majority in soul, body, and magic. My oath of secrecy forbids me from revealing any information he may impart to me in any written, spoken, memory-shared, etcetera form, lest he give me explicit permission to do so," Nicolas spoke calmly without a single bit of terror or hesitation. Harry's jaw slackened slightly at hearing such a promise of loyalty — and to protect him? He swallowed dryly.

"I, hereby accept Nicolas Flamel as my apprenticeship master," Harry began hesitatingly, but found soon that something was directing him to say these words. As though he instinctually knew what to say. "I swear to learn and study from him, and to not reveal his secrets lest he give me explicit permission." He supposed it was only fair for him to promise the same.

There was barely any magical hoopla, except for the two vines of light that wound around their connected hands. They froze when Harry finished speaking and began tightening, so much that Harry's skin began to break a little. After what felt like some resistance from his magic, it capitulated and the two vines sank into Nicolas' and Harry's hands. The alchemist released him.

"If one of us should go back on that promise, we will loose our magic," Nicolas said calmly, putting his hands together. Harry could see now though, that he seemed slightly rattled. It wasn't every day that one promised such unquestioning loyalty to anyone, he supposed. He himself, felt a little weak and anxious. There was an odd invisible string now connecting him to Flamel, somehow a bond, for lack of a better word.

"We'll get the apprenticeship ritual done another time — it takes much more preparation. But that oath is the first step. Now, tell me Harry."

Harry licked his lips anxiously and began. "It started when during my fifth year at Hogwarts, I had a vision that my godfather was being tortured by a Dark Lord. Voldemort."

"Vol de Mort?" Flamel said amusedly in what was obviously French. He waved his hand noncommittally. "Continue."

"So my friends and I broke into the Ministry and were going to save him in the Department of Mysteries. Somehow, we got split up and a few of my friends ended up in the Time Chamber," Harry continued, feeling more and more nervous as he spoke. He saw Nicolas' eyes widen as he realised where this was going.

"There's an invention in the future called Time-Turners. They allow you to travel one hour into the past and I crashed into a cabinet of about a hundred of them."

Nicolas sucked in a breath.

"Well, you have exceeded my expectations of the gravity of your secrets," the alchemist finally said. He stood up, paced around a little, then collapsed back into his chair.

"How many years into the future—"

"I was born in 1980, it was 1995 when I was sent back," Harry interrupted him, knowing exactly what his question would be. He would've asked the same.

"Almost a century? By God, that's unheard of!" He pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. "How in the world did you ever manage to get a file of yourself into the Ministry? It is empty, but somehow, there is one."

"Erm, I paid a man in Knockturn Alley?"

Nicolas face-palmed, or at least elegantly rubbed his forehead, but then began nodding. "Regardless, resourceful. Yes, it'll make your integration much easier to have that already as a starting point."

"Integration?" Harry asked. "There's no way I can go back?" He had already assumed as much, but there had been one last nugget of hope that he'd been hanging on to.

The alchemist shook his head. "No, no, we don't even know the theory behind time-travel yet. There have been a few cases in history, but all accidental — some reported a self-fulfilling time-line wherein their actions fulfilled future events. Others reported creating a new alternate timeline with just their presence. You've simply gone too far into the past for us to be able to test either theory."

"So with the butterfly effect I could accidentally kill the chance of my parents being born and erase my own birth?" Harry asked, mouth agape. Nicolas cocked his head to the side and considered the younger wizard's statement.

"Hm, yes, I suppose, except perhaps, you've put in motion a new timeline, and as such your existence in this one is independent from your original one. Your parents haven't even been born yet — even with the simple fact that you may have one conversation longer with say, your great grandfather, he'll have intercourse a little later with his wife and already your grandfather will be a different man than the one who was your grandfather in your timeline."

"So everyone I care for in the future… is dead… and will not be as I knew them…"

Nicolas winced but then gave a stiff nod.

"Unless they haven't been born yet or you haven't mixed with the time-lines of their families at all, then yes, I'm afraid so, Harry."

It was startling to come face to face with realisation, and especially to hear an experienced wizard tell him this. He felt his throat tightening to the point that his eyes suddenly felt prickly. Not only his parents would never be born, but also Neville's, Snape wouldn't exist to hate him, Hagrid might also never come to save him from the Dursleys. Sirius wouldn't exist. A sob almost threatened to break out of him.

Then, taking a deep breath, Harry forced himself to hold it and count a few seconds before releasing it. He wouldn't cry in front of Flamel. He'd never be as weak as he had been that night when Voldemort had sent him that fake vision of Sirius. He wouldn't be that impulsive. He would not behave like the victim; he wasn't a victim anymore. He'd be stronger.

Gathering his thoughts, Harry's determined gaze met Nicolas eyes. He looked concerned.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Harry said dismissively. His mind was in tumult.

"Hm, well regardless of your past, I shall not press you for details. God knows I have had my own issues that I have not shared until I was ready to do so. Although, it is interesting that the Potter family have produced a half-blood heir." There was a quirky smile playing on Nicolas' lips.

Harry blinked. Surely that didn't mean that…

"Oh yes, Henry Potter, a member of the wizengamot, probably your great-great-grandfather? About four generations per hundred years, yes? He's quite opposed to muggle-borns attending Hogwarts. Are the Potters still part of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' in the future?"

Harry felt instantly ashamed for his family.

"Sacred Twenty Eight?"

Nicolas pursed his lips. "Coined by Cantankerus Nott, yes. He describes in his 'academic list' twenty-eight families that are still pureblood in this century, so that they may preserve themselves as such for the next generations. Your great-great-grandfather publicly supported Nott in the composition of this list, and even helped with the research, I am led to believe."

Harry winced. "So he wouldn't be exactly thrilled to find out I'm a half-blood."

"I have observed in this last century that many of the great wizards and witches have been half-bloods. I myself am of the sort, although in my time it caused quite a stir when I was born. Wizards absolutely did not associate themselves with muggles."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, still shocked that his family had once been elitist. They had been like the Malfoys!

Flamel clasped his hands loudly, shocking Harry out of his thoughts.

"Now, off to bed, tomorrow we begin with our first lesson."

"Erm, actually I have to work for Mr. Ollivander tomorrow…" Harry trailed off awkwardly. Nicolas chuckled softly.

"Two apprenticeships at once? Very ambitious. I'm afraid I won't share you—"

"Garrick — Ollivander's son — and I sort of broke into the workshop to make me a new wand so I have to pay back the material with manual labour," Harry said, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. Nicolas laughed again, this time more heartily and genuinely.

"Oh Harry, it seems like you shall be a handful of trouble, indeed."

.

Nicolas had high expectations, and Harry attempted to fulfil them as best he could. His theoretical knowledge was according to him, rather abysmal. Although Garrick had already explained quite a lot to him the night before, this was in no way a proper basic education. In that sense, Nicolas had deemed it important for Harry to start from the very basics.

As it turned out, whatever Snape had attempted to drill into him over the years during their potions classes, had somehow stuck. Maybe it was the unfair advantage that Harry knew some theoretical and technical details from the future. In any case, here, Harry was deemed more or less proficient, although Nicolas did say, that with those basics in potions, one could only begin to understand the theory behind alchemy.

Harry was very quickly given a stack of books to read and assigned at least two hours of study a day for both Ancient Greek and Latin. Nicolas had stated that these languages, although not the oldest, defined much of magic's modern use. He also said that they were part of the basic education of any young man born in the 19th century.

Transfiguration had been adequate, although Nicolas couldn't fathom why turning a stool into a bird was all that useful, which Hogwarts had taught him. Harry had shrugged, having often had the same issue with the subject.

And as for Defence Against the Dark Arts; here he was proficient enough, although Nicolas admonished him for using many of the same spells over and over again. The famous alchemist eventually worked out a simple time-table.

Harry would use mornings for self-study, pouring over the languages (and runes!) and reading his assigned texts. In the afternoon, they would meet in the working room (well, a decorated and messy attic, really) or the study to discuss whatever Harry hadn't understood and then move on to the practical use behind these theories.

Over the next few weeks, Harry settled into a comfortable routine. He'd wake up early and devote his mornings to careful reading. He'd have breakfast with Penerelle, while Nicolas manned the store, or went about the world on business. Sometimes during his small lunch break, Harry would help Penerelle out in the greenhouse terrace, also sometimes learning about the plants' healing powers from her.

In the afternoons, Nicolas and Harry sometimes took a walk in the countryside, or through muggle London. Once or twice they went to the theatre or to exhibitions (Nicolas believed that an education of any sort had to be well-rounded and had to borrow from all aspects of life). During these walks, Nicolas drilled into Harry the muggle and magical histories, sometimes referring to authors or revolutionaries that Harry had only read about in history books. It was during these moments that Harry truly recognised that he was in the past.

It terrified him, to a degree, that he could get a first edition Alice in Wonderland book, that had just come out a few years previous. He'd seen an advertisement for the publication of Dracula. The Olympics had just been reinstated in Greece last summer. The Eiffel Tower didn't even exist. Many stores and muggle buildings didn't use electricity, still too wary of this new technology and these were just the tip of the ice-berg!

There were so many wars to learn about, and so many revolutions taking place, that it boggled his mind a bit. The world was largely at peace in his future. Wars were persistent, and in some corner of the world, some skirmish or other was always taking place, but the 1890s was a time of upheaval. He'd tried to remember as much as he could about the next few years, to prepare for the eventual shocks and apart from Queen Victoria's 'upcoming' death and a few muggle wars in Africa, there was little else that he remembered. Well, of course the two muggle World Wars and wizarding 'Great War' would take place at some point, but he had maybe a decade until the first battles broke out.

After dinner, Harry would drag himself over to the Ollivander's workshop and clean up, manually, after whatever mess the elder Ollivander had left behind. Garrick would help him, but the few bruises on his arms had been his true punishment for their break-in. Harry had avoided looking at them, knowing how uncomfortable the other boy would become. He was sure Garrick loved his parents; the nineteenth century was lenient towards corporeal punishment and Harry was sure that it was his, the time-traveler, whose opinion was the one out-of-place, and yet, it hurt to see someone going through something he'd had to suffer with in his childhood.

And so Harry devoted his life to learning as much as he could, whilst saving up for his future, whatever that may be. He was seeking his path for his future and finally there wasn't anyone forcing him into this or that mould. Gradually, he found himself the hobby of wood-carving. Once he had worked his punishment to the end, the elder Ollivander had begrudgingly allowed him to spend his time in the workshop. Here, Harry and Garrick would drink tea and discuss their futures, magic, girls, everything above, below and in between.

It was here, in this workshop, that Harry's interest for wood-carving grew. Using much of which Nicolas was teaching him, he'd carve out little figures of sea-creatures and etch a small but basic water-rune at the bottom so that when powered with magic, a steady stream of water would burst out of their open jaws. Garrick found these little productions quite thrilling and took to selling them whenever he was manning the wand store, giving Harry another small but steady income.

Due to the lack of customers throughout the year, save for August and July when most future magic students came by to buy their wands, the Ollivanders took part in a lot of research projects, often writing academic articles for journals or sometimes repairing and cleaning up old wands. Harry often found himself participating in this activity, so much so, that Nicolas had stormed into the workshop once or twice to drag him back to his own work.

And so it happened, that the Ollivanders and the Flamels became somehow intertwined, sometimes sharing research or breaking bread together. Harry and Garrick viewed this symbiosis very positively, of course.

Early spring eventually rolled into summer, bringing with it a whole new heat wave which resulted in Harry having to apply a cooling charm on most of his clothes. It was incredible how many layers of textile he was expected to wear in the sweltering heat. Summer, too, brought a whole new optimism and joy to Diagon Alley. Students came back from their respective schools and suddenly the Alley was full of melting ice-scream, laughter, and music.

Harry and Garrick spent more time than ever together, whenever their respective masters weren't teaching them. Harry soon found that a lot of which he was learning with Flamel had other, more amusing applications in the real world, and that actually, many spells and rune clusters could be used for pranking.

Also with summer, came the intense desire for quidditch, or at least flying. However, in the past broomsticks were still quite uncertain and only used by either professional quidditch players or foolhardy children. It wasn't yet a legitimate transportation tool. As such, affordable brooms didn't quite yet exist.

It took some convincing, but Harry managed to get Ollivander to give him some tutorials on wood-types and which were the most intuitive. Ollivander had initially asked what his 'agenda' was and whether he and Garrick were thinking up another practical joke. Harry had acted affronted and had said it was a private project for Nicolas. It didn't fool anyone.

And at last, came Harry's birthday. On that particular day, Harry woke up peacefully and it occurred to him that there hadn't been a single birthday in his life that hadn't been somehow tumultuous. Each time, he'd woken to be faced with the Dursleys, and although his eleventh birthday had brought a good lot of positivity with it, he had also been faced with his family's increased ire towards him.

So when on his sixteenth birthday he woke up, for the first time in his life without a cloud of stress hanging over him, a smile slowly crawled onto his face.

He hadn't told anyone about his upcoming birthday, unwilling to be the centre of attention, but upon coming down for breakfast, dressed in his standard shirt, vest and trousers, he was confronted by an over-the-top decorated kitchen.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly.

"Oh Harry! Happy birthday!" Penerelle called from the stove where she was cooking some eggs. Nicolas who was in the next room at his desk came running over and grinned upon seeing Harry.

There was something mischievous in his gaze and for the briefest of moments Harry wondered why. The answer came fairly quickly.

Unnoticed by him, Harry had stepped into a rune-cluster carved into the floorboards by the door. His eyes widened as he saw them activate and brighten up with that signature blue light that was Flamel's magic. But before he could decipher what the runes meant, a waterfall of water doused him.

"Ha! Ha! Gotcha!" Nicolas cried. Harry couldn't help but laugh — this was Nicolas' idea of a prank? But then, a few seconds later, Harry realised that he'd been dowsed with a potion, not water.

His eyes widened and he rushed up the stairs to take a look of himself in the mirror and he stopped in his tracks:

Every part of him was a different colour; his hair was a rainbow shock of blue, red, yellow, purple and everything in between. His skin was polka-dotted, his eyes were a luminescent yellow and his teeth a shocking blue.

"NICOLAS!" Harry shouted at the top of his lungs and rushed downstairs, only to find him nowhere in sight.

Penerelle turned from her stove just in time to see Harry coming back to the kitchen, slightly despondently. She had the gall to laugh.

"When he comes back I'm going to…" Harry muttered under his breath. Penerelle laughed again and placed a plate in front of him.

"I'm sure you'll work out how to reverse-engineer the spell," she said, taking the seat in front of him. Harry groaned.

"Of course he'd make a lesson out of a prank," he murmured, sighing. But dug into the food. The prank reversal could wait a moment or two.

The main door to the apartment above their little store opened, and Garrick stumbled in. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Harry! Happy birthday!" He exclaimed, rushing over into the kitchen. He accio-ed a chair and seat down next to Harry and stole a piece of bacon.

"Hey! Why is everyone bullying me on my birthday?"

Garrick had the decency to look a little abashed, even if it was all fake. Penerelle gave another musical laugh at their antics.

"Anyway, sixteen. Almost old enough to apparate! Certainly old enough to drink — here!" Garrick, out of nowhere, produced a bottle of Firewhiskey. Harry whistled.

"Oh Merlin, don't let Nicolas see that!" Penerelle exclaimed.

"You think he'd take it away?" Garrick looked horrified and now tried to hide the bottle under his jacket, looking around suspiciously. Harry laughed.

"No! He'd steal it for himself," Harry answered for her.

"Anyway, you look lovely," Garrick said, looking him over critically. "I particularly like the purple spots."

"Nicolas' birthday prank," Harry mumbled into his tea, jerking his head to the rune cluster at the doorstep. He'd already tried to understand it, and found he didn't. At all. "Maybe you'll have more luck deciphering it."

Garrick, energetic as he always was, sprung to his feet and gave the cluster a glance over, nodding, impressed when he apparently understood something.

"Well, my dear Harry, this certainly warrants a retaliation."

"I do think I shall have to excuse myself. To hear your next plans would be to betray my husband," Penerelle said elegantly. She smiled pleasantly at them and disappeared into her study, presumably to work on her newest herbology textbook.

They went down into the store, where Harry was meant to man it for the next few hours until Penerelle took over for the afternoon. Garrick rattled on the entire way down and all the while Harry set everything up and loosened the wards to attract the first visitors of the day. And so it was that he and Garrick sat there for the most of the morning, trying to work out how to cancel the spell that had been placed on Harry — and trying to figure out how to retaliate.

Nicolas still hadn't shown himself, but the few people who had entered the store to browse all left fairly quickly after catching sight of Harry, still sporting his colourful look. At around lunchtime, the doorbell rang twice and two boys, about Garrick and Harry's age, entered.

Harry barely paid them any mind as he corrected a rune that Garrick had just written out. The wandmaker-in-training, frowned and scratched Harry's version out, their two ink-colours clashing on the parchment.

"Merlin, that's quite a fashion statement," said one of the newcomers. Harry glanced up and was confused for a second or two. The shorter of the two had spoken. A blonde boy with a pudgy face and dark eyes. He was staring at Harry with interest. The other was tall, had a shock of auburn hair, and brilliant blue eyes which twinkled with mirth as he observed Harry.

"Yes, a birthday prank," Harry said a little wearily.

"We've been trying to break the enchantment all morning," Garrick threw in, gesturing wildly at the parchment. As he spoke a blob of ink dropped from his quill on his newest sketch of a rune. Harry gave a laugh at the sudden annoyance that showed on his friend's face.

"Oh, that is a fascinating piece of rune-casting!" Said the taller of the two, looking over his friend's shoulder at the parchment.

"You understand it? We've been trying to figure what Nicolas meant all morning! You see, he uses the uruz nordic rune, then a peord Anglo-Saxon rune, then this weird combination of Dalecarlian runes that he uses to phonetically spell out something in—"

"Greek, yes — incredible. Convoluted, yes, but incredible!" The redhead, reached around his friend to snatch up the parchment Harry and Garrick had been working on and examined their work eagerly.

"Forgive him, he always regretted not taking Ancient Runes at Hogwarts," the shorter boy said. Harry and Garrick looked at each other in surprise.

"Hogwarts? You go to Hogwarts?" Garrick asked excitedly. "My father wouldn't let me."

"Why would anyone not let their child go to Hogwarts?" The shorter one asked, horrified, while the redhead began to mutter something to himself. He also grabbed a spare quill laying about and scratched something out on the paper. Harry found himself drawn to this boy.

He was interesting; there was something familiar about him. Perhaps he knew him in the future? Or knew his descendants? Quickly Harry found that he had drowned out the conversation that Garrick and the short boy were having — they seemed to have developed an instant sort of camaraderie.

"You were on the right path, I believe — quite ingenious to translate all of this madness into Latin and work from there. Really simplifies it very much," the taller boy said quietly to Harry when he noticed he was being being watched.

"How is it that you know Runes if you don't attend the classes?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side. The redhead smiled and his eyes wandered over Harry's face, eventually letting out a chuckle. A familiar chuckle.

"My divination class is a bit… underwhelming. I tend to read in it," he said. Harry laughed. Oh, he knew the boredom of which he spoke.

"And you? I see your previous discarded runic drafts combine quite a lot… uncommon factors. This certainly wouldn't be taught at Hogwarts, our education is somewhat more classical."

"Garrick's an apprentice wandsmith and I am apprenticed to an alchemist. We both use runes on a daily basis and we somewhat bonded on the basis of that fact. Actually, we're thinking of creating our own brooms — the ones on the market are a little unsatisfying."

"Are you really? An alchemist apprentice! Incredible!"

"Oh by the way, I'm Garrick Ollivander, apprentice wandsmith to Gervaise Ollivander!" Harry heard Garrick say, and was pulled out from his conversation. The shorter boy was shaking Garrick's hand.

"Elphias Doge at your service!" He exclaimed, snapped his heels together, and gave a short bow. Well, he'd been raised by Prussian parents, probably. The name seemed familiar somehow. He turned his gaze on Harry.

"Harry Evans, apprentice alchemist to Nicolas Flamel," he murmured. This was his official title, as Nicolas had drummed into him. Apparently there was a lot of etiquette in this time. Actually, it was odd that they had taken so long to introduce themselves to each other already.

"The Nicolas Flamel?!" The as of yet unnamed boy exclaimed. His eyes were wide with a sort of eager, unhinged look. Harry winced. This was exactly why he avoided saying he was an apprentice at all, much less to one of the most legendary wizards of all time.

"Oh forgive me," the boy said when he saw Harry's discomfort. "I am Albus Dumbledore."

It was Harry's turn to gape. This was Dumbledore. White-haired, bearded, ancient Dumbledore was a red-headed, un-bespectacled, teenager?!

Harry took a calming breath, instantly committing to no longer looking the other boy in the eye. Who knew when Dumbledore had begun using legilimency. And he'd only just begun to educate himself in occlumency!

"I've been trying to convince my good friend Elphias all day to come out to muggle London today, and revive that childish spirit of adventure we had as boys. But alas—"

"It is not that I don't want, Albus. Have you been in muggle London recently, Albus? It's as dirty as ever." Doge was shaking his head. Harry and Garrick exchanged a glance. They sometimes went out to muggle London and spent much of the time goofing off in parks and street-corners, showing the muggles 'magic tricks' for money. It provided a steady income for pocket money. And sometimes they chased after girls, which was a pastime Harry had only now discovered. After all, without the threat of Voldemort hanging over him, there were surprisingly more things he enjoyed.

"We'd love to come," Garrick said, grinning. He glanced at Harry briefly. "Although I think we might have to solve your appearance before we do that. The muggles might object somewhat."

Albus Dumbledore gave his very recognisable chuckle and now Harry suddenly wondered how he hadn't recognised him before. Even his warm, bubbling magic was suddenly much clearer, although there was an edge to it — something tense and unrestful. Whatever issues Dumbledore now had, he had come to terms with them in the future.

"Well, if two Hogwarts students and two apprentices cannot crack this spell, then undoubtedly, we don't deserve a day out, hmm?" The future headmaster said, eyes twinkling.

.

It only took an hour or two to break the spell into it's various components and find a solution to each before tying those under one umbrella incantation. A mispronunciation by Garrick caused the spots to multiply (Doge and Garrick found this terribly amusing). Albus corrected the spell and cancelled it all at once and Harry was reminded about how even in his youth, he had been considered a prodigy.

And so they went to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry greeted Francis happily and was equally as positively offered a drink. Sam, his son, who had connected Harry with the identity forger, gave him a speculative glance and a shifty smile. Wearily, Harry looked away, knowing and having just been reminded that he owed him a favour.

"Oh Harry, wait a moment—" Francis beckoned him to the bar. Harry indicated to his friends to wait for him by the door and joined his former employer.

"Look, two gentlemen came lookin' fer yeh. Well, their description was pretty spot on. They said yer were wanted fer attacking some unspeakables or summat."

Harry winced before he could clear his mind as he'd been trying to do with occlumency recently. Francis instantly recognised the truth on his face and gave a slow nod.

"I sent them on their way. Didn't tell them where yer now. Yeh make sure tah be careful, boy."

"Thank you, Francis. I am more grateful than you know," Harry said, grasping the other man's hand. Well, so the unspeakables were after him. It made sense. He hadn't done anything bad enough to warrant a huge manhunt, but they certainly going to attempt to catch the person who had embarrassed them in their own department.

"So, you said it was your birthday, correct? Where to first?" Doge asked once they had crossed the threshold to the other world, where many mysteries and journeys awaited them.

"Why, we must go to see that experimental performance your aunt was rattling on about!" Albus exclaimed, looking at Doge, who looked unconvinced.

"Uncle Méliès won't be happy to see me. The last time he saw me, he swore that'd be the last time he showed me one of his moving pictures."

"What happened?" Garrick asked, falling in line with Doge as they walked.

"Mother doesn't really talk to my uncle. He's a squib you see, but he decided to cross over to the muggle world and is experimenting with some sort of performance tactic. It involves engineering and and electic— help me out, Albus."

"Electricity. Muggles have been using it for a few years. They've harnessed magnetic charges and this allows them to power their techonolgies. Lightbulbs, projectors, the kind! Fascinating, is it not, Harry?"

"Erm, sure," Harry muttered, grinning inwardly. It was like watching three Arthur Weasleys huddled together. Oh, these three young men had no idea how electricity and muggle technology would take over the world. The entire modern world depended on it!

"Anyhow, they're calling them cinematic theatres and apparently, uncle Georges is very successful!"

Moving pictures — movies? Were they about to see one of the very first movies in history? And Elphias was related to the founder of modern cinema? Well, shit.

They did, eventually, after much bantering back and forth, decide to go see one of these silent moving pictures. Doge promised him that there would be a small quartet of musicians to play out the music to the movie. Elphias and Garrick got on like a house on fire, chattering away to each other excitedly, mostly about quidditch and the giant squid at Hogwarts. And somehow, Harry found himself falling into step with Albus as they silently followed the more rambunctious two of the group.

"Harry, may I ask why you behave so uneasily towards me?" Albus eventually asked. Harry glanced at him. There was a crease between his eyebrows and his lips had turned into a thin, tense line. He supposed that Albus was used to most people instantly liking him and warming up to hm, perhaps due to the joyful nature of his magic.

"I hope your uneasiness isn't due to my father — I am not him, I assure you. Blood purity is of no consequence to me," he said. Albus' expression had a serious honesty to it that Harry wasn't used to associating with him.

Harry, however, was lost.

"Your father?" He blinked.

"I thought it was common knowledge?" Albus looked equally as confused that Harry didn't know who his father was — or what he had done.

"Erm, I was raised in isolation — from most of wizarding society," Harry said slowly. Truth, technically.

"Ah. My father was accused of accosting some muggle boys… You see, they had attacked my sister when they caught her practicing her magic in the garden," Albus began. Pain flitted across his face, but disappeared as quickly as it had come. "My father was arrested and sent to Azkaban and assumed to be a violent blood-purist."

Harry sucked in a breath. Was this why Dumbledore in the future made such a point to show how accepted muggle-borns and half-bloods were at Hogwarts? And any other disadvantaged group of society? He was… just proving that he wasn't his father. Well, that certainly humanised him.

"I'm really sorry about that. My godfather was there too," Harry said. Half a second later, he slightly regretted having revealed that piece of information. He didn't know what prompted him to say that. Albus Dumbledore always just seemed to inspire honesty.

"My father died last week in Azkaban," Albus said very quietly, eyes glancing at Doge furtively. Honesty inspired honesty, Harry realised suddenly. He stopped for a second and Albus walked a few more paces before also slowing down. Harry bit his lip for a second and then grasped the other boy's elbow. Touch wasn't as acceptable now as it was in the future… but to hell with it.

"I lost both my parents as a baby, but they didn't raise me — I can't imagine what you're going through."

Albus gave him a sad sort of smile, then resumed walking so as not to loose sight of their two chattering friends. They walked in silence for a while, until Albus spoke, his voice wavering slightly and Harry realised that his twinkling eyes had actually been glassy. He'd been trying to hold back tears.

"Elphias and I became friends when upon arriving at Hogwarts we were both outcast; he for his current dragon-pox affliction and me for my father's crime. He has been as loyal as a Hufflepuff, truly," Albus said. Harry glanced at two walking in front of them, their laughter echoed back to him and Albus every few minutes. It was incredible what a capacity for feeling, positivity, and emotive display some people had, he decided. Ever since Cedric's death, he felt as though he were shrinking. His friendship with Garrick had at least partially rejuvenated his capacity for joy in the form of playing tricks on Nicolas and the unsuspecting elder Ollivander. Garrick also had absolutely no hidden agenda for the friendship. To him, Harry was an average kid, albeit perhaps a little more powerful. There was no Boy-Who-Lived aura surrounding him though.

"Oi Albus!" Elphias had turned briefly and was pointing at the sign above a pub. It read 'The Grazing Goat'. Albus instantly cracked a large smile and they both began laughing, before Elphias turned back to his new friend as they chatted on about their favourite duellers (which was a more common sport now than quidditch).

"Oh forgive me," Albus said, still chuckling a little intermittently. "A little inside joke; my brother quite likes his goats. Perhaps more than he does humans and — unfortunately — much more than he likes me."

"You have a brother!" Harry exclaimed without thinking, then instantly looked away when he felt Albus' inquisitive gaze meet his.

"Yes, Aberforth. He's a third year. My sister… Ariana, she isn't well enough to attend a magical school. You see, those muggle boys damaged her mind—" Albus broke off and fixed his eyes on something in the distance. Harry was reminded suddenly that this was a 16-year-old boy, not the ancient and all-powerful, all-knowledgable wizard he knew in the future. Although, the question arose whether Harry had truly known him; after all, Albus apparently was one of three children.

"—And we're here, gentlemen!" Called Elphias, gesturing wildly at an unassuming entrance.

The entrance was quite dark and a single man stood a little to the side in his booth. He looked bored out of his mind. It turned out rather quickly, that no one had thought to bring muggle money. Garrick smirked at this and cast a confundus charm in his direction, prompting a grin from Elphias and an exasperated eye-roll from Harry.

They passed into the small darkened hall beyond, where someone had set up chairs in rows in front of a screen (which really wasn't anything beyond a white cloth).

"Ah, but if it isn't my nephew!" For a moment, Harry froze, slightly used to hearing that negative tone in conjecture with that noun. However, it soon turned out that the exclamation had been aimed at Elphias, who winced and slowly turned to face the man who had spoken.

Elphias' uncle was a tall man with a balding head and a pointy beard. His black moustache was going grey in places. He was dressed immaculately as though he paid attention to the way the last lapel was cut. It was unnerving and all four boys instantly shrunk a little.

"Hullo, Mr. Georges," Elphias began, his tone beyond respectful. "Mother was telling me about your moving pictures and I decided this might be the right moment to patch things up with you."

"Your mother spoke about me?" His uncle asked skeptically, right eyebrow skyrocketing. He harrumphed when Elphias nodded somewhat unconvincingly.

"We would be greatly indebted to you, sir, if you allowed us to see your performance. As wizards we are not exposed to muggle culture often enough and in all honesty, this is a chance to learn from our creative counterparts," Albus said smoothly. Harry blinked at him in shock. Well, this certainly was a glimpse into his future self!

Georges Méliès' face softened slightly, although with his general strict countenance it was hard to tell. It was as hard to imagine him smiling as it was Snape laughing.

Eventually, he glanced at the relatively empty room (only six or seven chairs were taken), sighed, and waved a hand at one of the back rows.

"I expect you to behave well. If you do not, I shall write your mother and ban you from coming here evermore." It was now that Harry noticed the slight french accent.

The silent movie turned out to be one of the most beautiful things Harry had ever seen. It was an odd mixture between magic tricks (in the muggle way), a performance, and a story all under the guise of a fable. It was perhaps one of the most bizarre things he had ever seen, but immensely satisfying.

"My God, that was beautiful!" Garrick exclaimed upon leaving the cinematic theatre. His eyes were wide and unseeing as though he were replaying the show to himself over and over again.

"Indeed, quite impressive," Albus conceded, smiling eagerly, evidently finally warming up to the future wandmaker. Elphias had remained behind to talk and catch up with his uncle, with whom a new tentative friendship seemed to have blossomed.

Garrick checked his watch suddenly and paled instantly. "Merlin! I was supposed to be back by nine to help father— oh shit." It was uncommon to curse in this time, and an elderly lady that passed them by sent Garrick a disapproving glare.

"Sorry Harry — Merlin he'll kill me —" Garrick rushed a hand through his hair and took off running, shouting that he'd come by Harry's later. Harry laughed loudly, evidently startling Albus.

"He's certainly a lively fellow," Albus said eventually, observing Harry closely. He had calmed somewhat, but a grin still tugged at his lips.

"You don't know the half of it!" Harry replied, then gestured in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. "Shall we?"

They made their way back in relative silence, both ruminating over the day's events.

"May I see you again, Harry?" Albus asked suddenly, just as they were reaching the pub.

Harry glanced at him oddly. Weird phrasing, unless Albus was implying…

"Erm, Nicolas and I are departing on a world tour soon, it'll be culminating in the international conference of Alchemy in Cairo in the Autumn, I don't think they'll be an opportunity to see any of my friends until then."

"I would like to see you as more than a friend," Albus said, a clear tremor in his voice. He had stopped in front of the door to the Cauldron. His hands were in his pockets and his head was bowed slightly. Twin red patches had appeared on his cheeks.

Oh.

Well, Dumbledore was gay it seemed, not that it surprised Harry that much.

Harry glanced around, making sure that no one was looking before casting a quick muffling charm so that anyone who happened to pass by would only hear their drowned-out voices. Homophobia was quite extreme in the past, more so in the muggle world than the wizarding.

"I'm flattered, Albus," Harry began. This seemed to surprise the other boy, who blinked at him. "But I don't swing that way…" He trailed off.

Albus was nodding in understanding. Harry winced slightly, feeling a slight bit of hurt radiating from him.

"But it's totally okay, you'll find someone, I'm sure," he said. Albus gave him a small, sad smile.

"I have not mustered the courage to tell Elphias that the fairer sex isn't my cup of tea… He insists on coupling me with various beautiful ladies on Hogsmeade weekends." Albus snorted. "Gryffindor, indeed."

Harry fidgeted with his hands behind his back.

"Well, you told me, that must count for something, right?"

The tension between them that had been building all afternoon, dissipated in an instant. Albus gave him another slightly more confident smile and they entered the pub. This was this moment, Harry realised many months later, that would define the beginning of their life-long friendship.

So, Harry had met Ollivander sr., he's agreed to be Flamel's apprentice, he's begun to learn stuff, he's finding his interests (ones that Gryffindor house or Ron don't define for him!), meets Albus and Elphias. If you read attentively, you might catch a hint or two as to what company he and Garrick will create in the future, for some side income of course. Also, Albus is a bit OoC but mainly because he's 16, not 110, a lot of development between those two ages. He's only just really discovering his sexuality, he's coming into his own, and he's more arrogant with his intelligence, but lacks confidence in other matters. A lot of the wisdom in the books, I think, comes from the war, so as that drags on, he'll steadily become more like the Dumbledore we know and love (or well, considering most of the HPfanfiction subreddit; Hate).

From what I've read, corporeal punishment was really common in the 19th century. I don't approve of it, but I do think it is realistic to expect some parents to deal out punishments like that.

I'm that sort of friend who's probably really silent at parties and etc. but as soon as I with my tiny circle I become a rambling mess. I had to cut a third of this chapter down because of sheer unnecessary mass of text. I know that the george Méliès is really, really, not useful for the plot, but his films are some of the very first I remember watching as a kid (I'm in my early twenties, ask my parents why they let me watch that and not spongebob...?!) so I have a soft spot for him.

Anyway, for now, a lot of world building. Essentially, I wanted to use Part One to define my main characters (Harry, Nicolas, Garrick, Albus). Part Two coming next week, more action and finally some plot!