Author's Note: I was hoping the get this chapter finished before the weekend, and luckily I did! It's a little shorter than Chapter One, but I felt where I ended it was a good place to stop. A bit of a cliffhanger, actually, so if you don't like those, you might want to wait the week or so it'll probably take for Chapter Three. Special thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, or even just added this to their Story Alert!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. :(

The next morning saw copies of the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler on the kitchen table. Boy-Who-Lived Alive! declared the headline of the Prophet in bold lettering. Jack snorted at it. The front page photo was a picture of the monument in Godric's Hollow, with a caption underneath: Ministry employee claims adoption papers for Harry Potter have passed through the system. See page eleven for a recounting of Harry's mysterious disappearance!

The recounting was written by Rita Skeeter, and every bit as over-blown as Jack would expect it to be. The actual main article on Harry's guardianship was fairly sparse. A bit about the employee who noticed Harry's name on several self-filing documents, and then a lot of speculation.

No comments from Dumbledore, but the rest of the peanut gallery – primarily consisting of Fudge and Lucius Malfoy – had put in their two cents. Fudge was trying to 'subtly' imply that he'd known where Harry had been, safe and sound, all along. Malfoy was calling for Harry and his new guardian to make a public appearance, to 'assuage the public's fears and doubts regarding the well-being of that unfortunate boy'. There was a lot of 'as a father myself' rubbish too.

The Quibbler was focused more on a few possible sightings of long-dead wizarding celebrities and the ever-going search for the Crumple-Horned Snorkak.

Nothing on Quirrell being arrested or detained, Jack noted, but then that could be Dumbledore hushing it up. He was still on relatively good terms with Fudge at this point in time, after all.

Harry made a face at the Prophet's headline, but declined to comment. Instead he asked if he could take Junior to Doug's party later that day.

"I'm not sure that would be wise," Jack replied sensibly. "The Wilkens have a cat, don't they?"

Harry frowned. "Why do so many things eat rats?" he demanded in annoyance, stabbing his pancake with his fork. Jack, who would never be the foremost advocate of rodent rights, decided not to try and answer that one.

"You remembered to wrap your present for Doug then?" he asked instead. Harry nodded. Then he reached over and grabbed the Quibbler, which had become something of a common source of entertainment for the both of them, and skimmed through the pages.

"They're going on about that Lockhart again," Harry noted. "This time it says he's actually a woman using a trans-gender transfiguration to disguise herself because of the 'misogyny prevalent in modern wizarding Britain'."

"Huh."

"Says her real name is Gilda Leone, and she used to date Stubby Boardman."

"Poor Stubby. I wonder if he knows she's a fraud?"

"Let's write to the paper and ask," Harry suggested. It was something of a fun pastime for the two of them, sending letters to the Quibbler under the name Harry Potter. More often than not they ended up being published, although they were almost always inquiries about the various conspiracy theories which popped up, and never revolved around Harry himself.

The morning passed in peaceful routine after that, with Harry writing his letter, and the two of them carrying on with their potion projects until Harry's anticipation of the upcoming party started to build, and he became a little too jittery for the delicate process. Shortly before lunchtime the pair left for the Wilkens'.

"Emergency button on?" Jack asked as they walked the few blocks to the residence. Harry nodded.

"Good. Remember to mind your manners."

"I will."

"And have fun."

Harry grinned, and soon enough they were at the house, and Jack was exchanging pleasantries with Mrs. Wilkens as Harry left his gift by the door. They were the first to arrive, but Mrs. Wilkens assured him that they weren't too early.

After being told to come back around four, Jack waved goodbye to Harry and wished Doug a happy birthday, and then turned to head off himself. He noted a flash of white from the corner of his eye, and saw the uncommon sight of a snowy owl, wide awake, sitting in a tree that overlooked the Wilkens' property.

So Hedwig would keep an eye on them. Jack was glad – he'd left Harry at friends' houses before, of course, but with recent developments it seemed a much more risky situation. He was reassured by the knowledge that their location was still a secret to all but Dumbledore (and perhaps McGonagall, depending on how much she'd figured out) and the precautions he'd placed into the neighbourhood over the years.

Heading for the street corner, Jack turned, and a sound like a car back-firing filled the air as he apparated away.

Jack reappeared in a secluded alleyway sandwiched between two rather ragged-looking buildings. As he stepped out, his eyes found a second-story window in a building across the street, which held a tiny sign reading 'Beacon & Bacon, Private Investigators' in cursive print. There were no charms or magical repellants on the structure, nothing to stop a muggle from entering the building, taking the stairs to the second floor, and inquiring after the services therein. Indeed, Mr. Beacon and Ms. Bacon were occasionally hired by muggles, none of whom even realized that they'd had dealings with magical folk. Money was money, after all.

It was one of the reasons why Jack hired them.

Crossing the street, he made his way up to the office, and before he could even consider knocking on the door it was flung open and a well-manicured hand grabbed him by the wrist.

"Jack!" Sarah Bacon crowed merrily. "What on earth took you so long? I expected you to come ages ago!"

"My nephew received his Hogwarts letter," he explained, freeing his hand with a slight wince. "He couldn't wait to go to Diagon Alley and pick up his supplies."

"Oh, lovely, I'm sure he'll do wonderfully in whatever house it is you want him to end up. You came at a perfect time! Mr. Beacon is out following someone for another client." Sarah practically shoved him into her office and cleared a pile of manila folders off of the chair across from her desk.

"Where are the photos?" Jack asked, cutting to the chase as he settled into the chair. Sarah winked at him, tucking a dark curl behind one ear.

"Impatient as ever, I see," she declared, waggling a finger at him. Her heels clicked against the hard office flooring as she crossed the room and pulled a folder from the top of one of many teetering stacks. Returning, she dumped it onto his lap with a flourish.

"I think you'll agree, they're quite damning. Not that I'm surprised. Most of those Ministry types and politicians are all a bunch of deviants anyway."

Jack pulled open the envelope, then winced and shut it again just as quickly.

"Ugh!" he declared. "You couldn't have warned me?! I never wanted to see that much of Umbridge!"

"I don't blame you, darling," Sarah clucked sympathetically. "But you asked for the worst."

"To be honest I was expecting something more along the lines of accepting bribes…" Jack muttered, wincing and rubbing his eyes in an effort to free them from the image that was now burned into his corneas.

"Oh, we have that, too," Sarah consoled him. "It's at the back of the folder, though. Mr. Beacon insisted."

"Bastard."

"In his defense, darling, he was the one who had to take the pictures."

"…Alright, fine, pitiable bastard then," Jack conceded grudgingly. "So there's obvious blackmail potential in the photos, if the top one is any indication, and you've dug up something on bribes. Who from? You wouldn't have sounded so damn smug on the phone the other evening if it were anything small."

Sarah smiled at him. It was a predatory smile, rather vaguely reminiscent of Rita Skeeter's but with less plastic to it.

"It's a case of birds and stones, Jack," she supplied vaguely, rummaging on her desk for another file. Producing it with a triumphant gleam in her eye, she deposited this onto his lap as well. "The big bird's finally taken a hit."

A giddy feeling rose up in his stomach. "Malfoy?" Jack asked excitedly, opening the file with only a mild sense of foreboding left over from the last one. He needn't have feared – this time only text greeted his gaze. Sarah nodded.

"It gets better, Jack. Minister Fudge has been a very naughty boy."

"You have proof?"

"I wouldn't have called you if I didn't," She replied, looking slightly affronted. "Everyone and their owl knows that Fudge has been taking money from Malfoy. But he's been uncommonly clever about it. Mr. Beacon thought you were right about Umbridge being part of the whole web, though of course he'd never tell you that to your face, so he's been leaning on certain connected parties for ages."

"And somebody finally broke?"

"Posthumously," she answered. At Jack's slightly horrified expression, she hastily clarified. "We didn't kill the man, Jack. For Merlin's sake! What kind of establishment do you think I run here?"

Jack had the grace to look a little sheepish. "Sorry," he apologized. "It was just how you phrased it."

Sarah sniffed. "Quite. Anyway, what do you know about Belenus Mumford?"

The name sounded vaguely familiar. "…wait a minute… wasn't he one of Fudge's campaign sponsors?" he asked, recalling when the man had run for office after Bagnold's term was up. His efforts to see Fudge discredited before he became Minister had all run into some noteworthy stumbling blocks. The pureblood aristocracy had proven themselves to be a major pain in the arse, Mumford included.

"He was," Sarah said in a pleased tone of voice that implied Jack had just performed a rather clever trick. "He was also Fudge's uncle. Clean as whistle, too, as near as Mr. Beacon or I could find – his association with the Minister was based on familial loyalty."

"So what happened?" Jack asked, intrigued that he should be the nut to crack, and just how exactly he managed to do it from the grave.

"Old Belenus apparently had some suspicions about Fudge's reciprocation of familial loyalty, and so, whatever his reasons, he left quite a lot of incriminating evidence to his children when he passed on – of natural causes." The last bit was added with a pointed look in Jack's direction. He ignored it.

"And one of the younger generation spilled the beans?"

"The middle son proved to be much more agreeable to Mr. Beacon's line of thinking," Sarah offered in a pleasant tone of voice.

"In other words, Roy scared the pants off of him?"

"Essentially. The poor man just needed a polite shove in the right direction. I do believe some bitterness involving his cousin and a Christmas pudding from when they were children came into play as well," she explained thoughtfully. Jack shook his head.

"Wizards," he muttered, recognizing the hypocrisy of his judgment. Sarah merely smiled, and then began the engaging process of going through the contents of both folders as she explained what evil truths were contained therein.

Jack was regretfully forced to at least skim through the Umbridge photos – the fact that they moved didn't help in the slightest – and he wondered if it would be entirely unwise to risk self-obliviating his own mind afterward.

In the end he decided he'd let his nightmares sort it out.

Still, by the time he left the private investigator's offices, Jack was in a very pleasant mood. He had enough incriminating evidence to get Umbridge sacked, and to make both Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge extremely uncomfortable. Mr. Mumford, perhaps knowing his son's low tolerance for intimidation, had not entrusted him with enough information to get his nephew ousted from office – but it was a start, at least. A crack in the foundation of blackmail, bribes, and bigotry that had thusfar successfully protected the incompetent stooge.

Checking his watch, Jack noted that there was still some time before Douglas' party would finish. Not enough to get a head-start on his efforts with regards to the current administration, however. That would take some due consideration in order to be implemented properly.

Weighing his options, Jack decided he'd use the opportunity to go birthday shopping for Harry. With that in mind, he made his way down between two buildings and then, checking for observing muggles, apparated to Diagon Alley.

The alley was even more crowded than it had been the day before, with most of the older Hogwarts students meeting up with their friends to do school shopping and catch up on their summers. Jack felt a twinge of nostalgia, and then the surfacing of distant memories as he caught sight of Oliver Wood standing outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies with a wistful look on his face.

Should he get a broom for Harry? The boy would undoubtedly like it, but then again, he was going away for Hogwarts shortly and first years weren't permitted their own. Of course, the last time around there had been an exception made to that rule – but so much was different this time that Jack knew he couldn't rely on the same tenuous string of events pulling through once again. It would make a better gift for the boy's next birthday, he decided, in the long run of things.

There was always the possibility of joke items, of course, but Jack felt that as an authority figure he should try and avoid encouraging bad behavior, if only for the look of the thing. Besides which, while Harry liked to laugh, he wasn't much of a trickster.

Robes were too boring. Books he had plenty of to go through before school, and then the whole Hogwarts Library at his disposal afterwards. He already had his rat, and if Jack were being honest with himself, he'd admit to spoiling the boy a little bit the other day. But it was his first trip to the Alley, he reasoned – and it wasn't as though he bought him anything obscenely expensive or lavish.

"Do you think it's really real, Mum?"

"Of course he's real, Ginny, don't be ridiculous!"

"Ron, don't antagonize your sister. Ginny, dear, of course he's real."

"I didn't mean it like that. I mean, do you think he's going to be going to Hogwarts and everything? Like a regular boy?"

"Maybe he'll show up in a gilded carriage-"

"-drawn by phoenixes and griffins-"

"-with Lord Harry Potter, future husband of ickle Gin-Gin-"

"-engraved on the front!"

"Boys!"

"Sorry, Mum."

"I want to go to Hogwarts this year, Mum! Why can't I go with Ron?"

"Now, Ginny, it'll be your turn soon enough…"

Jack had stiffened at the familiar voices as they passed behind him, his gaze firmly fixed in the window of the nearest shop, although they saw nothing at all inside of it. Part of him wanted nothing more than to turn around, to see that distinctive cluster of red hair that marked the Weasley family… but something stopped him, halting his muscles and keeping him still. Only when the sounds of bickering and conversation had drifted out of earshot did he relax somewhat and remember to breathe.

Dear Merlin, Jack thought, and it's going to be like this from here on out, isn't it?

The notion brought a peculiar mix of elation and foreboding with it.

Moving on, Jack eventually found two presents which he thought both appropriate for Harry, and easy on his own nerves. The first was a new pair of glasses. This was Harry's 'mature and practical' gift, although of course, Jack had several enchantments placed into the lenses. He intended to celebrate his charge's official entrance to the magical world by giving him gifts that reflected it. The glasses acted as a sort of foe-glass; when tapped with a wand and spoken to with a password, Harry would see anyone in the room who meant him harm as covered in a red glow. The more serious the harm (like a practical joke versus murderous intent) the brighter the glow.

As they were being custom made, Jack wouldn't be able to get them until the day before Harry's party. That left him free to find Harry's second, more frivolous gift after placing the order, and he discovered it in a miniature set of Quidditch figures, complete with two teams and a pitch. Rather like wizard's chess, the player could use the set to command the figures into a game of Quidditch – subsequently working out strategies while enjoying the tiny show. Both gifts were rare and expensive, and definitely counted as the most pricey ones he'd ever gotten for Harry.

He worried over that, a little. Jack was always trying to be careful to make sure that he maintained the proper balance between spoiling Harry and neglecting him. But Harry was a good boy, happy and energetic, and he figured that a little spoiling wouldn't go amiss – especially now, when insecurities were running high and their whole world was about to tip over, moving from secrets and safety and into the broad, open light.

Returning home, Jack carefully wrapped and hid the Quidditch action-set, and then headed off for the Wilkens'. Harry greeted him cheerily and said enthusiastic farewells to Doug and the remaining guests, remembering to thank Mrs. Wilkens, but was afterward oddly quiet on the walk home.

"Did you have a nice time?" Jack asked lightly, wondering at the change in Harry's demeanor.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "It was fun. They had a magician and everything. Not a real one, of course, but he made good balloon animals." He lifted his yellow balloon-giraffe in testament. Jack nodded.

"And Doug liked his gift?"

"Mmhmm."

"…That's good."

"Yeah." Harry paused, clearly deep in his own thoughts. He might not have even realized that he'd stopped walking. Jack patiently waited for him to sort out whatever small internal storm was apparently happening.

"Doug's really not a wizard," Harry breathed at last, looking remarkably forlorn. He stared up at Jack. His eyes were a picture of frustration, sorrow, and turmoil. "He's my best friend, Uncle Jack! How come he's not a wizard? It isn't fair… I wish I could tell him! The whole party I wanted to tell him everything, about Diagon Alley and Junior and going to Hogwarts, but I couldn't. I hate it!"

Jack hesitated for a moment, watching as Harry kicked at a stray pebble on the walk and let out a gusty sight. He'd never had this particular problem himself. Jack had long grown used to keeping secrets, to the devilish necessity of it, before he had to deal with hiding his magical heritage from muggles. And, in truth, he was more acquainted with having secrets kept from him when he was Harry's age, rather than vice versa.

"Harry," Jack said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. He gathered his thoughts as identical green eyes stared up into his own. "I don't always agree with the Statute of Secrecy, but in a way, you're doing Doug a favor by not telling him."

Harry gave him a bewildered look. "What do you mean?" he asked. Glancing around, Jack carefully urged his charge back into a slow walk, keeping a hand on his shoulder, and tried to explain.

"Well, look at it this way… if you found out there was a world full of magical things, and people who could do magic, but that you couldn't… don't you think you'd feel bad?" he reasoned. Harry tilted his head contemplatively.

"You mean, like knowing Diagon Alley was there this whole time, but not being able to go?" he suggested. Jack latched onto the example, nodding.

"Pretty much. Only you knew there would be a time when you'd get to go – when you would learn magic and become a wizard. For Doug, if he knew about the magical world, he'd also have to live with knowing he'd never be part of it. Some people react badly to that sort of thing." Jack didn't think Doug was a likely candidate for becoming another Petunia Dursley, of course, the boy was very even-tempered… but then again, you could never be sure. Petunia's jealousy of her sister's magic had turned into hatred, and that hatred had allowed her to bitterly neglect and mistreat her sister's only child.

Harry pondered the conundrum of knowing about something remarkable, and knowing equally that you wouldn't be a part of it. He supposed his uncle made a good point, although something about it rang hollow inside of him.

"You think Doug would be jealous?" he clarified quietly. Jack shrugged.

"It's hard to say," he replied. "And sometimes it's better not to put a person in that position in the first place."

"But if it were me, I think I'd want to know," Harry argued. "Even if I couldn't actually do magic, it would still be cool to see it and know people who could."

Jack considered this. "For a while, maybe," he agreed. "But you don't think you'd get frustrated with it eventually?"

Harry thought about what it would be like if Doug were magical and he wasn't. Would knowing about magic be worth it, even if he had to watch his friend do spells and become a wizard while Harry went on with his normal life? Would he start to dislike Doug for having something that he didn't?

A little, Harry decided, being honest with himself. But he'd still rather know, and in the end he would never blame Doug for something so completely beyond his control. He said as much to his uncle, who only shrugged by way of response.

"Well, maybe you're right," Jack said agreeably. He didn't really enjoy keeping the muggles in the dark himself – that was why he'd explained so much to the Grangers last night – but he accepted the logic behind secrecy from the general public. The Grangers needed to know. The Wilkens didn't. It was a hard line to draw, but necessary nonetheless. "Either way you and I don't make the laws, so when it starts to bother you, just remember that it is outside of your control. You aren't lying to Doug. The Ministry is."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That doesn't really help," he mumbled.

"Cheer up," Jack encouraged, nudging him a little and giving a small smile. "You'll see Doug during the holidays, I'm sure, and even if you can't talk about magical things you'll still find plenty to do."

Actually, Jack suspected that this wouldn't be the case – it could be difficult to carry on a conversation with someone when you couldn't tell them what you'd been doing the past few months – but Harry didn't need to hear that right now.

The next few days passed uneventfully for the most part. Dumbledore stopped by again for another round of interrogation/intimidation, which failed spectacularly, before Jack peppered him with questions regarding Quirrel's status and a replacement Defence professor. The headmaster was hesitant to part with information, and they exchanged some distinctly heated barbs, ending with Jack threatening to withdraw Harry from Hogwarts and Dumbledore threatening to bring him up before the Wizengamot on charges of identity fraud if he did.

At least he'd actually found a crime which Jack couldn't wriggle out of, given that regardless of the legitimacy of his blood connection to Harry, he still wasn't 'Jack Weatherby'.

Things had concluded rather explosively – well, in a simmering-below-the-surface kind of way – and Dumbledore had left after they stalemated. After the visit, Harry was sullen and on edge until the day before his birthday, when the excitement finally kicked in. Jack reluctantly sent his acceptance letter to the school for him. It was due before the thirty-first, and despite certain setbacks, he still wanted the boy to attend; he'd just have to deal with the Quirrell situation himself if it came to that.

Harry thoroughly enjoyed his birthday, despite having Hermione vomit on him partway through. It was his own fault, anyway, as Jack had thrown the party in a local park, and Harry had decided to see how fast he could spin his friend on one of the swings.

Afterwards, when they got home, Jack gave him his magical gifts. Harry politely accepted his new glasses, perking up a bit when his uncle explained the charm on them, but the miniature Quidditch set definitely stole the show. For most of the rest of the summer, when he wasn't running around with his friends, Harry could be found upstairs, directing the little figures into new maneuvers or sometimes just watching them fly wildly over their pitch.

But all too soon, it seemed, the summer came to an end.

Harry had no problem with crossing the barrier into Platform 9 ¾. In fact, he guessed what to do quite correctly himself, but double-checked his uncle before he went charging into the barrier. The pair were both a cacophony of nerves, excitement, and apprehensions – Harry because it would be his first day at a new school, and he already knew that he disliked his headmaster, and Jack for too many reasons to safely list.

As they stepped onto the platform, Jack quickly busied himself with double-checking Harry.

"Got your button?"

"Yes," Harry sighed, having gone through this before they left for the station already.

"Got the EPK?" The 'Emergency Portkey' was part of Jack's newest bought of what Harry considered paranoid security measures.

"Yes."

"And your wands?"

"Yes."

"All three?"

"All three. Uncle Jack, I'm fine!" Harry insisted, glancing around. "Do you see Hermione anywhere?"

Pausing in his inspection, Jack took in the station – and then almost immediately wished he hadn't. The feeling of nostalgia that overcame him was almost too much. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed Cedric and Amos Diggory, and off on the other side of the station he thought he saw Draco Malfoy's familiar, snotty expression.

And, not ten feet away, Molly Weasley was attempting to keep the twins from tormenting Percy while she held her daughter's hand. On her other side, her youngest son was looking around with a sort of nervous anticipation.

"Uncle Jack?" Harry asked in concern, after his uncle failed to answer him for several moments. Jack snapped out of it.

"What? Oh! Er, I don't see her, Harry. But knowing her, she's probably already onboard," Jack offered. "I'm sure you'll track her down."

There didn't seem to be any excuses to delay after that, and so Jack helped Harry with his luggage, and then, at last, knelt down in front of him to say his goodbye.

"Alright. Remember what I told you," he began, looking into Harry's eyes.

"Don't leave the grounds. Don't answer any unaddressed mail without a professor there. Don't go haring off on my own, even if it is an emergency, and don't look Professor Snape in the eye if I can help it," Harry quoted diligently. Smiling, Jack ruffled his hair.

"Good. Now, have lots of fun, too, and remember you can still let me know if you need anything or have any troubles."

Harry nodded, with Junior peaking up from his pocket and twitching his whiskers at Jack, and then he was boarding the train and his uncle stepped back to let him go.

He waited on the platform until the train left, and was repaid for the sentiment when a small, red-haired girl crashed into him as she raced alongside it, crying and waving at one of the compartment windows.

"Ginny!" Molly Weasley scolded. "What were you thinking, running off like that? Are you alright? I'm terribly sorry, sir, I hope she didn't hurt you."

"It's fine," Jack insisted, waving off the concern as he moved to help Ginny back onto her feet. The little girl looked sufficiently embarrassed and still teary-eyed, but otherwise unhurt. Mrs. Weasley looked him up and down.

"First time, dear?" she asked, and Jack nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What?" he managed to blurt out. Mrs. Weasley clarified.

"It's your fist time sending one off, isn't it?" she said. Jack nodded, and she patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Believe me, it doesn't get any easier. Is it just the one, or do you have more?"

Jack forced himself to breathe.

"It's just him," he replied. Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"I have seven, if you can believe it. Ginny here's the last one, and she'll be leaving, too, next year. The house is going to feel rather quiet after that," she said wistfully. "Oh, but where are my manners? I'm Molly Weasley," she declared, extending a hand out to him.

"Jack Weatherby," he replied, gently shaking hands with her. "I came to see my nephew off."

"Wrangled another one, have you, Molly?" an unfamiliar voice asked, and Jack blinked as a woman came around him from behind. There was something about her face, though, that pulled at his memory. It was round and cheery, and very open.

In fact, he rather thought that she might have been related to Mrs. Weasley, as she moved to stand beside her. They looked like they could be, in a distant sort of way. Cousins, perhaps?

"Hello," the woman greeted, and the way she smiled at him pulled at Jack's mind in a very nagging sort of fashion. "I'm Alice Longbottom. I don't believe we've met."

Well, that explained that. Now he knew what to look for, Jack spotted the resemblance immediately.

"Jack here was seeing his nephew off. Couldn't his parents make it?" Mrs. Weasley asked, and Jack winced.

"They passed away a long time ago," he explained. This response was met with the proper sympathies and condolences, and Jack assured them that it was quite alright, there'd been many years to mend those wounds. Not, he thought, that you ever truly can.

Molly and Alice, as he had to remember to call them, were apparently cousins as well, although only in that distant pureblood sort of fashion. Somehow Alice managed to produce her husband Frank from the woodwork (they both seemed to have an uncanny knack for popping up out of nowhere) and the three of them wrangled him into joining them for an early lunch.

"Nev'll be a Gryffindor, I guarantee it," Frank declared as they settled into a restaurant which was, by the looks of it, a common haunt for parents who had just seen their children off onto the Express.

"Oh, for the love of… you know, Frank, Ravenclaw is a perfectly fine house, you don't have to keep spouting the virtues of Gryffindor just because of what your uncle said."

"It's got nothing to do with Uncle Algie! I just think that Nev's got the stuff to be a lion. Up Gryffindor!"

"Well, he'll probably be in the same house as my Ron, then," Molly mused. "Not that he has to be in Gryffindor, of course, we'll love him no matter what, but… well…"

"Weasleys always end up in Gryffindor," Alice finished for her. "We know, Molly, and goodness knows you've already had five rounds to prove it." She turned to Jack. "What about your boy? Where do you think he'll go?"

"I think Harry Potter's going to be in Gryffindor," Ginny piped up. Up until then she'd merely been sniffling rather disappointedly into her sleeve.

"Ginny, hush, dear, we aren't talking about Harry Potter for goodness' sake," Molly chided her lightly.

Jack almost laughed at the irony. As it was, he couldn't keep in a smile. "I'm not sure," he managed after a moment. "I suppose anything's possible…" And that was true, he realized. His Harry had a lot of good qualities (and not-so-great qualities) that could land him almost anywhere. He wondered if the hat wouldn't even take longer with him than it had when Jack was Sorted.

"Well, what about his parents?" Frank pried.

"Gryffindor," Jack answered noncommittally, feeling a bit like a broken record after how many times the name had been said at the table. Alice heaved a long sigh.

"How on earth do I always end up surrounded by Gryffindors?" she inquired of the ceiling. "Please tell me you weren't one as well…?"

Jack's apologetic look was the only reply she needed. Alice tossed her hands up into the air.

"I don't know how you lot do it! It's like you have some sort of permanent enchantment that literally pulls you towards other Gryffindors. Do you know, I think it's actually been an entire year since I've spoken to another Ravenclaw?"

"No offence, love," Frank said, patting her shoulder. "But not a lot of your housemates went into law enforcement."

Alice shrugged. "I suppose I can only blame myself," she lamented. Jack found that he quite liked the Longbottoms. Though he had been the one to leave the anonymous tip that saved them from being attacked by the Lestranges, he hadn't had anything to do with them after the fact. Alice had a good sense of humour, and was easily led into going off onto fond tangents about her children. Apparently, Neville also had two younger brothers, both of whom were currently grounded at home with their grandmother.

"The devils snuck off when we were getting Nev's school things," Frank explained, looking quite amused. Then he caught sight of Alice's expression and quickly sobered. "Which, of course, was a very dangerous thing to do. Merlin only knows what could have happened to them."

"At least they didn't blow anything up," Molly said with a rather distant, dark look in her eye. "You would not believe the trouble Fred and George got themselves into last week…"

Molly Weasley was exactly as Jack remembered her; friendly, stern, loving, and mildly terrifying when she was in the right mood. Ginny, he could tell, did not think very much of having lunch with a small gathering of adults, and picked at her food moodily. It was a little difficult to connect this tiny, freckle-faced girl (who occasionally glowered at him) with his own Ginny of memory, who had blossomed into popularity and confidence by the time he'd started to notice her.

Not that he'd noticed her for very long, either, before she had died. So many dead faces… Jack snapped himself out of his thoughts. "Er, yes Molly?" he said, realizing that she'd been addressing him.

"I said, what's your nephew's name? You never did mention it," she repeated.

"Harry," he answered. And then, because everyone would know as soon as the children started sending letters home anyway, "Harry Potter, to be precise."

Frank choked on his water.

Harry looked at the students bustling around the train, moving between compartments as they searched for friends or empty seats. Passing one open compartment door, Harry spied a boy with dreadlocks showing the contents of a box to some other students, one of whom gave a sudden shriek of fright. A blonde girl – another first year, by her robes – all but shoved him out of the way as she hurried past him, back towards the front of the train. She looked upset.

Peering around, Harry attempted to locate Hermione, wondering if his uncle had been wrong about her probably already being on the train.

After searching fruitfully for another few minutes, Harry gave up and just decided to try and find an empty – or reasonably empty – compartment. He slid open the door to a few, disturbing one group of older students with green and silver ties who looked a bit huffy, before he came to a mostly-empty one. Only another first year boy, a gangly redhead, sat in it. He was looking out the window.

"Excuse me," Harry began cheerfully, drawing his attention. "Do you mind if I sit here? I was looking for my friend, but I don't know if she's on the train yet, and everywhere else is full."

The other boy shrugged, and Harry took that for assent and secured a seat for himself.

An awkward silence settled in.

It didn't really break until the train began to move, and the other boy looked back out of the window again, and began waving. Presumably to his family. Harry decided to join him, and could only just pick out his Uncle Jack amidst the steam and crowd. He did manage to catch it, however, as a little girl running alongside the train barreled into him. The boy at his side winced.

"Ouch, poor Ginny…" he said.

"I think she just crashed into my uncle," Harry offered. The redhead whistled.

"It's a small world." He smiled. "I'm Ron Weasley, by the way."

Harry took his hand as he extended it. "Harry Weatherrrr… well, actually, I guess it's Harry Potter now," he corrected sheepishly. "It's my real name, but I haven't gone by it since I was a baby."

Ron Weasley's jaw dropped, and his hand abruptly froze mid-motion. His eyes drifted to Harry's forehead and, after a moment, Harry obligingly lifted his fringe. If it was at all possibly, Ron's jaw would have dropped even further.

"Blimey," he breathed. "Are you sure?"

Harry laughed out loud. He felt a little bad about it afterwards, though, as the other boy immediately turned bright red. But before he could reply or apologize, the compartment door slid open, and a familiar bushy-haired girl gave a sudden exhalation of relied.

"There you are, Harry, I've been looking everywhere for you!" she exclaimed. He rolled his eyes.

"Well I was looking for you, too, you know. I just sensibly gave up after a while," he retorted, settling back into his seat as she practically flopped down beside him. Harry blinked when one of the two books in her arms was dumped into his lap and looked at her inquiringly.

"I finished it," she explained. "Remember? You loaned it to me last week. I was going to give it to your uncle at the station, but we couldn't find you and I didn't want to miss the train."

"Oh," Harry replied. Ron was looking between the two of them in confusion.

"Who are you?" he blurted at Hermione, who seemed not to have noticed he was even there. She started, and then introduced herself.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she offered, extending a hand. Ron took it, but still looked a little bewildered.

"I've never heard of you," he responded, and Harry had to suppress a surprised laugh. Hermione bristled.

"Well," she said. "That's an unusual name."

"What?" Ron asked, now totally lost.

"'Ive Never Heardofyou'. It's a really peculiar name – is there a hyphen or two in it?" Hermione clarified, and Ron glared at her.

"My name's Ron Weasley," he snapped, pulling his hand back. "And how come you know Harry Potter?"

Hermione blinked.

"He lives around the corner from me," she explained reasonably. "We went to school together."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I was trying to find Hermione when I came in. Remember? I said I was looking for someone?"

Ron seemed to have trouble with the concept that Harry Potter did anything as normal as live in a neighborhood, or go to school. He kept opening his mouth, as if he wanted to ask something, but then closing it as some internal force seemed to override him. They were finally interrupted when the trolly came by, and a pleasant-faced witch asked if they wanted anything to eat or drink.

Ron mumbled something about sandwiches, and Hermione produced a packet of sugar-free sweets from her barking mad parents, but Harry got up and used some of his allowance to buy a few treats.

"Want some?" Harry asked Ron, holding out a Cauldron Cake. Hermione was examining his purchases with a cultural interest.

"Nah," Ron replied, his face rather pink. "My Mum made sandwiches." He held up a triangle of bread and meat in example. Harry shrugged.

"I'll trade you," he offered, and reluctantly, Ron agreed. He didn't show any reluctance about eating some sweets once he had them, however, Harry noticed, although the redhead's eyes watched Hermione curiously.

"What's she doing?" he asked. Hermione glared at him.

"She is trying to figure out what everything is," she replied, holding up a chocolate frog. Ron blinked, and Harry sighed.

"Her parents are dentists. They're nuts. They make her eat sugar-free sweets, and plain cereal, and everything," he explained in a long-suffering manner. "And they keep passing bad habits on to my uncle."

"They're good habits, Harry, really, and you eat too much sugar anyway," Hermione scolded. Ron looked between the two of them.

"Dentists?" he asked, brow furrowing. Then it cleared in understanding. "Oh! So you're a muggle-born, then?"

She frowned at him. "Yes." Her voice was a trifle defiant when she replied, and Ron raised his hands.

"Hey, no objections here! My dad's mad for muggle stuff. Completely bonkers. He collects plugs," Ron insisted. Hermione held her glare for a moment longer, but then let it slide, seeming to decide that Ron was harmless, and shrugged.

"I wish Doug could've come," Harry said aloud after a moment, opening the chocolate frog which Hermione had been examining shortly before. "He'd have loved it."

"Who's Doug?" Ron asked.

"A friend of ours from home," Harry replied. "He's a muggle, though, so he had to go to a different school."

"Oh." Ron fidgeted. "You grew up around muggles, then?" At Hermione's look, he hastened to clarify. "Only my family's all wizarding, you see, so I don't know much about it."

Harry shrugged and nodded. "My Uncle Jack sort of took me into hiding after my parents died. Since I'm famous I couldn't really be around magical folk, so we live in a muggle neighborhood – well, mostly muggle, since Hermione's a witch, I guess."

Ron looked confused again. Harry felt a bit bad for him; he seemed to be getting lost an awful lot. "Why couldn't you be around magical folk? Everybody loves you! You defeated You-Know-Who!"

Once again, before Harry could reply, the door to the compartment slid open. A pair of identical mops of red hair, with matching identical faces, popped in.

"Ronniekins!" both boys declared in unison, smiling broadly at the sight of the boy who Harry guessed was their brother. Ron turned the colour of a tomato and looked at them in horror as they stepped into the compartment.

"Mum told us we ought to check up on you!"

"Are you warm enough?"

"Have you been polite to the other children?"

"Do you need to use the washroom?"

"Are you homesick already, because-"

"-we could get you an owl-"

"-and let you write to Mummy and Daddy,-"

"-so they can take ickle won-won-"

"-home for another year!"

The last part was said in unison.

"Wow," Harry said afterwards, noticing that his new friend was about to blow his top. "First snacks, now this. I didn't think the train ride would be so entertaining!" He nudged Hermione with his shoulder, and she grinned a little.

Focusing on him for the first time, both boys turned around, and then gave a synchronized bow.

"We live-"

"-to amuse!"

As they came back up, their gazes fixed on his face. As two sets of identical brown eyes suddenly fixed on a certain point on his forehead, Harry realized he'd forgotten to pat his fringe back down over his scar. For a moment, he was irrationally worried. Then he realized that soon enough the whole school would know who he was (at the very least when the teachers started taking role call) and pushed the worry aside.

"He's not…"

"He is…"

"It's Harry Potter!"

"It is?!" a new voice suddenly declared, and Harry realized with a start that the twins had left the compartment door open. His nerves began to jangle as he heard a murmur of voices carry down the train, and faces popping into the open doorway, gaping at him like he was some sort of spectacle. There was a sudden commotion in the corridor as several students tried to push past each other at once. Harry stared at their reactions in shock, wondering if they were about to be stampeded.

"How rude!" Hermione snapped, getting to her feet with all the imperious rage an eleven-year-old could muster, and slamming the compartment door shut with a bang. Ron and the twins jumped.

"Bloody hell…" one of the twins breathed.

"Are you his bodyguard?" another asked, and she rolled her eyes.

Harry turned to Ron.

"That," he said. "Is one of the answers to your question." Although, even Harry had not expected to get such a startling reaction from the rest of the train. He wondered if his uncle wasn't less paranoid than he thought. Ron shrugged.

"They just want to get a look at you," he insisted. "After all, you're famous. And everybody thought you were dead for a really long time."

"Or worse," one of the twins agreed. Then both of them shared a look with each other, and grinned.

"But allow us to extend you our services-"

"-in the form of a much-needed distraction," they offered, with another bow, and then before Harry could answer the pair swept out of the compartment. The door slid shut behind them. Through it, the trio could hear the muffled sound of voices, followed by a loud 'bang' and then a lot of running footsteps.

Silence reigned.

"Well," Hermione said after a long moment. "That was… interesting. What do you suppose they did?" she asked.

"Something against the rules," Ron replied, looking as though his brain had decided to run off and leave the rest of him on auto-pilot for the day. "They're always breaking rules, Fred and George. Mum keeps hoping they'll grow out of it."

Hermione looked only mildly disapproving before she shrugged. "Oh, well. I suppose it worked anyway. Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, noticing that the other boy had gone very quiet.

Harry waved her off. "It's just weird, that's all," he explained. Then he glanced out of the compartment's window. "I guess we should probably put our school robes on…" he mused, wondering exactly how much time had passed.

"Good idea," Hermione agreed, and the three busied themselves sorting out their uniforms. Junior scrambled out of Harry's pocket as he changed, and Ron caught sight of him, blinking as the little white rat gave him a curious examination.

"Is that yours?" he asked.

"He is," Harry agreed with a grin, trying unsuccessfully to sort out his tie. "His name's Harry Jr., but I just call him Junior."

Ron looked confused again. "But you're Harry Potter. Why did you bring a rat to school? They aren't very popular." By Ron's way of thinking, a famous celebrity ought to have a really distinguished-looking owl, or some kind of magical familiar, or something. Right?

Harry shrugged. "So what?" he asked, feeling defensive. "I like him. He's really clever, and he never gets lost or bites or anything."

Ron raised his hands in defense, feeling like he kept stepping on toes that he didn't even realize were there. "No, er, I don't have anything against rats! I have one, see?" he offered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a very scruffy, elderly-looking grey rat, who appeared to be asleep.

Junior's whiskers twitched.

"His name's Scruffle. He used to belong to my brother, Percy, but he gave him to me this summer," Ron explained. Scruffle raised his head upon hearing his name, cracking open one eye to gaze at the new, young rat across from him, and then went back to sleep.

"Huh," Harry said after a minute.

Ron turned red again. "I know, he's a bit rubbishy. Everything I get is hand-me-downs," he explained, with a rather bitter tone of voice. Harry and Hermione, who had both grown up as only children, couldn't do much but shrug rather apologetically.

"Well, you can play with Junior anytime," Harry offered. "Although he likes to climb onto people's heads for some reason. I think it's the view."

Junior twitched, and then Harry scooped him up and extended him invitingly to Ron, who hesitantly reached out a hand and accepted the small animal. Leaning over the redhead's fingers, the little rat examined Scruffle more closely, who ignored him in favor of wheezing drowsily.

"He is sort of cute," Ron conceded, and Harry grinned. Hermione just shook her head and cracked open her book, managing to get in a little light reading before the Express pulled into Hogsmeade station.

When they arrived, Ron quickly returned Junior to Harry, and it was with a great deal of trepidation that the other boy patted his hair down and exited the compartment. Fortunately, their arrival and the ensuing bustle seemed to keep most of the other students occupied, and nobody shouted his name or tried to rush over to him.

Once they had gotten clear of the train, Harry wondered where they were meant to go. Then he heard a loud voice calling for the first year students, and followed it to a veritable giant of a man, dressed in a moleskin coat and with a big bushy beard. Despite his intimidating appearance, the man had a jovial voice, and didn't seem at all dangerous.

"Firs' years!" he bellowed, and Harry felt a jab in his side as a sharp-faced blonde boy elbowed past him.

"Oi, watch it, Malfoy!" someone else growled from behind them.

"Sod off, Longbottom!" Malfoy snarled back, paying Harry no notice as the boy behind him – Longbottom, presumably – darted forward. He was round-faced and rather stocky, and a good deal bigger than his opponent, Harry noticed. Reaching out, Longbottom shoved Malfoy, successfully sending him to the ground. As Harry was wondering if he should step in or not, two other boys (and he had never known that human children could resemble baby gorillas so closely) rushed in, one grabbing Longbottom's arm and the other giving him a punch to the side.

"Two against one! That's dirty fighting!" Harry snapped at them, moving to push the baby-gorilla closest to him off of their target, but just then the enormous guide stepped in and literally pulled everyone away from each other.

"No fightin'! None o' tha, now, none o' that!" he said loudly, lifting the blonde boy off of the ground and planting him back on his feet. He was rewarded for his efforts with a sharp, steely-grey glare.

"He started it!" Malfoy whined, pointing at Longbottom.

"Call off your goons and I'll finish it, too!" Longbottom declared hotly. He curled one hand into a fist and brandished it in a threatening manner.

"Too right, Nev! You tell him!" Ron goaded, moving past Harry to the other boy's side and glowering at Malfoy and his friends. But just when it seemed that another fight might break out, the big man moved between the two groups, and successfully cut them off from one another.

"None o' that, I said!" he bellowed, and the sound was sufficiently intimidating that the fight was ended. Satisfied, the man – who introduced himself as the groundskeeper, Hagrid – began leading the students down towards a rather sizeable body of water.

"I'd like to black that pompous snot's eye," Longbottom growled under his breath as they started walking. Ron nodded in fervent agreement.

"Can you believe his nerve, shoving people around like that? Like he's king or something. Someone ought to take him down a peg," the redhead grumbled. "I mean, he jabbed Harry with his elbow! Harry Potter!"

Harry dropped his face into his hands as everyone in earshot whipped around to look at him. There was a pause.

"Please don't stampede me," he mumbled imploringly.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped.

"What?" Ron demanded defensively.

"You're Harry Potter?" Longbottom asked, doing a double-take and trying to see his forehead. It wasn't easy, as Harry still had his hands on his face.

He nodded.

"Wicked!" the other boy breathed. Then he extended a hand. "I'm Neville Longbottom, but everyone calls me Nev. Well, except my mum. And my Gran."

Harry shook it, wondering how many more formal introductions he was going to make before the day was out. When Hagrid led them down to the boats, he quickly found himself pulled into the same one as Neville and Ron. He grabbed hold of Hermione to make sure that she came, too, but the move was largely unnecessary; she was following them anyway, and glaring at the boys. Neville in particular seemed to like asking probing and personal questions in his rather boisterous tone of voice.

"So where do you live? Is it true that you've had Unspeakables training you in special skills since you were one? I bet you already know loads of spells. Do you think you'll be in Gryffindor? My dad was in Gryffindor, but my mum was in Ravenclaw. I hope I get into Gryffindor. Do you remember the night you defeated You-Know-Who? Only I know you were just a baby, and everything, but nobody really knows what happened… unless it's all hush-hush and Ministry secrets, of course. Is it true that you were so powerful they had to put you behind a special containment shield until you were nine?"

Hermione smacked him on the shoulder with her book, and the boat rocked as Harry just tried to sort his thoughts out around the dizzying barrage of questions.

"Are you mad?" Neville demanded, wincing and rubbing his arm. "What was that for?"

"How would you like it if someone started asking you all sorts of rude questions like that?" Hermione fumed, brandishing the book again. Ron looked like he didn't know whether to be offended on Neville's behalf or deeply amused, even as the other boy cringed and moved back a little.

"… Er…" Harry began tentatively. "I've been living with my uncle…"

He trailed off as the castle came into sight. Everyone's focus suddenly shifted to the building, and their jaws went slack.

Hogwarts was a striking sight. Many towers and turrets jutted up into the darkening sky, and the castle was, undeniably, huge. Under ordinary circumstances it would have seemed ominous and bleak, but the light streaming out from the many windows gave off an oddly cheerful, inviting glow. Harry couldn't imagine how he would navigate a building so large without getting lost. Somehow, the way his uncle had described the school, he'd always imagined something more along the lines of a cozy manor house. With a dungeon.

The boats pulled past some hanging vines, which obligingly moved themselves, and up to a platform. The children remained silent, excited and nervous as they clambered out and followed Hagrid up to a pair of large double doors. Pushing them open, he guided the children inside what looked to be a kind of waiting room, and then knocked on a set of interior doors. They opened to reveal a very stern-looking witch whom Harry immediately recognized from Diagon Alley.

Hagrid addressed her briefly, and then left, and Professor McGonagall gave a speech about the school and the upcoming Sorting. Then she led them all into the Great Hall.

Harry gaped at the ceiling, which reflected the exterior sky back at him. He'd heard about this, and read about it a little, but it was one thing to know of something and another entirely to see it yourself. The four student tables stretched out along the sides of the room, beneath their multi-coloured banners. A snake, a lion, an eagle, and a badger all rippled in some vague breeze, and Harry huddled rather closer to his peers as numerous sets of eyes turned to their group. Students and staff alike gazed at them, and many seemed to be searching for something.

Me? Harry wondered, trying to shift himself so he was behind Neville. He was so focused on making himself unnoticeable that he almost missed it when Professor McGonagall deposited a very worn, manky old hat onto a stool in the centre of the room.

He probably wouldn't have missed the singing, though, as a rip near the brim opened up and belted out a song.

When it was through, the deputy headmistress cleared her throat, and unfurled a sheet of parchment in front of herself. "When I call your name," she began. "Step forward to be Sorted. After the name of your house is declared, please join the rest of your housemates at the appropriate table. Abbott, Hannah."

The blonde girl whom Harry had bumped into when he first got onto the train stepped forward. Professor McGonagall directed her to the stool, and once she sat, deposited the hat onto her head. After a moment, the brim opened, and the hat called out:

"Hufflepuff!"

Hannah took it off and passed it back to the professor, before hurrying off to the Hufflepuff table as the house applauded their new member.

And so it went, with McGonagall moving down her list alphabetically, and the first-year students moving to the stool and being sent off to one table or another. The houses all clapped politely for their new members (Gryffindor being the most boisterous about this) and soon enough the list moved down to…

"Granger, Hermione."

Looking distinctly nervous, Hermione hurried forward to the stool. The hat looked absolutely ridiculous with her bushy hair sticking out around the rim. There was a bit of a pause and then: "Ravenclaw!" it bellowed. Harry watched as his friend darted over to the applauding table beneath the blue and bronze banner. She gave him a smile and a little shrug.

The Sorting continued on with children whom Harry didn't know until Longbottom, Neville was welcomed into the ranks of Gryffindor, and then Malfoy, Draco was sent, almost before the hat even touched his head, to the Slytherins. More names were called, and finally after Patil, Padma joined Hermione in Ravenclaw and Patil, Parvati went off towards Gryffindor, McGonagall called out:

"Potter, Harry."

A sense of anticipation settled down over the school. Taking a deep breath, Harry forced his legs to work, and walked forward. Murmurs broke out amongst the students as he did so. He forced himself not to look around at them, but instead focused on the hat and stool in his immediate line of vision.

Taking a seat, he found he was now facing his fellow first-years, who were looking at him wide-eyed. Well, except Ron. The red-haired boy flashed him the thumbs up briefly before his vision was partly blocked as the big, floppy hat came down over his ears.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here… now this is interesting…" a voice between his ears began, and Harry almost jumped in surprise at hearing it. "You've got a good mind, I can see that. And a healthy dose of courage, too. Hmm. Lots of loyalty and a strong work-ethic… not to mention some cunning underneath it all. Any preferences?"

Harry drew a blank.

"No? Well, that's fine by me. After all, it's my job."

The brim opened, and the hat bellowed out the name of his house.

It was only after Harry had swept it off of his head and darted over to his table that he noticed the hall was dead silent. An entire room full of shocked faces had turned his way. Up amongst the staff, a diminutive professor had fallen off of his seat with a startled 'oomph'.

Then the Hufflepuff table burst into cheers.

After the rather electrifying conclusion to his lunch with Molly Weasley and the Longbottoms (Frank seemed to think he was pulling their legs, while Molly and Alice had alternated between concern and fascination) Jack had returned home, only to find that the house seemed inexplicably empty.

Harry had only been gone for several hours, but somehow the knowledge that he would continue to be gone for longer than he ever had before magnified the quiet, making it stretch out ominously around him.

Somehow, Jack had a feeling that he wouldn't be spending a lot of time at home from now on.

Which was fine by him. Coming through the door, he tossed off his jacket and headed upstairs and into his bedroom. Pulling out his trunk, he retrieved the Marauder's Map, and a familiar, silvery cloak.

The article which had once been able to hide himself and a maximum of three other children underneath it could now only just conceal himself, provided he wore it properly. Jack did so, pulling the hood up over his head and checking the mirror to make certain he hadn't missed anywhere.

Exiting his bedroom, he fished his wand out of his pocket and closed the door. Then he murmured a password, tapped the doorknob, and opened it again.

A narrow storage room greeted him. Harry didn't even know about this one, and Jack preferred it that way, for the sake of the boy's own security. It was among the more heavily warded locations of the house, with spells designed to keep people out, and, if necessary, trap them inside it as well. But there was only one item in the room. A tall black cabinet with gold trim, purchased years ago from Borgin & Burkes.

Opening the cabinet doors, Jack stepped past them and into the blackness within.

He re-emerged a moment later from an identical cabinet on the first floor of Hogwarts. Though he had purchased the unique piece of furniture quite some time ago, he had only ever had occasion to use it once before. He didn't like to make a habit of coming to the school. For one thing, he never really had been able to figure out how Dumbledore saw through invisibility cloaks. For another, there weren't many practical reasons to do so, and Jack tried to distance himself from falling into the deep nostalgia and longing for his first home.

It would be some time before the train and, therefore, students arrived yet, but as much as he wanted to see Harry's Sorting that wasn't why he was here.

Dumbledore wasn't being open-handed with his information. To be sure, neither was Jack, not by a long shot, but he was willing to live with the double-standard in this case. From a strictly parent-teacher perspective, it wasn't unreasonable to request that homicidal madmen not be kept on staff. And Jack had made the first move of peace, offering Dumbledore confirmation where before he'd only had speculation. But the man's evasiveness and stubborn attitude since then were slowly snapping that particular olive branch.

He realized his mistake, of course. When he'd given Dumbledore the solution to one particular mystery, he'd provided him with a dozen more. Now the man was undoubtedly expending his efforts on trying to figure Jack out, distracting him from the main focus, which was (as it usually was) Voldemort. He'd been assuming that Dumbledore would weigh the scales of the mysterious-but-ultimately-helpful Jack Weatherby against the less-mysterious-but-incredibly-dangerous Lord Voldemort and choose to leave the former alone.

That had been naïve of him. Dumbledore, he knew, would always take the enemy he was familiar with over the potential-threat that he wasn't. As long as Jack remained an unknown quantity, Dumbledore would hoard any advantage he could hold against him.

Muffling the sounds of his footsteps, Jack decided his first stop would be to the staff room, and if that didn't hold any answers, then the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and office. His primary concern was ascertaining whether or not Quirrell was gone.

The fact that there was nary a whisper of a break-in at Gringotts was a promising sign, but still. It wasn't safe to assume that changing one aspect of an event changed all of it, and Jack was nothing if not thorough in his decimation of his own history.

The map didn't show him as being present in the school, but then again, he could have simply left on an errand. Jack had to be sure, had to be certain that Harry was as safe as he could make him.

As it was difficult to look at the map and stay completely under the cloak, Jack soon folded the sheet of parchment into one of his pockets, and proceeded down the halls. It was eerie to walk the castle in broad daylight and find it so empty. Most of the portraits seemed a bit lethargic and drowsy, despite the time of day – he wondered if they slept more when there were no students to distract them.

The staff room was empty. Jack searched it for any sign of Quirrell – even going so far as to sniff the air for a faint trace of the man's distinctive odor – but found nothing. It was another good sign, but still nothing conclusive. Moving on, he made for the Defence classroom, wondering who Dumbledore had replaced the man with if he'd truly done as Jack requested.

He took a moment to hope, for Harry's sake, that he wasn't getting Lockheart a year early.

Surely we would have been sent an 'updated' booklist in that case… Jack thought to himself. Lockheart was an incompetent fraud, and a bungler, whom he would have liked to be rid of; but for the past few years Jack had had bigger fish to fry (including the current Minister) and since he was more of a B-level threat, the imposter had been reluctantly left alone.

Academically, his teaching would be a complete disaster, but at least he wouldn't be actively trying to kill any students.

If it's Lockheart, I'll just have to owl Harry some very top-notch Defense texts, he reasoned.

The Defence classroom itself was rather sparsely laid-out. Gone were the wreaths of garlic and the other bizarre little personal touches which had been present during his first year. In fact, the room looked as though it had been recently cleared out, and was still waiting for a professor to come and make a mark on it. Jack frowned. Had Dumbledore not been able to fill the position?

Well, the office would be the surest way to check that. It was possible that the new professor simply hadn't had time to embellish anything, between setting up last-minute lesson plans and settling into the school. He proceeded to the office, and was relieved to find that it was not, in fact, a totally barren room.

It came rather close, though. A few books lined the shelves here and there. Most were on basic defense and auror training, and Harry suspected that anything more advanced was probably kept in one of the locked trunks near the desk. There were some sheets of parchment on top it – mostly schedules, he noted as he glanced at them, and lesson plans. He frowned as he noticed something on one of them, and lifted it up. The name 'Harry Potter' had been circled. Glancing through the rest, he realized that every instance of the name had received similar highlighting. And, he noticed, something about the handwriting was ringing familiar in the back of his mind.

Well. That could mean a lot of things. Not many of them were good. Carefully, Jack put the parchment back, and decided to snoop around some more. Most of the drawers on the desk were locked tight, and those that weren't simply held more paperwork or spare writing implements. He could probably open most of them, but re-locking them afterwards would be tricky, and he didn't want anyone to know he'd been here. Moving on, he gave the trunks a once over. They looked like they had been expensive when they were first purchased, but had worn down over the years. Engraved on the nearest one, in clear, bold print, were three initials.

S.O.B.

Jack looked at them for a moment. Then an internal light went on in his mind, and he swore.

"Son of a -"

"If I could have all of your attention, please!" Dumbledore asked, standing up as the feast finished and dishes and plates cleared. He didn't shout, but his voice carried well, and quickly drew most eyes towards him. Harry looked up from the conversation he'd been having with another first year boy.

"A few announcements before we begin our new school year," the headmaster began once everyone had settled in to listen. "First, I would remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is aptly named, and completely out-of-bounds. Our caretaker, Argus Filch, has asked that I inform you of the updated Banned Items list which can currently be viewed in his office. In addition, the second East Tower is completely off limits to all who do not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry blinked. "Did he mean that?" he asked in a low whisper. The boy he had been talking to, Ernie, shrugged.

"He's probably exaggerating. I hope."

"And lastly," Dumbledore continued. "It is my great pleasure to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Sirius Black!"

Author's Note: Dun dun dun! . Hmm, Dumbledore sure managed to 'find' Sirius awful quick... it makes one wonder... Oh! And fifty points to anyone who correctly guessed Harry's house before he was Sorted!