A/N: This chapter was written by Crimson Rubies, the original author. I did make a small edit, though.

+ 02: Preparations +

Harry finally returned to consciousness, only to hear an all-too-familiar voice shouting at him.

"Get up, boy! It's almost breakfast time!" Petunia Dursley's shrill voice sounded from behind the door of the cupboard Harry found himself in.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied automatically. He got up and changed into his ratty day clothes, all of which were at least four sizes too large. I wonder how old I am… well, there's a calendar in the kitchen.

Stifling his yawns, Harry left the cupboard and entered the kitchen. He mechanically took a huge pile of bacon, plus a dozen eggs, and set to frying them on the stove. While doing that, he glanced at the calendar – and failed to suppress a grin. It was July thirty-first, 1991, his eleventh birthday. Nagini sent me fourteen years into the past, then. And I'll be receiving my Hogwarts letter - although it most likely is not the first one I've been sent - today. Brilliant! This time I'll make sure Dudley won't spot the letter…

And so he did. When the post arrived, Uncle Vernon told Dudley to get it, just like he'd done the first time around. And just like before, it was Harry who was told to get the post in the end.

Harry wasn't surprised to find a thick letter addressed to him, and hid it under his baggy shirt. There was no way any of the Dursleys was going to see it.

After breakfast was over, Harry slipped out of the house, hoping to find the owl that had delivered the letter from Hogwarts. He didn't have an owl of his own, after all, and there was no Hagrid sending the reply for him. Luckily, Harry spotted a brown barn owl perched on one of Aunt Petunia's award-winning rose bushes – a sight that made him snicker – and managed to call it to him. He then slipped back inside, and hurried to his cupboard.

Pulling the door closed, Harry tore off a piece of the school supply list, and scribbled his reply on the small piece of parchment. Since he didn't have a quill, he used a pencil he found under his so-called bed. He then gave the 'letter' to the owl, and quietly took the bird back outside. As it took flight, Harry felt the happiest he had been for over five years. He was going to Hogwarts in thirty-two days.

Harry wondered whether he would still get visited by a Hogwarts staff member – he did live with Muggles, even though he had managed to send his reply on his own. He had read in Hogwarts, a History that all first-years who were Muggleborn or lived with Muggles received a visit from one of the Professors of the school. The adult would explain the eleven-year-old what would be required to get to Diagon Alley, and Platform Nine and Three Quarters. If necessary, the staff member would also accompany the first-year to London, so that the boy or girl could get the necessary books and supplies. Same went for King's Cross.

Well, Hagrid never told me how to get to the Platform, Harry thought. Then again, he probably forgot – would've been no wonder. Hagrid had never had the best of memories, and he had been even worse at keeping secrets. Nevertheless, Harry had always liked the friendly half-giant, and hoped the man would be taking him to Diagon Alley again. Only this time, Harry intended to stay in London after his shopping round, as he was everything but fond of the idea of returning to his Muggle relatives until September 1st. Harry would withdraw money from his Gringotts vault, and stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer. He could then take the Knight Bus to King's Cross.

Later that day Harry was indeed visited by a Hogwarts staff member, only it wasn't Hagrid.

The doorbell rang at around two o'clock in the afternoon, and Harry, as usual, was told to get the door. He was happy to do it, but was surprised to see who was standing on the porch.

It was Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher and Head of Ravenclaw House.

"Hello," said the small but bright wizard. "You must be Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, I am," Harry replied. "Please, do come in," he then continued politely.

"Oh, thank you," Flitwick said happily, and entered the house. "I'm Professor Flitwick, and I've come to help you, Mr. Potter, with getting the books and supplies for your first year at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded his understanding, just as Uncle Vernon appeared from the kitchen.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Potter's uncle," Flitwick said, noticing the large man. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dursley. I'm Professor Flitwick, from Hogwarts School."

Vernon's fat face turned puce as he heard the name of the school Flitwick represented. It didn't help that the tiny Professor had not bothered disguising himself as a Muggle. He wore robes, ones that Harry even remembered from 'the past future'.

When the Muggle said nothing, Flitwick decided to ignore him and turned back to Harry. "If you're ready, we could leave for Diagon Alley right away, Mr. Potter."

"Sure, I'm all set, sir" Harry replied.

Half an hour later found the two wizards entering Diagon Alley. Harry, having visited the area several times, made his best to appear properly awed and dumbstruck by the wonders of the Wizarding World, a world he had supposedly never been to before.

He had noticed he remembered everything he'd experienced in 'the past future', in amazing detail, and with crystal clarity. It was going to be both a blessing and a curse; he'd probably always know what would happen next (until he would decide to start changing things), but would have to put aside his opinions on others, people and creatures alike.

However, Harry's memories of the first eleven years of his 'past' life had been completely erased. A new set of memories had replaced them – not that there were many differences. The incident with the Brazilian boa constrictor had happened again, as had the rest of the bursts of accidental magic Harry could remember from before. There had been some nastier ones this time, though. Five years earlier he had apparently caused Dudley's left forefinger to break, when the overweight bully had cornered Harry. Other, lesser bumps and bruises had also been caused by Harry's uncontrolled magic – and every single one of those incidents had happened when one of the three Dursleys, mostly Vernon or Dudley, had attempted to physically harm Harry. Of course, the magic hadn't always saved Harry, not even most of the time. The male Dursleys had been even more abusive and cruel than in 'the past future', though the increase had only happened after the first violent burst of accidental magic. Harry had no idea if he had simply had better luck the first time around.

As Professor Flitwick led the way to Gringotts, the Wizarding bank, Harry wondered whether the Philosopher's Stone would be making its first appearance that day. Surely Flitwick was more trustworthy than Hagrid, who had a tendency to blurt out things he was supposed to keep secret.

The Potter vault was just the same it had been before, but this time Harry withdrew more money than would be needed for his books and other supplies. He was going to be staying at the Leaky Cauldron, after all, and that would naturally cost him some gold.

Harry and the Professor left Gringotts half an hour later, having visited both Harry's vault and the one where the Stone had been in.

"Shall we go to Madam Malkin's next?" Flitwick asked as the two stepped back to the street. "You can get your school robes there."

"All right," Harry said, since he had no plan of his own.

"Follow me then, Mr. Potter."

The clothing store was not far from Gringotts, and it only took them a couple minutes to reach it. They would have made it there quicker, if random people hadn't kept stopping Harry so that they could take a good look at him. Harry found the attention very annoying, even more so than the first time. He knew those very same people would be turning against him in three and a half years' time. Besides, his life after Hogwarts had been void of all privacy – everyone had wanted to keep a close eye on the supposed Saviour of the Wizarding World. It had been extremely infuriating and impractical. Harry had not been able to do anything significant without at least one reporter finding out, and publishing a story about it.

As he entered Madam Malkin's, Harry realized he would have to start reconsidering his opinions right then, if events occurred the way they had in Harry's 'past' life.

"Hogwarts, dear?" asked one of Madam Malkin's employees.

"Yes," replied Harry, "first year."

"Well, come on here, then," the witch said, leading Harry to the fitting area.

Harry's assumption turned out to be correct – he was indeed pointed a stool next to a blond boy. If it hadn't been for the platinum hair, Harry might have failed to recognize Draco Malfoy. At the age of twenty-four the Malfoy heir had looked quite a bit different, when Harry had seen him fighting alongside his allies.

Well, I'd better get used to everyone looking a lot younger than they used to, Harry thought as he stepped onto the stool. Merlin… it's going to be difficult to be a first-year among other eleven-year-olds again. Luckily I have not lost any of the knowledge I had by the time I turned twenty-five. I won't need to relearn much, just what I didn't manage to grasp the first time around…

"You going to Hogwarts for your first year as well?" Malfoy then asked.

"Yep," said Harry, "it's going to be interesting, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess. Do you have any idea which House you're going to be in?"

Now, there was Harry's first test. Should he tell the absolute truth, or twist it a bit?

"Well, both of my parents were in Gryffindor," he finally said, and the blond snorted derisively. "But, I don't know if I'm going to follow in their footsteps – I guess I could end up in any House, really."

"Everyone in my family's been in Slytherin," said Malfoy, "and that's where I'm going, too. If the Hat even considers putting me in another House, I'll be more than surprised. And Father will have a fit."

Oh yes, Lucius Malfoy would have a real fit if his son was even briefly thought of as a Ravenclaw, not to mention Hufflepuff or, Merlin forbid, Gryffindor! The aristocratic Death Eater valued Slytherin above all others.

"What about Quidditch? Do you play?"

"Haven't had a chance to try it out yet," Harry answered. "I'd love to, though. I've heard my father was an excellent Seeker."

"I haven't really played either, but I've flown quite a lot. I'm planning on persuading Father to buy me a racing broom, so that I can smuggle it to the school."

"I might get myself a broom, too, if it wasn't for that stupid rule stating first-years aren't allowed to bring brooms." Harry sorely missed his Firebolt, and his Nimbus Two Thousand. Not that he could have bought a Firebolt anyway, though, since that model would only come out after his second year.

"As soon as I saw that rule, I asked Father to bring it up in a Hogwarts Board of Governors meeting, but I don't know if he ever did," the blond said with a scowl. "Anyway, what's your surname?"

This time, Harry's robes were not ready, so he had to answer the question.

"Potter," he said, trying to sound as if the name was the most ordinary one there was. Harry really, really hated being famous, even if the fame did have its uses every now and then.

Malfoy's grey eyes widened at that, but before he could say anything, the witch working on Harry's robes finished her job. I would have avoided answering the question if I'd just hesitated a bit longer...

"Bye then," Harry said to the blond as he left to pay for his new clothes. "See you at school."

An hour later, Harry had gotten everything except one thing – a wand. As Flitwick took him to Ollivander's Harry could feel his heart begin to race. Would he end up with the familiar holly wand, or would he be chosen by another wand?

Mr. Ollivander, the shopkeeper, was just as eccentric and creepy as before. His unblinking gaze fixed on Harry – Flitwick had opted to wait outside – the man repeated the key facts about Harry's parents' wands.

In the end, Harry did end up with his 'old' wand: eleven inches, holly with a Phoenix feather core. And yes, Voldemort's yew wand was still its brother.

I will have to get myself a second wand, then, Harry decided. The twin cores of Voldemort's wand and mine will only be trouble. He had encountered that problem during his Auror years: whenever Voldemort and Harry attempted to curse or hex each other, their wands would connect in that damned Priori Incantatem, effectively preventing the spells from finding their target.

And once he was at it, he might as well get an unregistered wand from a shabby wand shop in Knockturn Alley. Harry had visited that particular shop when he had realized he needed a wand whose core was not a feather from Fawkes the Phoenix. Now that he thought about it, Harry figured he would end up buying the hawthorn wand again. Not that he minded; it had been a good wand, twelve inches with a dragon heartstring core.

Harry paid the seven Galleons for his wand, and left the shop. Once outside, Flitwick inquired whether Harry had gotten everything on his list, to which the boy answered in the positive.

"Well, time to return you to your relatives then, Mr. Potter," the part-goblin said with a smile.

"Unfortunately," Harry muttered under his breath as he followed Flitwick back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Right after the Charms Professor had Apparated away from Privet Drive, Harry took his purchases out of their bags and boxes, and packed his school trunk. He had no intention of staying in Little Whinging now that he had what he would need for the school year.

Harry was just about to drag his trunk outside, when Dudley emerged from the living room, where he had been watching television.

"Where're you going?" Dudley asked, his brain working in overdrive as he tried to figure out why Harry seemed to be leaving the house.

"Away from here," Harry replied simply, and continued dragging his trunk. The thing was heavy!

"Are you going to come back?" was Harry's cousin's next question.

"Only if I'm forced to," said Harry, "as far as I'm concerned, this place is a lot worse than an orphan would be." He then finally got his trunk out of the house, and closed the polished – by none other than Harry himself – front door with a thump.

I can only hope Dumbledore won't find out I've left the Dursleys behind, Harry mused as he slowly walked towards the street. Knowing him, I wouldn't be surprised if he did, and dragged me back here. Anyway, this is the first major change I'm making.

Harry waved his with his right hand, and took a precautious step away from the tarmac-surfaced street. Three seconds later there was a loud BANG and the familiar, purple bus appeared. The conductor, Stan Shunpike, emerged from the Knight Bus, and was about to give his little introduction speech. Harry, however, cut Stan off before he had even had a chance to begin.

"I'd like to get to London, please," Harry said, making sure his fringe covered his scar.

Stan looked a bit confused, but recovered quickly, and Harry stepped on board. He paid eleven Sickles for the trip, and went to sit at the back of the bus, where he could lean against the wall – the Knight Bus took enormous jumps, so it would be safer to sit that way.

It felt kind of strange, returning to Charing Cross Road and the Leaky Cauldron only an hour after leaving from there – on the very same bus, even.

Harry entered the pub, leaving Stan struggling with his heavy trunk. Once again, Harry smoothed his hair down, so as to hide the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

"Good afternoon," Harry greeted Tom, the bald landlord of the Leaky Cauldron. "I would like to get a room, if you have any available."

"Of course, young sir," said Tom, "room fifteen is available. How long are you planning to stay for?"

"Until September 1st," Harry replied. "I hope that's possible?"

"Hmm…yes, there are no bookings. You are taking room fifteen then, young sir?"

"Yes, please."

"Follow me then, young sir. Your trunk will be brought upstairs in a few minutes."

"All right", Harry said, and followed Tom up the creaky stairs. Room fifteen was at the end of the upstairs corridor, so it only had one neighboring room. The mahogany door had a large number fifteen on it, and the doorknob was made of brass, in need of polishing.

The room was rather large – especially compared to Harry's cupboard – and had a very comfortable-looking bed in it. There was a large window, with light blue curtains made of faded velvet. An oaken desk sat in front of the window, and there was a straight-backed, wooden chair next to the desk. Beside the bed Harry saw a small nightstand with two drawers. There was a rather thick, pastel green carpet on the floor made of polished maple. A tall wardrobe was standing in one corner, and there was a door leading to a bathroom on another. Across from the wardrobe was a fireplace, where a fire was crackling merrily. Tom told Harry the fireplace was connected to the Floo Network, and there was a small bowl of Floo Powder on the mantelpiece.

All in all, it was a cozy room, and Harry was perfectly willing to pay the surprisingly low rent.

A few days later Harry did some more shopping. First, he ventured to Knockturn Alley, and visited the wand shop he'd been to in his 'past' life.

Several glances were shot Harry's way as he walked down the notorious Alley, but he ignored them. It was just like in 'the past future', only the reason was different. After all, not too many eleven-year-olds explored Knockturn Alley on their own – and for good reason.

As Harry entered 'Supplies for the Wanted', he was immediately met with a wave of garlic-stenched air. The smell reminded Harry of who he would be having as his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor that year. Quirrell's lessons had been a joke, and Harry feared it would be the same way this time. Of course, Harry could hardly learn anything new in Defence, since he had worked as an Auror for several years – not to mention his personal post-Hogwarts studies.

"Good afternoon," Harry greeted the shopkeeper, who was eyeing him suspiciously. "I would like to buy myself an unregistered wand, please."

"What makes ye thin' I'd sell one to a kid like yerself?" the man asked, his eyes full of malice and mistrust. "How do I know yer not a Ministry official in disguise?"

"This says you're going to sell me a wand," Harry replied, showing the older wizard a pocketful of Galleons.

That did the trick, and Harry left the dusty shop a short while later, a familiar hawthorn wand in his robe pocket. Now, he would only need to decide which wand to use at school.

On one hand, the holly wand would be the better choice, for two reasons: it was registered, and Mr. Ollivander had probably reported to Dumbledore that Harry had bought the second wand with a feather from the Headmaster's Phoenix.

On the other hand, the hawthorn wand was more powerful, which would make it the better candidate. With a powerful wand, it would be easier to cast spells, especially ones that required a lot of power behind them. Not that first-years were supposed to know or need such spells…but unexpected and unusual events tended to plague Harry. It was one of the downsides to being the Boy-Who-Lived.

The next few weeks passed quickly, and Harry spent most of his time reading. He purchased a small mountain of books that would never make it to the Hogwarts book list. They were either on subjects far too advanced for Hogwarts students, or on the Darker side of magic. During his Auror years Harry had studied the Dark Arts quite a bit, which had not gone unnoticed by the other Ministry employees. Harry had had to come up with believable excuses for his interest in the so-called evil magic. His initial explanation had been simple: he needed to know his enemy. Since Voldemort and his followers used Dark magic whenever possible, Harry was forced to study the Dark Arts.

Most people had bought that excuse, and for the few that hadn't, Harry had come up with Plan B: he claimed his connection to the Dark Lord compelled him to explore the Dark Arts. Surprisingly, that lie had been accepted without a question. An all-new variation of the Imperius Curse? As if.

Eventually Harry had abandoned his first excuse, and only used the second one. It had worked perfectly; he had soon been left in peace after friends, friends of friends et cetera had been told Harry Potter only studied Dark magic because he was compelled to through the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

On August 31st Harry realized he didn't have an owl – something that needed to be fixed.

Right after breakfast Harry entered Diagon Alley once more, and headed towards Eeylops Owl Emporium. He intended to buy Hedwig back, as the intelligent snowy owl had been his only true friend in his 'past' life. Her faithfulness had never wavered, not even when Harry had not been able to take proper care of her.

Luck seemed to be on Harry's side, because the first things he saw after entering the pet shop was a strikingly familiar, white owl with large, amber eyes. She hooted at him as he stepped through the front door of Eeylops'.

Harry walked straight to the desk behind which a saleswitch was seated. The woman looked up as his shadow fell over her, and Harry was glad he had made sure to hide his scar. The last thing he needed was unwanted attention.

"Hello," he said, "I would like to buy that snowy owl over there." He pointed at the soon-to-be Hedwig, who had turned to watch him with unblinking eyes.

"All right," the witch said, and fetched the large owl. "She'd be four Galleons, please."

Harry gave the woman the coins, and in turn received his new pet and familiar. The cage was included in the price. The young wizard also paid an extra three Sickles for a huge bag of owl treats. He was positive they would last for the entire year.

The beautiful bird safely in her cage, Harry left the shop, returning to his room at the Leaky Cauldron. Once there, he released the owl, letting her fly around the spacious room.

"You know, girl," Harry told the obviously happy snowy owl, "I think I'm going to call you Hedwig, after a friend I used to have. Do you approve?"

Landing on his left shoulder, the newly-christened Hedwig nipped his ear affectionately.

"Well, I guess that answers my question," Harry said, raising a hand to pet the owl. "We're going to be one hell of a pair, Hedwig, I just know it."

Hedwig hooted softly, as if agreeing.

"And tomorrow we'll be going to Hogwarts."