A/N Certain bits of dialogue from Ollivander and the Sorting Hat come from The Philosopher's Stone, since the things I've changed in this universe wouldn't have an effect on them being said.

With the ring of a bell, Harry walked into the dusty shop with Susan. Boxes like the ones that Harry's wand came in piled upon others, stacking up to the ceiling, behind the counter and in front of it. At first, the shop remained quiet.

"Could he be on his lunch?" Harry asked Susan, looking to her in confusion.

"Maybe."

"I hope we don't keep Mr. Tonks waiting too long at the trunk store," Harry said.

"You don't have to call him Uncle Ted like I do, Harry, but I think he'll go mad if you call him Mr. Tonks again. Just try and say Ted one time!"

He just shook his head. "Not that easy. Do you think we'll still have time to get food from the Owl Emporium?"

"I'm sure we're making great time. I still can't believe that Hagrid fellow sent you an owl for your birthday. She's beautiful, I don't know anyone with a pure white one. Decided what to name her yet?" she asked him.

Harry didn't know yet, but he contemplated looking through his new textbooks to find a good magical-sounding name. Just then, a silvery-white-haired man emerged from the back of the shop, knocking down a couple of stacks but catching his balance at the counter. "Why, hello there!"

This had to be Mr. Ollivander, the man for whom the shop was named. Susan stepped forward. "Hello, sir. I'm Susan Bones."

"Ah, yes, daughter of Robert Bones; ebony, dragon heartstring, 9 ¾ inches, good for charms. Niece of Edgar Bones; ash, dragon heartstring, 10 and 5/8 inches, excellent for ancient runes, and Amelia Bones; holly, unicorn hair, 9 ½ inches, a dueling wand. Quite a talented family you come from, Miss Bones." He looked to Harry. "And you are?"

Nervously, Harry cleared his throat. "Harry Potter, sir." Of course, Ollivander's eyes widened. He didn't think he'd ever get used to that. He'd been using his front bangs to cover his scar all day.

"Ah, yes," Ollivander said, more gravely than he had said to Susan. "Yes, yes, I was wondering when you would walk in here, Mr. Potter." He came around the counter and approached Harry. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

The man had come past the point of comfort, and Harry wished he would at least blink. This was getting very weird.

Finally, he pulled away. "Well," he said, turning to Susan. "Ladies first." Susan, also eying Ollivander throughout his odd staring contest with Harry, smirked and smiled simultaneously as she tried to patronize the old man. He waved his wand at the back room and a tape measure flew towards them, immediately starting to take measurements of her wingspan, height, and head circumference, among countless other things. All the while, Ollivander was somehow noting each number and taking notes with a quill and parchment.

Finally, he nodded and the tape zoomed back into the storeroom. He followed it and the sound of more falling boxes could be heard. A moment later, he came out with three long boxes. Leaving two at the counter, he brought the first over and pulled it out. "Ebony, unicorn hair, 10 ¼ inches." He handed the black wand to Susan, who took it with a smile, then looked expectantly at it.

She looked at the wand, then Ollivander, then back to the wand. Nothing happened. "Well, give it a wave!" said Ollivander. Even when she did so, nothing happened. Ollivander's smile faded, and he took the ebony wand back from Susan and placed it back into the box. He then took it back to the counter, where he grabbed a second box, and returned to Susan. "Ash and phoenix feather, 10 ¾ inches." Harry noticed him glancing to the side at him while Susan took it from his hand. The look was concurrently sad and…curious.

It was just like the other morning, but watching it from an outside view. As soon as she touched the wand, her eyes widened slightly and her hair almost seemed to be blown back as if by an invisible wind. The sensation gave her a smile that Harry couldn't help but match. A small flick of her wrist and a glorious shower of sparks flew out, making Ollivander jump and clap happily.

"Oh wonderful!" he exclaimed. "It is not that easy for everybody, Miss Bones. Furthermore, that particular wand contains a core donated to me by a friend, so it is much cheaper than usual." Again, he made an uncomfortable look at Harry when speaking of how cheap the wand was. "Seven galleons."

Susan happily fished the gold out of the sack of money Amelia had given her. Ollivander placed the gold into his pocket and turned to Harry excitedly. "And now it is your turn, Mr. Potter." He made to flick his wand and summon his tape again, but Harry interjected.

"Actually, sir, you should know I already have a wand." He took his mysterious birthday present out of his back pocket.

The old man looked dejected. "Oh, I see. Where did you procure this wand?" he asked.

"It was a birthday present, sent to me yesterday morning. An old friend of my parents sent it. I was wondering if you could tell me if it's truly the right wand for me." This was what Amelia had wanted him to ask the wandmaker, just to be sure. He had a feeling that she knew just who the wand came from.

That made the old man a bit happier, hopefully not simply because he had the chance to lie and sell Harry one of his own wands. "Certainly, Mr. Potter. Let's give it a look." Harry handed the wand over and Ollivander examined the shaft. "Holly, nice and supple." The smile on his face faded once again. "Eleven inches." He turned the wand so that he could look at the bottom of the shaft. He drew an intake of breath and said in a whisper, "Phoenix feather."

"Like mine," said Susan.

"Yes, Miss Bones, yes. Mr. Potter, tell me, who was it that sent you this wand?"

"I don't know, sir," Harry answered. "The letter wasn't signed. Why?"

He took a while to respond. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter, along with every wand that I've ever made. The reason that I ask who it was that sent it to you is that this particular wand was stolen from me, nearly a decade ago."

Immediately, Harry went into a panic attack. He'd been carrying around a stolen wand. Was he in trouble with the law? Would he still be able to go to Hogwarts? Amelia dealt with criminals in the magical world, would she have to be the one who arrested Harry? He finally found words. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Ollivander, I had no idea. The letter said it was found in my parent's home the night… well, you know. I've got gold; I can pay you for it –"

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense, Mr. Potter. How did you feel when you first picked up the wand?"

He described the feeling: warmth, comfort, the full knowledge that the wand was meant for him.

"Well, I cannot, with clear conscience, separate you from this wand, as it has chosen you. It is curious, however, very curious, that this particular wand should choose you."

"W-what do you mean, sir?"

"It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother, why, its brother gave you that scar." Susan gasped. Harry could barely breathe as Ollivander pointed to his forehead. "Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen" A quick glance at Susan, then back at him. "The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."

Neither Harry nor Susan could even move after hearing this. Both simply looked at Harry's wand in Ollivander's hand. Harry knew nothing of wand cores, yet the knowledge that his wand shared such a connection with that of the man who murdered his parent was chilling to the bone.

It seemed as though Ollivander immediately regretted sharing this information with the two children. He cleared his throat nervously. Harry, desperate to have something for at least his hands to do, began to dig into his own bag of coins. "Oh, no, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said quickly. "As this wand hasn't been mine in so many years, I cannot charge you for it." He handed it back to Harry and smiled reassuringly.

Just as he was about to protest, the shop bell rang and a boy walked in. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "Have you seen a toad? My gran just bought him for me, but he hopped out of my hand and down the street."

Susan and Harry both shook their heads, and Ollivander simply said, "No, young man, I can't say I have." The boy looked down on the ground and nodded. "Forgive me, lad, but you bear a striking resemblance to Alice Longbottom. Am I correct in guessing you are her son?"

At that, the boy smiled, but it quickly faded. "Um, yes, sir, I'm Neville Longbottom. How did you –"

"Ebony and dragon heartstring, 10 inches, a transfiguration wand, and I believe your father, Frank, also had a transfiguration wand, made from ebony, but with the hair of a very affectionate unicorn." Ollivander chuckled, seeming to get lost in the memory of meeting said unicorn. "Fine folks, your parents. As I said, You remind me of your mother very much."

Susan waved at Neville. "I'm Susan Bones. This is … this is Harry." The boy seemed extremely pleased to make friends, and shook both their hands.

"Have you not already gotten your wand, Mr. Longbottom?" asked Ollivander.

"Already have one, sir," said Neville with a smirk. "Gran insists I use my dad's old wand."

Ollivander was about to protest, but Susan beat him to it. "But you can't. Wizards only do their best magic with a wand that chooses them."

The old wandmaker laughed and clapped. "I am impressed Miss Bones. She's right, of course, Mr. Longbottom. Frank did amazing things with his wand, but in order for you to do the same, you will need to use one that suits you better."

Neville got uncomfortable. "I understand, sir, but she refuses to pay for one. I'll do the best I can with dad's old one, though. I've got to keep looking for my toad." He turned with a defeated look on his face and began to make his way out of the shop.

Harry couldn't resist speaking up. Amelia did say he could pay her back. "Neville!" When his future classmate turned around, he continued. "Mr. Ollivander won't accept payment for my wand, how about I pay for yours?"

"Oh, no I can't, Harry. That's incredibly decent of you, but I couldn't accept that, and gran would be furious."

Ollivander cut back in. "I shall speak with your grandmother, Neville. Stubborn and proud as a hippogriff, that woman, but she always sees reason when there's reason to be seen."

"Trust me, Neville," said Susan. "Harry just found out he's loaded. He's not going to miss a handful of galleons that he was planning on spending anyway."

Neville appeared to be contemplating it in his head, and his face contorted accordingly. Finally he caved in and spoke to Harry. "You're certain it's okay?"

"If you don't accept, I'll go and throw the gold into the street right now," he answered slyly.

Sighing, the other boy nodded. Ollivander nodded as well and summoned his measuring tape. A half hour and a dozen wands later, they finally landed on a right fit, and Harry paid the twenty galleons for a cherry and unicorn hair wand. Ollivander seemed to enjoy the challenge of finding a wand that would choose Neville.

"I'll owl the wand along with a very convincing letter to your grandmother tonight, Neville," said Ollivander. "And good luck with your toad. I'm certain that he will turn up."

"Thank you, sir. And it was really nice to meet the two of you," Neville said to Susan and Harry. "I can't begin to thank you, Harry. I'll see the both of you on the train!" And with a grin that probably wouldn't be broken for the rest of the summer, Neville exited the shop.

"Congratulations, Harry," said Susan. "You might have just saved someone's magical career." They both chuckled, and waved goodbye to Mr. Ollivander.

The wandmaker regarded Harry with a smile on his face as the two started down the alley. "Oh, I think we can expect even greater things from you, Mr. Potter. Yes, yes, even greater." And with that, the old man retired to the back of the store, to write two letters to two very old friends.

"Bones, Susan!" called the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. Susan had heard stories of this woman from her aunt. One of the greatest teachers you could ask for, but also one of the toughest and strictest. This seemed true from the few minutes that the first years had been in the transfiguration professor's presence. Not one smile had adorned the woman's face, just formal speaking and precise instruction.

Susan walked up to the stool in the Great Hall, cursing the fact that her name was so close to the start of the alphabet, or that there was only one student who had a last name starting with A, a blonde girl who had been sorted quickly into Hufflepuff. After what seemed like a lifetime, she got to her target and sat, and the old, dusty, rather disgusting-looking hat fell onto her head and covered her eyes.

Ah, I've been waiting for another member of the Bones family to sit on this stool. Such a promising trio, your father and his siblings. And you, dear, are no different. I can see you succeeding anywhere in this school, but where will you be most successful? You're no stranger to the caring, hard-working nature of any given Hufflepuff, and you could go toe to toe with the bravest Gryffindor and maybe even outwit the brightest Ravenclaw. But I see more of your aunt in you. Yes, it was her caring for her family that fueled her path to becoming an auror, but her ambition and cleverness in pursuit of that career would have made Salazar Slytherin quite proud. Tell me, Miss Bones, what is it you want to do after Hogwarts?

The hat's insight into her had caught her off guard, but she gulped and answered in her own head. It was an easy answer, really; she'd known it for years. 'I want to be an auror, like my aunt.'

Thank you for making it easier on me than I thought it would be, Miss Bones. And with that, the hat yelled out, "Slytherin!"

"Shame, that," Harry heard the redheaded boy in front of him murmur to his friend as Susan ran off with a content smile to the table on the far left. "The Bones' are supposed to be a good family. And Slytherin's nothing but evil, dark wizards."

Harry smirked, and whispered in response without really thinking about it. "Hey, her aunt was in Slytherin, and she's put loads of dark wizards in jail. They can't be all bad."

The boy turned around. He was a bit gangly, his height really the only intimidating thing about him. "What the bloody hell do you know about –" When he fully turned around and saw Harry's scar, he froze up, looked wide-eyed for a moment, and turned back around. Embarrassed, Harry quickly resituated his bangs so that they covered his scar again.

The line of first years was dwindling down. Harry applauded when Neville was sorted into Gryffindor like both of their parents had been, and Draco Malfoy, a boy who Harry had met briefly on the train when Susan and Neville had gone to buy snacks, was put into Slytherin before the hat was even fully on his head. He was glad to make any sort of friend, though he wasn't too keen on the obnoxious comments he'd made about certain Wizarding families. Draco sat with his two humongous friends on the opposite end of the table from Susan.

As Sally-Anne Perks trotted happily to the Ravenclaw table, Professor McGonagall called out his name. "Potter, Harry!" The low buzz that was left over from Ravenclaw's cheering and the other three tables' polite clapping died down in an instant, and Harry felt all eyes on him as he walked to the stool. After a couple of seconds, murmurs about him hummed through the hall, ranging from questions to rumors to musings that probably should have stayed inside peoples' heads.

He got onto the stool and McGonagall let the hat fall onto Harry's head. The voice intruded into Harry's mind. Hmm, said a small voice in his ear. Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, ah my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ... So where shall I put you?

'Erm, excuse me,' he thought, hoping that thinking was the correct way to communicate with this thing. 'Do I get any input?'

I know I look intimidating, the hat said dryly, but your thoughts are appreciated. Go on, Mr. Potter.

"I…You were right about proving myself. I've been a nobody for years, as I'm sure you know, and now I want to take this opportunity I've been given to make something of myself.

Very good that we're on the same page, because this is where I was going to put you anyway. It can't hurt to be in the same house as your little friend, too. You might want to prepare, this one is going to shock them. "Slytherin!" the hat called out loud, and the stunned silence was much more palpable, and longer, than the silence before.

It was a moment before McGonagall came to and took the hat off of his head. The hall was in complete shock, the Gryffindors in disbelief that they'd lost Harry Potter to Slytherin, the Slytherins unsure if they should be triumphant, outraged, or scared, the other three tables in just plain disbelief, intrigue an added ingredient at the Staff Table. Harry stood and hurried awkwardly to the Slytherin table, where Susan had pushed over an older student to make a spot for him. A tall, thin, black-haired man at the Staff Table was making no effort to conceal his distaste for Harry, and the boy raised his eyebrows a bit but broke the eye contact, heading for Susan.

A throat cleared, bringing the entire hall back to its senses as they turned to the source, Headmaster Dumbledore. He gestured to Professor McGonagall, who nodded and continued down the list of students. "You certainly know how to turn heads, Harry," Susan teased, while Harry put his head down on the Slytherin table, all of the attention getting to be a bit much for him. But he figured he'd have to get used to it.

An interesting sorting ceremony, for sure. Harry Potter, son of two of the greatest students Gryffindor house had ever boasted, was put into a house that was historically no friend to the scarlet and gold. Albus walked through the halls of Hogwarts, eager to continue his research. There was much to do.

The gargoyle guarding his office stepped aside for him as he approached and ascended the staircase to find a sight he completely expected, Severus Snape seated in front of his desk, a nearly empty glass of brandy in his hand.

Albus flicked his wand as he passed the potions master, refilling the glass and getting a brief nod of thanks from him. "Quite a year ahead of you, Severus. This will be the largest number of Slytherin first-years since Horace was the head of the house."

Severus gulped down the entire glass. "The boy will need to be resorted."

"You and I both know that is not possible," he replied, taking his spot behind the desk.

"Then expect my resignation in the morning." It was said pointedly. "I will not be his head of house."

"Another piece of knowledge we share: that will not happen. Perhaps an opportunity has presented itself to -"

He was interrupted by Severus' hand slamming on the desk. "This is not one of your puppet shows, Albus! I cannot even look at that child for more than I would have to during potions classes, let alone every time I would have to deal with his rule-breaking, which you know will be plentiful, given who his father was."

"And what about who his mother was?" As expected, the potions professor simply glared silently. "As I said, Severus, we cannot re-sort Harry; the hat will not allow it. We need you as head of the house, unless you believe that Professor Sinastra is as capable of leading as you." He took the man's silence as a temporary concession. "Now, on to a slightly more important matter, if you don't mind."

Severus scoffed. "Your ridiculous quest for redemption." Of course, he had told the man about his experience inside of Harry's mind, and his goals after the following epiphany. He trusted Severus with more information than anyone else, and the potions master indeed had been informed of Albus' grand plan regarding Harry, Albus having confessed to the younger man after that fateful Halloween night. It was no secret between the two of them how much Snape loathed Dumbledore, especially in the first few years of his teaching career.

Still, Albus provided protection to Severus that he desperately needed, even now. In order to get the man out of Azkaban after the fall of Voldemort, Albus had to reveal that he had used him as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. The death eaters who had escaped conviction had plenty of bones to pick with the Potions Master, and his employment at Hogwarts, the protection of the castle, kept them at bay. Ten years after the death of the Potters, Severus' hate had decayed to leave a bitter skeleton of resentment, aiding and advising Albus, but purely out of a very Slytherin-like need for the headmaster's help in return.

"I require a potion that will stop the heart roughly one hour after consumption, and disappear from the body a few minutes after death." Albus reached into his desk drawer and laid two hard candies in front of the potions master. "In addition, it will need to be infused into these lemon drops"

"A treat for Bella and Crouch, Jr.?" Albus nodded, not making eye contact with Severus. He had tirelessly researched, with Snape's help, a cure for Frank and Alice Longbottom's ailments brought on by the cruciatus curse, but only one thing would reverse the effects: the death of the person who cast the spell. It could not be done with wand magic, but a potion was a simple loophole; if cold-blooded murder could be called simple.

After procuring the memory of one of the aurors that caught the Lestranges and Crouch, Albus found that he would only need to murder two people, rather than four. The two Lestrange brothers merely observed the Longbottoms' torture while only Bellatrix and Bartemius Crouch, Jr. took part in it, taking one Longbottom each. Albus' frail justification to himself was the assumption that after bringing about so much tragedy to so many in order to stop Voldemort, his soul was beyond saving anyway.

"How long will the potion take to brew?"

Severus answered, "Just under two months, though it may be longer. I haven't brewed that particular potion since I worked for the Dark Lord." He said it with a pair of raised eyebrows, obviously hoping to have an effect on Albus, comparing him to Lord Voldemort. It worked, though Albus wouldn't let it show.

"Very well. In two months' time, I will visit Azkaban prison, rescue our old friend, and dispose of Lestrange and Crouch."

"And how will you be covering up the escape? Surely you don't expect to swipe Black from his cell without the aurors or dementors noticing?"

"I will be using this." Albus pulled from his desk the old Diadem of Ravenclaw that the two of them had found in the Room of Requirement. He had since discovered the true nature of the artifact, and was disgusted to find that it housed a portion of Tom Riddle's soul. "I shall conjure a precise, slightly moving replica of Sirius Black, which should fool the guards, as prisoners barely move in Azkaban anyway. Underneath the decoy will be the horcrux, which has enough of a soul to satisfy the dementors, since they cannot distinguish between individuals."

Severus looked at him through narrowed eyes. "You have an extremely dangerous item in your possession, anchoring one of the darkest wizards of all time to this world, and you choose not to destroy the foul thing, but to leave it in a prison filled with his followers, in the interest of freeing one man, who may or may not still be a mass-murderer?"

"The horcrux will be placed in a pouch that I will turn into a portkey, though it won't transport anybody with it. It will return back to my desk the moment it is touched by a human or dementor, or the moment any magic is performed on it. I can cancel out the anti-portkey ward in Black's cell only, and the guards won't be aware of the change, as long as they don't check for it, which I'm told that they don't do.

"Though, this is not a permanent solution. The portion of Voldemort's soul inside the diadem is not very big. A person who hadn't made a horcrux might last decades in Azkaban before their soul has been worn down to the point of nonexistence, but such a small fraction might only last a couple of years with the dementors eating away at it. Once the soul portion inside the diadem is no more, the Dementors will alert the guards, and the portkey will activate upon their search, sending the empty Diadem back to me."

The potions master listened intently to Albus' plan. "So, Black will have two years before the Ministry begins its manhunt."

"Yes. Though, I will need to perform legilimency on him before I break him out. If he indeed killed those muggles merely for the sake of getting revenge on Pettigrew, he deserves to stay in Azkaban."

"The bastard showed murderous intentions when he was sixteen, I wasn't shocked to find that he killed those people."

"Nevertheless, something bothers me about the situation, and it is worth breaking into the prison to find out, especially if I will already be there taking care of Lestrange and Crouch.

Severus nodded. After a moment of silence and sipping, he put on a thoughtful look and spoke up again. "Why?"

"Pardon?" Albus asked.

"You have been content to let a man rot in Azkaban for ten years, and leave two people insane in St. Mungos, not to mention living with the fact that you brought about the death of two people that trusted you to no end, and somehow you have been able to sleep at night. And now you mean to correct the errors that are still correctable, though barely. Why now?"

"I have told you this, Severus. Harry has been through –"

"I don't buy that," Severus interrupted, still calm, but forceful. "A boy growing up in an abusive home, while tragic, does not compare to a man having his soul fed on for ten years, or a couple trapped in their own minds, unable to raise their son. It does not compare to Lily believing she had no choice but to sacrifice herself for her child, when your choices put the Dark Lord in her home. Why would a sad story compel you to erase and correct your mistakes, when you have written disasters and tragedies in these peoples' lives all this time?"

Albus remained silent, not out of choice. He had no words to say.

Then, revelation showed in Severus' eyes. He exhaled, unable to speak a moment, then finally said it: "Petunia." Albus looked away again.

Severus' glare could have burned a hole in Albus. "You do not care about the boy. You do not care about Black or the Longbottoms or their son, or anyone else but yourself. You do not care about the Potters. You've prided yourself on being able to predict people, to be an all-knowing expert on human nature, but you were wrong. Petunia Dursley didn't care for her nephew like you thought she would; she didn't fit into your perfect puzzle, and you can't stand it, so you've just now decided to undo what you've done. You're like a child, throwing an elaborate fit when someone doesn't play by your rules!

He rose from his chair and leaned over the desk. Albus' hand moved instinctively to his wand, not grabbing it, but ready to do so. This wouldn't be the first time Severus made an attempt on his life. "But you can't undo this, Dumbledore. You can't erase the ten years of being an orphan that you forced onto Potter, or the Longbottom boy. You can't undo anything that you've done to your victims! Break Black out of prison, kill Lestrange and Crouch, let Potter live a happy life with his new family, but it's all pointless because you will never earn their forgiveness."

"Am I to assume then, that you will not be assisting me with Black's escape?"

Severus merely stared at Albus, a look of pure hatred on his face akin to when he had first confessed his crimes to the younger man, but after a moment, he swiped the lemon drops from the desk, turned around and stormed out of the office.

Albus merely sat there for a while, thinking about Severus' words. The potions master had been correct; he would never gain the forgiveness of those he had wronged, and he would never wash the blood from his hands. But he was doing the right thing now. It would never be enough to wipe his slate clean, but he would die striving to make that unreachable goal, and there was much to do in order to correct his past mistakes and prevent future ones.

He summoned his pensieve, put his wand to his head, and pulled the conversation with Severus out and into a vial. He then swirled the memory currently in the basin and leaned forward, to get a fresh look at his visit to an orphanage over fifty years ago, a visit that changed the Wizarding World forever.

Yes, there was much to do.