August 20th, 1991

For years now, Harry had felt like he was invisible. Whenever he tried to talk to Vernon, his uncle would not answer. If Harry stepped in Dudley's way, his cousin would simply walk around him. Eventually, he had decided to test the limits of this phenomena, and moved into Dudley's toy room. His cousin never set foot in that room again, and Harry got to claim all of its contents for himself. It was as if the other boy had forgotten about its existence.

It hadn't always been this way. When Harry was six or seven, his cousin had taken great pleasure in pushing him around. Petunia would reward Dudley for his behavior while chastising Harry. As far as uncle Vernon, anything Harry said or did enraged him. Even so, Harry missed the way things were. At least back then they had acknowledged his existence. There was something incredibly disconcerting about trying to talk to Dudley and having the boy stare through Harry as if he wasn't even there. Being bullied was preferable to being ignored – that's the way Harry felt after years of the latter.

It was a warm summer day when Harry heard a strange scratching sound at front door. The Dursleys didn't have any pets – Petunia would not allow animals in the house. She saw them as filthy – never mind all the dirt Dudley tracked in. Curious, Harry walked to the door and opened it. A large brown bird was hopping on the welcome mat. He recognized it as an owl from one of the nature shows he liked to watch.

Harry crouched down. He had never seen an owl before, and the novelty of it was exciting. Just as he reached out to pet it, the bird flew away. Harry was about to get up when he noticed the envelope left behind on the welcome mat.

He retrieved the letter, and examined the back. It was addressed to himself – Harry Potter, the smallest bedroom, 4 Privet Drive. Nobody ever sent him mail. For that matter, nobody ever sent the Dursleys envelopes like this one. It was made of a thick, heavy material rather than standard paper. The address was written out in the fanciest cursive he had ever seen. Harry closed the door behind him, and carefully broke the seal – a thick red piece of wax stamped with figures of animals. It looked like some sort of medieval crest - the type of symbol knights had on their shields in movies or fairy tales. The letter inside was written out in the same elaborate hand.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of all the necessary books and equipment. We understand your unique situation in being raised by your muggle relatives, and the difficulties they may encounter in taking you to Diagon Alley. As such, we have arranged a portkey that will take you to Hogsmeade. From there, a professor will escort you on your shopping trip. This letter is the portkey. The activation phrase is "Griffin." We will be expecting you at 10AM on August 23rd.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Harry frowned as he finished the letter. Nothing this interesting had ever happened to him before. The letter was intriguing, but also very confusing. He didn't have any friends, so he had no idea who would want to play a prank on him, let alone one this elaborate.

"What is a portkey," he muttered scanning the letter one more time. "...or a Griffin?"

He had barely finished speaking when a he felt a tug at his navel followed by a gut wrenching sensation. His bedroom disappeared from before his eyes, and he came to sprawled on a cobblestone street. A tingling sensation ran down his left hand, and he rubbed his elbow where it had struck the stone. As he sat up, he took in his surroundings.

There were buildings, no... shops, on either side. The storefronts looked very old-fashioned. They reminded Harry of the types of places his Aunt liked to browse for antiques and decorations, back when she bothered bringing Harry along on the family trips. She never trusted Harry to be alone in the house back then, his uncle was convinced he would steal things. Funny how they didn't mind now. It felt like ages ago, even though it was only a couple of years.

Harry shook his head, snapping back out of his memories. A few odd people were walking around. They wore strange dresses – both the men and the women. Harry looked down at the letter now crumpled in his hand. He hadn't realized how hard he was squeezing. He walked to a nearby shopfront, and smoothed it out against a wall. 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' That didn't make any sense. Everybody knew witches and wizards were make-believe. But if that was the case, how had he ended up here?

The portkey - whatever it was - should have taken him to Hogsmeade. Harry knew he should feel afraid or anxious, but oddly enough, that was not the case. What just happened was strange, but Harry's life wasn't entirely normal in the first place. All the other kids on Privet Drive had families that cared about them, friends, and lives that were quite different than his own. He rarely got out of the house – people on the outside tended to ignore him just as the Dursleys had, so there was little point in doing so. What had happened with the letter was very unusual, but it was too late to say if in a good way or a bad way.

A strangely dressed woman was just about to walk past. She looked a few years younger than aunt Petunia, and was carrying a bag of groceries in one hand. Harry decided to ask her where he was, even though he didn't expect to get an answer.

"Miss?"

She stopped walking and turned towards Harry. "Hello there."

Harry was speechless for a moment. As he tried to speak, his voice caught in his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he had talked to somebody. "I.. I think I'm lost. Could you tell where Hogsmeade is?"

The lady smiled. "You are in Hogsmeade, sweety."

Harry looked down at the letter. "How about Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts is a few kilometers away." She looked around the street. "Are you alone?"

Harry nodded. He held up the hastily smoothed letter. "I got this in the mail. I don't think I can explain what happened next..." The woman took it from him. As she read the letter, her eyes grew wider with each passing second.

"Harry Potter?"

"Just Harry..."

She smiled, handing Harry the letter. "It seems like you activated the Portkey, Harry. It's only August 16th, so you are a week early."

"What's a Portkey?"

"It's an object that has been enchanted to take you from one place to another." She frowned for a moment. "I suppose if you were raised by muggle relatives, you might not have heard of one before."

"Oh..." Harry didn't understand a word of what she had just said. Her answer only raised another question, but he felt that if he asked what muggles were, they would just keep going down a rabbit hole.

"It's an honor to meet you, by the way."

"Why?"

The lady frowned briefly before smiling once again. "For saving us all? For defeating You-Know-Who?"

"Who?"

"You know…" the lady quickly brought up her hand, covering her mouth, as her eyes slightly widened. "...or maybe not. Forget I mentioned it, sweety. Let's see if we can get you to a professor."

Harry nodded, eager to leave the odd conversation behind. He wasn't used to talking to people. It had seemed like the lady was about to share something interesting, but if she thought better of it, so be it. If it was important, Harry would find out later anyway. As it was, he wasn't completely convinced this woman was sane... or maybe he was the one losing his mind.

"Come with me."

The woman offered Harry her hand, and Harry took it. She led him to a nearby building. Through the front windows, Harry could see tables inside, some of them occupied by people. Most had food and drinks in front of them. They were all wearing the funny clothing. Maybe that's what passed for normal in Hogsmeade.

After they passed through the doors, the woman took Harry straight to the bar. A couple of the patrons greeted her as she moved by, and she waved back. When they got to the woman working at the bar, the lady at Harry's side greeted her enthusiastically.

"Hello Rosmerta!"

"Morning Amelie! I see you picked up the groceries." Rosmerta paused as she saw Harry. "Who's your friend?"

"A Hogwarts first year that got here a bit early."

"I'd say. Will he be helping you out in the kitchen today?"

Amelie laughed, letting go of Harry's hand to place the grocery bags behind the counter. "I'm afraid not. We need to contact a professor for him."

"Shame, we could always use an extra pair of hands. Well, you know where the floo is."

Amelie beckoned Harry towards the fireplace set into the adjacent wall. He followed, curious why she would want to light a fire. She bent down so that they were at eye level.

"I'm going to have to make a quick floo-call to Hogwarts. Have you seen a floo before?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'm going to put my head inside a fire, but don't worry, it won't burn me. Remember, green flame is safe, red is dangerous."

Harry stood by as the woman proceeded to pull out a wooden stick and light a fire almost instantaneously. This was the most incredible thing Harry had seen yet. It took uncle Vernon almost ten minutes of swearing to do the same thing with a lighter and paper back at home.

The next part was even cooler. Amelie took a handful of powder from a vase next to the fireplace, and threw it in the flames. They flared up, and turned a bright shade of green. She winked at Harry before murmuring something and sticking her head into the flames.

Harry cringed, waiting for her to pull back. Surprisingly, she stayed put for several minutes. When she emerged, she was smiling rather than crying with pain.

"I spoke to the deputy headmistress, and she is expecting you at her office now. You can step into the fireplace – your whole body, not just your head. The floo will take you to her."

"Like the portkey?"

"Exactly! It doesn't feel as unpleasant though..."

Harry nodded. He didn't want to Amelie to think he was afraid, so he stepped up towards the fire. He turned to her with his best attempt at a smile. "Thank you for helping me."

Amelie smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "It was my pleasure. Good luck at Hogwarts!"

Harry grinned, looking away as he felt his cheeks grow warm. He took a deep breath and took the final step into the flames before he lost his courage.

Amelie had been right, this felt better than the portkey in that the gut-wrenching sensation was absent. That wasn't to say it felt natural. When he came out on the other side, he nearly lost his balance. The entire floo experience was extremely disorienting. He took a look around as he gradually regained his senses.

He stood in a stone room. The walls were lined with bookshelves. In front of him sat a large desk cluttered with scrolls, and staring at him was a gray-haired woman dressed in similar clothes to the ones Amelie had been wearing, but even more archaic.

"Good Morning. Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded slowly, still slightly dazed from the Floo.

"Hello..." Harry was struck by the awkwardness of his reply as soon as it came out of his mouth. He knew he wanted to make a good impression, but he wasn't sure what else to say. The corner of the woman's mouth turned up slightly, but it went back to normal as she started speaking once more.

"Welcome. I am professor McGonagall, the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. Amelie filled me in on some of of the details of how you arrived here, but I must ask, how did you come to activate the portkey early?" There was a slight reproach in the woman's tone as she asked the question, but Harry got the sense that she was more curious than anything.

"I don't know what a portkey is, ma'am"

"The letter you received was a single-use portkey - a means of magical transportation. While your guardians are non-magical, they should have been able to inform you of that much. In fact, I was counting on it. Unfortunately, you activated the portkey well before the scheduled date."

Harry winced internally. The letter had been clear on when the trip was to be held. "I'm sorry, professor."

The woman looked at him oddly for a moment, but then nodded curtly. "It's in the past now. Tell me, how much have your aunt and uncle told you about our world?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say, so he asked the question that had been on his mind all morning. "Magic is real?"

The professor sighed softly. She folded her hands in front of her on the desk."Nothing, I take it. Very well then... Magic is very real. You are standing in Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, the finest school for magic in all of Britain. Tell me, did your guardians speak to you about your heritage at all?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "They never speak to me at all anymore."

McGonagall frowned. "That is not good. I will have to investigate. Do they mistreat you?"

Harry shrugged. "They never notice me, but I help myself to the fridge, and have a room with a bed, toys, books... it's packed with stuff really. It used to be my cousin's..." He cut himself off. Harry didn't want the professor to think he had stolen the room from his cousin, and he really hadn't, at least not intentionally.

The deputy headmistress nodded slowly. "It is reassuring to know that your basic needs are met, at the very least. Regardless, I will arrange to have somebody look into your home life around winter recess. For now, we will have to find somebody to take you shopping."

Harry nodded slowly, still mulling over his earlier slip-up.

The professor looked at Harry's eyes, and her expression softened.

"I would take you to Diagon Alley myself, but I have an incredible amount of paperwork in perpetration for the term. I will however ask one of the other professors to accompany you for your shopping. I am afraid they are all rather busy this close to the start of term, but I will see who is least occupied at the moment."

Professor McGonagall turned around and walked towards a large fireplace. She stuck her head in the fireplace, and a stream of incoherent mumbling drifted Harry's way from the fireplace. The minutes ticked by. Harry thought over their conversation. He felt like he had come across as clueless. While that was how he really felt, he was in a school, so he didn't want the professors to think he was dim, lest they uninvite him to Hogwarts. He would have to cut back on the questions for now.

A quarter of an hour later, the woman pulled her head out of the fireplace and walked back to her desk. She gestured towards a chair opposite her desk, and Harry took a seat.

"Pardon the delay, that took longer than I expected. Your escort for the trip will be here shortly. He was friends with your mother when he attended Hogwarts, so I'm sure he will be happy to show you around Diagon Alley."

The flames flared up for a moment, and a black clad figure stepped out of the fireplace, his robes billowing around him. He had a prominent nose, and jet black hair just touching his shoulders. The man walked towards the desk, stopping right besides it. He looked down at the Harry, his austere face completely unreadable.

"So… this is Potter?" he spoke softly.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Yes, Harry was unaware of how a portkey works, or of the existence of magic for that matter, so he has arrived a bit early. As we discussed via floo, you are to take him to Diagon Alley, and then drop him off back home at the location I gave you. "

The tall man crossed his arms before looking back at the boy. "Alright, I will place some orders of my own while I'm there, but I will see to it that he gets all of the supplies that he needs. On your feet, Potter."

Harry nearly jumped out of his seat.

"Listen closely. This is a floo. It can take you to other floo's set up around magical Britain. To use it, you must say the name of your destination, and throw a handful of this powder," the man gestured towards a bowl sitting on top of the mantel, "into the fire. It is very important you throw the powder into the fire before stepping inside."

Harry raised his eyebrows slightly. It seemed pretty obvious that he was being talked down to, but he couldn't understand why. Maybe this man held students to higher standards than McGonagall? Maybe McGonagall had told him about Harry's blunders while she was in the Floo? Harry had shown up well ahead of the scheduled date knowing nothing of magic, so he did feel that he deserved some mocking.

"Severus…"

"Spare me Minevra," the man replied. "It's not every day I have to explain the Floo to a ten-year-old."

Harry took a handful of powder. "Um sir, what should I say?"

"Diagon Alley, Potter, weren't you listening?" The man pinched his brow as he spoke. "Go ahead, I'll be right behind you.."

Harry stepped closer to the fire. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. Less than an hour ago, he had been sitting in his room watching the telly, and now he was about to light himself on fire... for the second time. Oh well, it seemed like either he was crazy, or magic was very real. Regardless, it looked like the only way out of this situation was by moving forward. "Diagonally," he spoke quickly, tossing the powder into the flames and stepping inside.

He felt a violent spinning sensation before finding himself sprawled on the floor of a dirty old fireplace. It felt... different than his first floo trip. He coughed spastically, wiping the ash off his face with his hands. The area in front of him was lined with shelves. They were packed with jars, books, trinkets, and a wide array of other strange artifacts. Harry pushed himself up to his feet, and did his best to dust off his shirt and jeans. He walked up to the nearest shelf. In front of him was a withered old hand sticking up from a wooden base. Harry grimaced, turning to consider a collection of black metal orbs laying next to the hand. He peered at the largest one. It's surface was mirror-smooth. Harry felt tempted to touch it. As he reached out, he noticed the reflection of his fingers approaching the orb... only, they looked old and withered.

Harry quickly jerked his hand back. He scanned the shelves around him. Now that he thought about it, none of the objects were particularly appealing. In fact, they seemed repulsive in an odd way he couldn't quite place. Harry stepped away from the shelf, and sat down against the wall next to the fireplace. He was there for what felt like a while before rapidly approaching footsteps caught his attention.

A door Harry hadn't noticed swung open, and an old man stepped in. He was brandishing a wooden stick much like the one Amelie had used to light the fire at the tavern, but he wore a stained tunic and had grimace fixed on his face. Where McGonagall had looked prim and collected, this stranger seemed rumpled and dangerous. The man looked around the room before settling his eyes on Harry. "Well well, what do we have here…"

Harry tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. The man didn't give him a chance to recover.

"Judging by your clothes, either a filthy little mudblood or a blood-traitor, and I do mean filthy." He took a step closer, his grimace twisted into a sneer.

Harry found his voice. "I can explain..."

"Oh yeh? Start by explainin' how you broke into my shop."

Harry looked down at his ash-covered clothes. He wasn't sure what the man was talking about, but he looked dangerous. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry did his best to answer. "I'm here for my school supplies. Professor…" he frowned, the dark haired man had never introduced himself. He thought McGonagall had called him something starting with an S, but he couldn't remember. His thoughts had been otherwise preoccupied at the time.

"Professor what," the man growled. "You won't be finding any school supplies in Borgin and Burke's, or in knockturn alley for that matter. Not to mention, this store's closed today. I was enjoyin' my day off before you set my detection charms off. I 'ad to leave a really nice lady behind. I'd already paid, mind you, so you better start talkin'. In fact, you can start by explainin' how you got through a decommissioned floo..."

The man took another step towards Harry, raising the stick until it pointed square at the boy's chest. The tip of the stick began to glow purple, and Harry involuntarily took a step back, wincing as his back hit the shelf.

The fireplace began to burn green once more, and a flustered looking professor Snape stepped out. He looked back and forth between the Harry and the man pointing his wand at the boy, slowly raising an eyebrow.

"Explain."

"This boy just broke into my shop!" the other man shouted.

"Calm yourself Borgin," the professor replied. He gestured towards Harry. "This is his first time using the floo, and he managed to botch the intonation. Him ending up here was completely random. I should know, I had to floo to the ministry's transport department and have them track down the exit node."

"But it's been decommissioned..."

"Well, it sounds like you should find whoever 'decommissioned' it for you, and ask for your money back. Besides, no floo is beyond the reach of the ministry... and no magic is idiot-proof, not even the floo." Snape turned towards Harry at the last bit.

Harry lowered his head, staring at his toes. Maybe Borgin would let them go if Harry looked pathetic enough. Besides, Snape had a point - he had messed up with the Floo. Fortunately, it seemed Borgin had bigger worries than what to do with Harry.

"Ministry? Shite. I better take care of some merchandise befor' they send somebody to check the fireplace. That's the las' time I pay "Dung" Fletcher to do me a favor. You two best get going," the man snarled.

The professor nodded, grasping Harry by the shoulder with a vice-like grip and dragging him between the shelves. "Don't touch anything" he muttered as he navigated his way around several aisles. Harry nodded glumly. They finally made their way a creaky door. The professor wordlessly opened the door, prodding Harry through.

Harry took in the street in front of him. It was largely deserted save for a hunchbacked woman walking down the opposite way. She was dressed in the same odd clothes McGonagall and the two men had been wearing. The professor stepped out besides him, and gestured to the right.

"I'm sorry about that, professor. I didn't know intonation was so important when using the Floo."

The professor's face twitched slightly, but he didn't acknowledge the apology.

"Start walking Potter. Knockturn alley is relatively safe during the day, but you seem to be a magnet for trouble."

As they made their way through the secluded alleyways, Harry began to pick up medley of noises coming from ahead. He could hear dozens of voices blended together, footsteps, and even the shrieks of some sort of bird. As they made a right turn, a sea of color came into view before his eyes. Shops of all types lined the cobblestone streets, their goods on display behind large panels of glass. Harry couldn't make sense of most of what he saw. Why would there be an entire store dedicated entirely to brooms? He had a dozen questions he wanted to ask the professor besides him, but he didn't want to risk looking more daft than he already did.

There were dozens of people perusing the stores and the stands set up on the sides of the street. Nearly all of them wore the same funny clothes worn by the professors and Borgin. Harry looked down at his own clothes and remembered what the scary man in knockturn alley had said about his outfit. His curiosity boiled over, and he decided to risk a question.

"Professor Snape, what's a mudblood?"

A couple within earshot turned around and gave Harry a disgusted look. Professor Snape stopped walking and turned around to look at the boy. They made eye contact, and Harry felt and odd sensation in his head. He focused on the strange feeling, but that seemed to make it fade away. The professor frowned, and paused for another moment before speaking.

"That's not a word you should be using around strangers Potter… or around friends for that matter." His eyes drifted away for a moment before focusing back on Harry's eyes. "You do understand what a muggle is, correct?" The boy nodded. "Some witches and wizards look down upon magical people descended from muggles. The word you so foolishly used is a slur for a witch or wizard born to muggles. I would recommend you avoid using it at Hogwarts."

With that, the professor whirled around and resumed walking. Harry was forced to catch up or be stranded in the crowd. Fantastic, he had probably asked one of the worst questions possible. Coupled with the Floo incident, professor Snape was sure to hate him by now.

Soon, they reached an imposing building made of white marble. Polished columns flanked a large burnished bronze door. The word 'Gringotts' was carved in the stone above the door. Professor Snape briskly stepped towards the door, Harry following at his heels. Suddenly, a malformed, leathery creature stepped out from behind a column. Harry shrieked, only to be met with a toothy grin from the creature. Another creature clapped the first on the back before breaking down into a laughing fit. Professor Snape sighed besides him.

"Don't encourage them, Potter."

They stepped through the double doors, Harry walking a little more quickly than before. He was eager to get away from the monsters.

"What was that thing, Professor?"

"Those are goblins. They are in charge of Gringotts, the only wizarding bank in Britain. I would recommend you don't call them 'things.' Goblins can be rather temperamental. That is, if you are lucky. If not, they will hold a grudge for ten years before they strike. Either way, you will be very sorry if you cross them."

Harry shuddered before nodding quickly. He took a better look at the room around him. The interior walls were also made from polished white marble. The ceiling was covered with gold inlays depicting strange scenes, all of which were moving around as if he was looking at a film. Harry squinted more closely before realizing most of the scenes were of gruesome battles – one of them showed a group of the creatures massacring a village. He quickly looked away.

A row of raised desks flanked each side of the room, with a goblin sitting at each one. Professor Snape walked towards the nearest one, followed closely by Harry. The goblin was writing feverishly on a piece of parchment, using a feather of all things. The professor cleared his throat, and the goblin looked up with a sneer.

"May I help you?" it croaked in a raspy voice.

"Yes, we are here to access the Potter vault." He gestured at the boy besides him. The goblin gripped the edge of the desk and lifted itself forward to peer at Harry.

"Key please" it uttered, extending a wrinkly hand, each finger ending in a tapered black nail. The professor removed a small silver key from a pocket and handed it to the goblin. The creature waved its hand over the key, and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. It settled back into its seat before barking an order.

"Griphook!"

A smaller goblin, dressed in a simpler uniform than the bank teller, stepped up from a nearby corridor. The first goblin passed the key to Griphook, and the younger goblin waved its hand over the key before beckoning to the two wizards. Harry and the professor followed the creature through the side passageway from which it had emerged. The marble walls gave way to dark gray stone, and they soon reached a wrought iron cart.

"Step inside," the goblin croaked, pointing at the cart. Harry and the professor complied, and within seconds all three were hurtling down a track, deep into the underbelly of Gringotts. It was difficult to see much of anything in the dim light. At one point, Harry could have sworn he saw fire billow in the distance. He cowered as the cart dived under a large waterfall, but oddly enough, the water didn't wet his clothes, much like the floo hadn't burnt them to a crisp.

"Thief's downfall" the goblin croaked - uncomfortable close to Harry's ear. "in case you take what isn't yours."

Harry scowled at the creature before turning his head to stare straight ahead. A couple of minutes later, the cart stopped moving abruptly. The goblin hopped out of the cart, and the wizards followed behind. The creature pressed its hands against a wall, and a stone door seemed to melt away. Griphook pressed the key into the door, and the stone shifted to present an opening. The goblin barked some phrase in its strange guttural language, and the door grew larger, revealing a human sized hole.

"You may proceed. I will wait outside until you are finished making your withdrawal."

Harry and the professor made their way into the vault. It was surprisingly small, roughly the size of a small bathroom. There were stone shelves cut into the walls, each shelf bearing small brown pouches and stacks of golden coins. The professor grabbed a couple of medium sized pouches, passing them to the boy.

"That's about two hundred galleons" he spoke. "Your school supplies should run you about one hundred and eighty. You can spend the remainder as you see fit throughout the term. The pouches have been charmed to offset the weight and size of the coins - I would recommend you don't lose them."

"How much is this in pounds sir?"

The man shrugged. "Per ministry rules, a galleon a day is the lowest salary a witch or wizard may earn. Suffice it to say, that is quite a bit of money you are holding."

"Will I need to pay to attend Hogwarts, professor?

"No, tuition and housing at Hogwarts is paid for by the school's endowment. The supplies would be free too, but the board of governors felt there should be some investment made by the families of the students. You don't need to worry about such matters. The room you see here contains only a fraction of the contents of the Potter vault. You will not be able to access the vault proper until you come of age, but the contents here should keep you amply funded until then."

Harry nodded, placing the pouches in his pocket. Strangely, the pouches seemed to shrink until their bulk was barely noticeable.

"Onward then" the professor spoke. The two wizards walked back to the cart, joined by Griphook. With a clang, the cart shot back and upwards along the tracks. Three nauseating minutes later, they were back where they had started. When they reached the main lobby, the goblin nodded curtly and separated from the group. Harry and the professor made their way outside the bank. The goblins at the door smirked at Harry, and he shot back a glower which only sent them into another laughing fit.

The professor shook his head before pausing to speak. "Next up is Madam Malkin's. We will see about getting you some proper school robes"

The walk to their next destination took slightly longer since the streets were crowded with an influx of wizards and witches off on their lunch break. Soon enough, they reached Madam Malkin's storefront. Professor Snape stopped just short of the door, and pulled out his wand. He muttered "Tempus," and bright silver numerals shimmered into existence in the air before him. As he pocketed his wand, the numerals faded away. Harry's couldn't help but stare at the display of magic. Even after experiencing magical travel and speaking to a goblin, he still found himself stunned. The professor caught him staring and smirked. Harry blushed, but then remembered he had only learned about magic a few hours ago, so there was really nothing to be embarrassed about.

"Go on in. I must place some orders at the herbalist's. I should be back by the time your robes are finished, but if that is not the case, DON'T go anywhere. I did not appreciate playing hide and seek after your little floo stunt, and you don't want to test my patience twice in the same day." The professor spun on his heels, his cloak billowing behind him. Harry grinned – he wondered if the professor practiced that move in front of a mirror. "And stick to plain school robes, regardless of what Malkin tries to up-sell," the man called over his shoulder as he walked away from the store.

Harry walked into the store, accompanied by a bell chime. The interior was much larger than the storefront would suggest - he wondered if it worked on the same principle as the coin-purse. The walls were lined with huge spools of fabric. Scattered around the room were wooden mannequins dressed in elaborate outfits. Harry nearly soiled his pants when the closest mannequin moved to face him and tipped its pointy hat in his direction. Two other – human – occupants were in the far corner of the gallery. A buxom witch – likely Madam Malkin – was pinning the sleeves of a robe worn by a tall, slightly pudgy boy. The later awkwardly fidgeted as he looked about the room. Finally, somebody that looked more uncomfortable than himself. Harry locked eyes with the boy and grinned. His gesture was met with a timid smile.

"Hogwarts too?" Harry questioned, walking towards the pair.

"Yeah" the boy replied softly. "I can hardly believe it."

"Why's that?"

"I was half afraid I was a squib. I've only done magic once, and that was when my uncle dropped me out of a window. But Hogwarts, that's the best school of magic there is. If they picked me, I must be a wizard"

Harry frowned. "What's a squib?"

The other boy looked Harry up and down, his eyes drifting over the muggle clothing. "Are you the first magical in your family? A squib is a wizard-born person, but they can't use magic."

Harry nodded slowly. He tried to think back to a time when he had used magic, but he had trouble remembering anything of the sort. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. What if there was a mistake? What if he really wasn't a wizard? The other boy seemed to pick up on Harry's dilemma and quickly spoke up.

"Don't worry about that though. Like I said – if you got a letter from Hogwarts, you must be a wizard. My name is Neville by the way, Neville Longbottom."

"Harry, Harry Potter."

"No way!" The other boy looked up at Harry's scar before meeting his eyes once more. "I can't believe I didn't notice it earlier."

Harry rubbed his forehead. "It's just a scar. My aunt said I got it when I fell down the stairs when I was little."

Neville shook his head eagerly. "That can't be right. If you're Harry Potter, then you're the boy who lived. You're the one who beat You-Know-Who? You and your parents are heroes."

Harry frowned. "My parents died in a car accident – what's so heroic about that? And who-do-I-know?"

Nevile shoulders slumped, his smile slowly fading. "Maybe I made a mistake. Sorry about your parents. Gran keeps telling me I talk without thinking sometimes."

Harry waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. Hey, maybe you're right. I'll see if I can find out more about my parents." Madam Malkin finished with Neville's robes, and patted him on the shoulder.

"All done, young Longbottom. Tell your grandmother I said hello." She pulled the robe off Neville's shoulders, careful not to disturb the pins. The boy smoothed the robe underneath with his hands. "I will send your set of robes by floo when they are ready. Don't worry about payment, I will put it on the Longbottom tab."

Neville thanked Madam Malkin and walked towards Harry. "It was great to meet you; I hope we'll see each other on the train." The boy blushed before quickly adding "if you want to sit together, that is."

Harry grinned back. "Of course, Neville. I don't know what you mean by the train, but we'll see each other again – if not there then at Hogwarts." Neville seemed nice enough. Besides, Harry wasn't exactly drowning in friends.

Neville waved as he walked towards a granite fireplace off to the side of the gallery. He took a fistful of powder, spoke "Longbottom Manor", and vanished into the green flames. Harry waved after the boy and stepped up to Madam Malkin.

"Hello young man. Hogwarts I presume?"

"Yes."

"Just take a seat here and I'll have you all sorted out."

The next fifteen minutes were a flurry of floating magical measuring tape, safety pins, and lengths of black fabric. Madam Malkin engaged Harry in small talk, although he had a difficult time understanding most of the references she made. What in the world were the Chudley Cannons? If they kept losing, why would anybody be their fan? He mostly nodded at the lady, and she seemed content to talk at Harry as she worked. True to his word, professor Snape arrived just before Madam Malkin had finished.

"That will be ten galleons for the full set of school robes. Where would you like them sent to?"

Professor Snape spoke before Harry had a chance to answer. "Send them to 4 Privet Drive. There is no floo in the house, and it is in a muggle neighborhood, so you will have to be discreet with the shipping."

Madam Malkin waved her hand. "I will have a courier drop them off." Harry dug into one of his pouches and fished out twenty golden coins, turning to the professor.

"I take it these are galleons?"

Professor Snape rubbed his face with his hand. "Yes Potter, those are galleons. After we leave the shop, you and I are going to have a talk about magical currency."

The coins exchanged hands, and Harry and the professor walked out with a wave from Madam Malkin. The professor and Harry visited several other stores, although the boy didn't run into any other students. With Snape at his side, the visits were brief and streamlined – they paused only long enough to purchase the school supplies. The professor seemed to have the list memorized – and knew the right place to visit for the best deal. Harry wished he could have stuck around at Flourish and Botts for a few hours, but his escort seemed eager to keep things moving.

"Last place we need to visit is Olivander's" the man said as they stepped back onto the street. Harry shifted the books under his arm. Nearly all his purchases were to be sent to his home, but he had managed to convince the professor to let him take a couple of his school books along with him. Snape had been amused to learn that one of the books that caught Harry's eye was Magical Drafts and Potions. That must be what he taught at Hogwarts.

"What do they sell at Olivander's?" Harry asked.

"Mainly wands." The professor replied. "Olivander is the finest wand-maker in all of Britain. His wands will set you back about one hundred galleons, but you are one of the privileged few that can afford it. What is to be seen is if you are worthy of carrying such a fine piece of work. While the wand doesn't make the wizard, it can certainly compensate for some deficiencies, and that may come in handy in your case."

Harry frowned, but nothing the man said could faze him. He was about to get his very own wand!

A/N: I will answer review questions on my author profile page or via PM so that I don't ruin immersion.