Chapter 15: A Shopping Trip Like Any Other

Harry didn't really expect things to go so smoothly once he got his letter from the Wizarding School in Britain.

Crowley put up the greatest resistance, mainly because the school was across the ocean. With his position as the King of Hell, he couldn't just go and visit Harry in Europe without a good enough reason.

Gabriel was easier to convince. It could have been because he was more aware of the abilities that Harry possessed. In all fairness, Harry just suspected that Gabriel wanted him there because of his past experiences in London. Harry knew that the archangel always gave those who had it coming their comeuppance – and since Britain was so entrenched in old families and blood feuds, there was never a shortage of victims for him to choose from.

Harry had to agree with that logic – especially since he has steadily begun to tip toward a trickster persona rather than his demon one. His time healing during his 'incarceration' had caused his partially tri-nature to slowly even out, eventually mellowing out his demon one. He could still use chaos and was still bound by his rules, but his more… demonic impulses… have become easier to control. Sure, Harry still felt pangs at times to indulge in his – as he likes to put it – 'Businessman' persona, but he managed to control it ever since he came back to the world of the living. His angel impulses – his 'Trickster' persona – was much more easily manageable and pleasant to use (1). His wizard side was somewhere in the middle, a bridge between the two personas as it were.

Anyway… The process went as smoothly as Harry hoped. He read the letter, asked his family for permission, and wrote back. He cordially accepted the invitation and asked for a method from this… Professor McGonagall… to go buy his supplies. She responded very soon – by owl again no less – and told him everything he needed to: how to get to the pub, how to open the door, about Gringotts, and some stuff regarding the Wizarding World. She wanted to send a guide to him for assistance, but when Harry replied and confirmed that he was aware of the magical world, she understood that he didn't need much advice.

Harry studied graphology more out of curiosity than necessity, but he had to admit that at times, it gave a very clear if not simple outline of an individual. Professor McGonagall writing was very old-fashioned, but she gave enough for Harry to work with. The average letter size indicated that she was well-adjusted and adaptable, the semi-narrow spacing was a toss-up between being introversive and extroversive, but the narrow 'l' loops did make it seems that she tended to restrict herself. The slashed dot over the 'i' did indicate that she didn't have the patience for inadequacy – necessary as a teacher – and based on her long crosses for 't,' she was very determined and enthusiastic. This, combined with her connected letters, heavy pressure, and slow writing speed, made Harry suspect that he would enjoy having her as a teacher. (2)

Since London was five hours ahead of Massachusetts, Harry wanted to go to the Wizarding World on his birthday – kind of like a gift from the universe, as it were. Gabriel was against it at this point, since he always planned grand birthday celebrations, but Harry said he would have more than enough to make it back in time for the party.

Seeing as he had nothing better to do at 3:00 AM on a Sunday, Harry got himself all dressed up, got his iPhone to play 'Queen' – oddly enough – and he teleported all the way to Britain in one go. If he were younger, he would have had to make a stop in Iceland beforehand as an intermediary, but he was older and stronger than then when he was a child.

The moment he got to Britain, he quickly started to look around. Gabriel wasn't kidding about the age of the damn place – energy permeated every building and foundation of the city. As he walked around, he began to notice odd signatures from certain individuals. Harry didn't give it much thought – figured they were just some low-level practitioners – until he saw an unusually giant man walking around, looking for something.

Now normally, Harry wouldn't indulge in petty human ignorance or focus in on what made people different from each other – attention to skill color and the like is what made most of the world's problems, to begin with. But the man was GIANT! If he lived in America and could move, he would have been drafted by every football team under the sun for any sum of money (3). When Harry got a good look at his soul, he noticed that he wasn't standard human flavor either. He definitely had wizard heritage, but there was something… supernatural about his soul as well. If giants were, in fact, real, Harry would have placed money that he had some of their blood in him.

Harry started to notice that the man was following a path to a magic hotspot Harry was feeling. Based on the instructions that Professor McGonagall gave him, he seemed to be going to the Leaky Cauldron as well. He appeared to be a little lost, though.

"Always get lost around here. Where is that damn pub now?" the man spoke to himself out loud.

Now if that isn't an invitation for assistance, then I don't know what is. Let's help out the poor soul…

"If you are looking for the Leaky Cauldron, I'll take you to it."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record store on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and Hagrid could see it. Before he could mention this, Hagrid had steered him inside. Didn't even give Harry a chance to figure out what kind of wards were used to put the place into 'ignore it' limbo.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. One was even reading a Stephen Hawking book for some reason, chuckling. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle. Harry was strong, but the giant didn't realize his own strength.

"Who's the kid?" asked the bartender.

"Oh, sorry, he isn't my Hogwarts business. Funny enough, he is a first year who found me and led me here. Forgot the bloody directions again."

Harry walked up to the bartender, "Harry MacLeod sir. A pleasure to meet you."

The bartender shook his hand, "Got an American accent there boy. What brings you all the way to Britain for Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged, "Don't ask me – ask my dead parents. I was adopted and moved to America."

The bartender flinched, "Oh, sorry about that…"

"Don't mind it. I got used to it a long time ago."

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"M-M-MacLeod," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you howp-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

"Must get on with our business then. Come on, Harry."

Harry followed Hagrid behind the bar, waiting to get out of earshot of the patrons before inquiring Hagrid about Quirrell. He didn't get a good look at him, but something felt... off about his future teacher. If his knowledge of tropes was any indication, the stuttering fool is usually the one who had a great dark secret he hid from everyone. (4)

"Is he always that nervous?"

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studying out of books but then he took a year off to get some firsthand experience... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit of trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's my umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Harry knew the first but not the later, and unless hags knew magic, vampires couldn't really break a man that badly (5). Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up…two across…" he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. Harry seriously regret not paying attention to what Hagrid did with his umbrella – he seriously doubted it was just as simple as pressing a specific stone combination.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

Hagrid grinned at Harry's amazement at the sight of all the people and shops. They stepped through the archway. Harry quickly looked over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into a solid wall.

Harry wished he had more eyes to see everything. The energies that permeated the area were intoxicating and beautiful to Harry. He turned his head in every direction as he and Hagrid walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad.…"

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever -." There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, and globes of the moon.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons - All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needing one," said Hagrid, "but we have to get your money first."

This made Harry finally pause and catch Hagrid's attention, "Something wrong Harry?"

"No, no. It's just that I need to find this wizarding bank called Gringotts and open up an account."

Hagrid looked at Harry confused, "Didn't you mention that you knew about the wizarding world? I thought your family would have an account in America, wouldn't you?"

Harry smiled. The man is simple, but he doesn't miss the minor details when they matter. "I am afraid that I am aware of the supernatural world, not the magical world: big difference."

"How so?"

"From what I could gather, the Wizarding World separated itself from the Muggle world a long time ago. But that doesn't mean the other magic styles and creatures in the world separated with it."

"Ahh, I see what you mean. You know of magic and magical creatures and you are involved with them. But to never meet a wizard in all this time – even in passing?"

Harry shrugged, "Well, your people do keep themselves private for a reason. I believe you call it the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?"

Hagrid nodded, "I see what you mean. Well, in any case, I am going there anyway on business, so I'll take you there with me."

The pair walked a little while – Harry drawing the most glares due to his clothing choices – but no one actually paid attention. Harry could only deduce that Hagrid must have been a guide to first years before, so the people born-and-raised in the Wizarding World must have been used to these things by now. Eventually, they approached a grand building.

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a diminutive creature that Harry smiled as he recognized from literature.

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head and half shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like it says, you would be mad to try and rob them," said Hagrid.

Noted: Don't piss off the goblins that hold your money, thought Harry to himself.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors, and they were in a vast marble hall. About them a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "I've come on business for Professor Dumbledore. I have a letter here explaining everything." Hagrid reached into one of his many pockets and gave the goblin the sealed envelope. "It's about the You-Know-What in Vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to the vault. And the child?"

Hagrid looked at Harry, who nodded for Hagrid to take the lead. "He is a new student going to Hogwarts this September. He needs to open an account in Gringotts to get money for his supplies."

"I have items for currency exchange if that makes things easier," said Harry.

The free goblin nodded, "Normally Griphook handles new accounts, but we can transfer his access to Vault 713 to another goblin to assist you, Mr. Hagrid."

Mr. Hagrid? What's his first name then?

"Thank you. Would you like to wait for me, Harry, or can you buy your supplies on your own afterward?"

"Well… I am new to this whole 'Wizard World' thing… but it 'd be good to do it with someone else. In any case, you will most likely wait for me."

The free goblin noted the conversation, "We can set up a location for you two to meet up later if you would like."

Harry turned to the goblin, "That would be lovely – thank you very much for your attentive service."

The goblin was shocked by the pleasantry in Harry's tone, but he took it in stride. "Griphook! Please take this child to open a new account."

"So, Mr…"

"MacLeod. Harry MacLeod."

Both Harry and Griphook were sitting in a locked office, with what Harry could only assume were privacy and anti-detection wards all around them. They were going through the paperwork to open an account for Harry…

"Now, what would you like to exchange for currency? We do take Muggle money."

Harry smiled, "That's okay – my family prefers the more trusted currency of precious goods and gems. They tend to barter more often than actually buy something."

Harry reached inside his hoody pocket – which was enchanted by Harry's unique brand of magic – and took out a gold bar, gently giving it to the goblin.

The goblin started to inspect the bar, "Very old, but pure gold. At current market value – minus a fee for melting and printing of new galleons –this 400 oz. gold bar is estimated to be around $480,000 US dollars. Accounting for the current rate of exchange, it comes to around 78,175 Galleons – give or take a few Sickles and Knuts. Congratulations, with this one bar, you would be promoted directly to our high-holdings branch."

"Does the age and marking not cause an issue?"

Goblin checked the bar again, "While the age is a factor, the purity is still good. The swastika on the bar is a non-issue since it will be melted anyway. Do you have more of these?" (6)

Harry gave a goblin feral smile – something that didn't deter the goblin. In fact, as far as Harry could tell, the smile actually made the goblin seem interested. "You do have more bars. You must be a very wealthy Muggle-born wizard."

"Wouldn't know – my parents died in Britain when I was too young to remember them."

This made Griphook pause. "Gringotts is the only banking establishment in Great Britain. All wizards who register at our bank have to deposit blood for registry and verification."

Harry realized what the goblin was implying, "Well then, I believe that… a small charge from my future account will be enough for a kind goblin like you to see if my blood matches someone else's in your extensive accounts. An extra tip will be given if it is kept quiet."

Griphook smiled, "That won't be necessary – we goblins value our client's privacy. If we do find the account of your parents, your possible surviving relatives will not be notified without your permission," Griphook pulled out a scroll that he rolled out for the boy, "If you would be so kind?"

Harry nodded, his smile slightly faltering. He started taking off one of his gloves, when he stopped for a second, "I should mention that my hands are damaged – is that going to be an issue?"

Griphook shook his head, "Only the blood matters, not where it comes from."

Harry nodded as he took off his glove. Griphook looked at the hand but wasn't bothered by what he saw. (7)

He watched as the child took out his own pocket knife and swiftly cut across his hand. The goblin noted that the boy's movement seemed practiced, especially when he clenched his hand into a fist to get it dripping.

Not a moment passed before the scroll instantly glowed. "Is that a good thing?" asked Harry as he was putting his glove back on.

Griphook was visibly shaking and grinning in his chair. "The scroll links directly to our priority cases for lost wizards and noble families. However, there is only one name on that list – one that even the Ministry won't note the recognition of from our establishment. We have been waiting for you for a very long time... Harry Potter."

Harry's brow raised, "Huh… so my family name is Potter…"

Shock registered on the goblin's face, "Did you really not know? There were reports that you were tortured by your guardians…"

"HOW DID YOU KNOW?" sat up Harry in a rush, almost reaching out for the goblin in panic.

"You are famous, Mr. Potter. But… your scar… where is your lightning scar? It should be proof that you defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

"Who?"

"Do you really not know?"

"Do I really need to remind you that I was tortured for six years by my Muggle relatives before moving to America? I had absolutely no access to the Wizarding World prior to getting my acceptance letter.

As Harry calmed down and sat back down, Griphook began to get new paperwork from his magical cabinet. "Well, if you must know the story then… In simplest terms, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – or Voldermort as he was actually called – was a Dark Wizard who started the First Wizarding War back in the 90's (8). Long story short, your parents were part of a group fighting against his regime and persecution against none pure-blood wizards. Due to some reason beyond even our understanding, they became priority targets when you were born. They managed to hide for some time, but eventually, he tracked them down and killed them. However, something happened when he attempted to do the same to you, Mr. Potter. For some reason, the spell reverberated back, killing him, ending the war, and leaving an orphan hero with nothing more than the lightning bolt shaped scar you no longer possess. How did you remove it? We know of no magic that could have removed that dark mark."

Harry sat there open-mouthed before regaining his composure, "Dark mark indeed. My adoptive family had it removed soon after they got me to America. I was out of it for about two months, but I got better, as you can clearly see," as Harry waved at himself, "Is that actually what happened? I mean, was there actually someone there to see it happen…"

Griphook shook his head as he prepared the paperwork, "No. The story was extrapolated on what evidence could be gathered with magic. As you were too young to possibly recall such a thing, I can understand your hesitation in believing it. Granted, it is what is published in the books, but unless someone else comes out to say what happened, it will remain as such (9). I do have to ask – what did happen that day when your guardian's house burned down?"

Harry gave the goblin an angry glare, "If I tell you, do you have to report it to… this Ministry?"

Griphook spat on the ground at the mention of the institution, "We goblins have been in decline in our relationship with the Ministry ever since the surviving members of your family kept pestering us for access to your family vaults."

"VAULTS? As in plural? How wealthy were my parents?"

"It was your father's side of the family – the Ancient and Noble House of Potter – that was rich. When you disappeared, you were presumed dead by the Wizarding World, your surviving relative on a distant branch – now the wife of one Lucius Malfoy – attempted to gain access to your funds. However, our personal magic told us otherwise. We are sorry we couldn't track you down sooner – we needed to wait until you were a legal wizard adult before we were allowed to search for you."

"No worries. At least you kept my vaults safe all this time. If I may ask, you invested and made a lot of profit with it didn't you?"

The goblin smiled again, "What gave it away Mr. Potter?"

Harry's smile returned as well, "The joy of getting me back – I doubt you do that to all your customers."

"Well, you are very cordial to us goblins. Plus, we did think you were going to be a new wealthy accountant to our establishment before we realized who you were. Do you still want to add your money to your new account?"

Harry thought about, "How wealthy am I exactly?"

Griphook checked the paperwork, "While your land holdings and artifacts – which include books and the like - can't be gauged in monetary worth, your financial holdings as far as I can tell… If converted to US currency… comes to a little over $400,000,000." Griphook smiled at Harry's response, "we had a few good years investing your family money based on your father's final instructions."

"Wow… that's… a tidy sum."

Griphook looked at the boy, "Based on your subdued reaction, can we assume that your adoptive family is even wealthier?"

Harry tilted his head, "Maybe not in actual monetary holdings, but they have A LOT of pull in America. But if this gold bar is any indication – as I considered it a simple deposit – you can guess how wealthy they are."

"Indeed. So what did happen on that day?"

Harry grimaced as he recalled the memory, "Griphook, while I am thankful for the information you have given me regarding my family and access to my family vaults, I am afraid that I can't tell you what happened since and on that day."

As the goblin was about to nod in disapproval, Harry continued, "I can tell you, however," which piqued the goblin's interest, "that I was rescued by one of my adoptive parents. He was from America, in Britain for business at the time, so he wasn't aware of my fame in any way – especially since I never knew my family name for him to check up later. Basically, he saw what was happening to me in that house, and he took actions to rectify the situation."

Griphook gave Harry a look indicating he understood the boy's reticence to recount the events of that day, "I see… Well, seeing as we at Gringotts value our clients privacy, your return to the Wizarding World will not be revealed unless you choose to do so yourself. However, if Lucius Malfoy manages to find a way around the law, we will have to reveal that you have returned and as such, the only beneficiary to your family vaults to prevent him from doing so."

"Based on your story and what I gathered, he has been trying to do so for almost five years. If he hasn't had success yet due to you boys, he won't have it anytime soon."

Griphook nodded, "So… would you like to be taken to your vaults?"

Harry was about to agree when a thought struck him, "Griphook… if I do go see my vaults in person, what would be the potential fallout?"

Griphook thought about it, "Well… the opening of any of your vaults would be written down and the magic will be recognized…"

"Is that record available to the public?"

"Not particularly but…"

"And if say someone saw that record or tracked the magic signature down and realized that I – as the last living Potter – was alive and in Britain, what would happen?"

Griphook thought about it, "I can only assume inquiries would be made regarding your existence."

"Less short-term, more long-term and politically inclined."

Realization slowly dawned on Griphook, "They would force you to accept your Lordship since, despite your age, as you are the last Potter as well as The-Boy-Who-Lived, making your very powerful in political and social circles to those who gain your favor."

Hary sighed, "I thought as much. Damn you British and their titles. Can I only assume that if I do somehow inherit my Lordship, there would be some sort of reaction to it?"

Griphook checked the paperwork, "Well…while the wizards do know you are alive, all the alliances that the Potter clan were involved in have died off – most literally, but some just went on without you, making sure their last heirs lived long enough to continue." (10)

Harry nodded, "Good, less work for me."

"You would need to take a seat at Wizengamot but since you are too young, they would either choose someone for you or you would choose someone yourself."

"And since I don't know anyone, they would most likely pick a 'yes man' for whichever side is dominant. Another reason not to get a Lordship. Anything else?"

Griphook checked the stacks, "All the investments done in the Potter name don't require your presence, so you are clear there… All your properties are being taken care off… Your items of value are guarded… Ah, there may be one thing."

Harry raised his eyebrow, "Is it bad?"

"Depends – are you against a marriage contract?"

If Harry could do a spit-take, he would have done it, "What?"

"In all fairness, it was made centuries ago and was probably forgotten by both families, but the ancestors still carried it out due to some misbegotten sense of duty or debt if I was guessing. The only reason it hasn't become active is that you haven't accessed your vaults nor have you taken your Lordship – I suppose you were right to not do so."

Harry thought about, "May I see the contract?"

Griphook gave Harry the parchment which the child read over for a good five minutes. "Was this something Potter's normally did?"

"No. Potters were famously known for marrying due to love rather than some misguided notions of blood-purity or arrangments. Unfortunately, whatever happened to cause that contract being finalized must have been significant enough to warrant such an action."

Harry shrugged, "My ancestor probably saved the life of someone in this family. Thankfully, it only applies if there's an eligible female in need of a husband in this family – so much for progress; damn patriarchs. Thank god there is a loophole."

Griphook looked up, "There is?"

Harry nodded, "Technically, there are two, but that's only because of my unique legal position."

"Do tell, ."

Hary smiled, "I prefer Mr. MacLeod if you don't mind. In any case, this contract is only an issue as long as both of us are single. As long as the other family doesn't remember this contract and if I don't become recognized – magically of course – by the bank or the Ministry, the contract shall remain dormant, and they will most likely arrange another marriage for the girl, putting the fear to rest. Or, if they do remember it, as long as I stay hidden or – God forbid – marry someone else before I am an adult, then the contract remains dormant. In any case, based on the writing, all I have to do is hold out till I am seventeen since it requires the marriage to be carried before either subject is of age."

Griphook scratched his chin, "You are… correct in your assumptions. But what about if the public realizes you are back in the Wizarding World?"

Harry shrugged, "If I do reveal myself – and that is a big if – it would only be through non-magical means. I mean sure, this Wizengamot could potentially argue for me to forcefully to take my Lordship to reveal myself and the like, but since that would require going through you to do some, I am safe. I mean sure, they could hypothetically make someone vote on my behalf, my I doubt the magics of Wizengamot would allow that. And the same applies to the marriage contract – as long as I don't remain acknowledged magically, the contract stays dormant – until of course, I have kids someday, but I doubt that would be any day soon. Worse case scenario, I will probably marry some – what do you call non-magics, Muggles right? – marry a Muggle to shove a middle finger down the Wizengamot collective throats."

Griphook stared at Harry, "Do you really despise wizards so much?"

Harry shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, "To be fair, I am against authority and corruption: the fact they are all most likely pure-blood wizards is just a coincidence. In all fairness, I love magic – I own my life and survival to it. In any case, I just want to remain hidden from the masses – who knows the political and economic waves I would cause if I came back to this world."

Griphook nodded, "I see you thought all this through. In any case, the Potter Accounts will remain as they were. We will, of course, carry out whatever decisions you make in regards to them, but there will be some limitations. Is there anything else you would like?"

Harry looked at the gold brick on the table and pushed it toward the goblin before reaching into his pocket to get out three more bars of gold, "Consider this as payment for services rendered, further deposits for my new MacLeod Vault, and for what I am about to request."

Griphook quickly took out an empty scroll and prepped the quill – one gold bar alone, if Harry knew, would put a significant increase in the goblins private accounts. "Proceed."

"To start, I will continue to bank under MacLeod to keep a façade, so I will deposit more money as time goes on. Now for the instructions. First, based on what I have seen in the shops, I would like a special bag of sorts that is significantly larger on the inside. Second, I will need some access to whatever vaults my family left me to withdraw from. I can only deduce that until I am an adult, I won't get full access to my inheritance?" the goblin nodded at Harry's inquiry, "Okay, I will look into later to make sure I don't accidentally trigger anything by accessing them. Third, I need all paperwork regarding my family, their holdings, their belongings, and all transactions that have occurred ever since my parent's death – not because I don't trust you, but because I want to see what you guys did and what my parents left for me. If you invest in Muggle businesses, then my adoptive family may have screwed you over financially one way or another." The goblin looked up at the mention of that, "Like I said, they have A LOT of pull – they make and break governments, not just businesses."

Griphook nodded furiously in understanding, "If I give you the listings of all of our Muggle holdings, would you be able to tell if your family has any plans in motion that would affect them positively and negatively?"

"Certainly. I also need any paperwork or information that you believe I should be aware of – I leave the choosing up to you."

Griphook kept writing, "Should I assume that you wish to take all of these requested items with you?"

"Copies are okay if that won't be too difficult. I'll need time to go through them all. Can I also get an address I can message you personally for future inquiries?"

Griphook wrote out something on a separate scroll, "When you get your personal owl or the services of one, you can contact me at this location."

Harry took the parchment, memorized it, and quickly put it in his pants pocket. "Is there anything else I am missing?"

Griphook paused, "While it seems you addressed all the main things regarding you, we will have to add certain material you should be interested in reviewing. One that will catch your interest is the case – or lack of it - regarding your Godfather, Sirius Black."

Harry's eyes bulged, "I have a Godfather?"

"Yes, but before you ask, I really think you should read everything about him before you start accusing him of abandoning you."

Harry nodded, realizing there was more there than met the eye. "I'll do so when I get the time."

"There also a small matter of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albums Dumbledore."

Harry gave the goblin glare, "Is he going to be a problem?"

"Not in the way you expect. He was a close friend of your family, but he was responsible for sending you to live with your guardians – there's bound to be bad blood there. Granted, he didn't know they were that bad, but you did have other options." (11)

"I'll look into him first before I make my assumptions. If the Ministry is as corrupted as the Muggle government, there is a possibility he did it for my safety and to ensure that the like of this… Lucius Malfoy… didn't get their hands on me."

Griphook nodded, "I wouldn't give Albus that much credit. While he is a great and eccentric wizard – as you will soon find out – and rather calm, he didn't get his posts for being a wise old man. He is prepared for almost any situation and has schemes within schemes. We can only thank the stars that he works for the Light, but your placement with your guardians was doubted by many of his supporters when your… well-being came to light."

"So he is a Chessmaster extraordinaire as it were. But why exactly did you bring him up?"

Griphook put down the quill, "My association with Dumbledore is on friendly terms – he is one of the few wizards still trusted by us goblins. While I can maintain my silence regarding your return, if a situation arises in which your existence must be revealed, I am afraid that I am honor bound to Albus do to so if he asks."

Harry played with fingers at that reveal, "If you don't have to describe how I look like to him, that won't be an issue. I guess I'll have to keep to myself so that I don't pique his curiosity."

"I am afraid you may have done so already. While you no longer look much like you father when he was your age – which is disturbing in its implications – Dumbledore never stopped looking for you. The fact that he knows that you are old enough to attend Hogwarts this year means that he will play close attention to this first-year class to locate you."

"What about other magical schools?"

"They are few and very spread out. Plus, your heritage basically guaranteed your attendance to Hogwarts – which the Book of Admittance did so after you killed Voldemort."

"Huh," shrugged Harry, "Difficult to prove that I am Harry Potter, lack of scar and all."

"That will give him pause, but Albus has been known to, us the Muggles put it, 'think outside the box.'"

"I see your point, Griphook. Fine then, I guess I'll go to Hogwarts incognito – if that is even possible in this case."

Griphook smiled again, "Good choice, Mr. Potter. Now, let us finalize the paperwork and address other issues of interest."

At least the pouch matches my clothes. When Griphook gave Harry a tiny purple bag with a gold lace, Harry was smart enough not to question the goblin. After getting mountains of paperwork shoved into it, as well as all the galleons currently available in his one accessible vault – which he assured Griphook will be filled with more gold later on – Harry knew that Hagrid has been waiting for him for some time.

"There you are, Harry. Took your time with Mr. MacLeod, didn't you Griphook?"

Harry noted that Griphook remained very stoic despite that comment, "Indeed. Mr. MacLeod, or as he prefers to be called Harry, had substantial funds to allocate to his new account."

"Really now? I guess you won't have any problem buying school supplies then? Do you have your list?"

"Right here." Harry did a quick check of it to be sure.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) By Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic By Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory By Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration By Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi By Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions By Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them By Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection By Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicla-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

"Good, let us be on our way. Till next time Griphook."

Harry looked at the goblin, "Till next time as well. You shall hear from me before school starts. I hope to have many… fruitful ventures with goblins in the future."

Griphook couldn't help but give a feral smile, "Till next time as well, Harry. Our conversation has been very illuminating."

As Hagrid and Harry exited the bank, the giant of a man leaned over to whisper to the boy, "What did you say to the goblin?"

"What do you mean?"

"It took Albus years before Griphook referred to him in the first name. You did the same thing in less than an hour."

Harry smiled, "I guess I said something he wanted to hear."

"Might as well get your uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would you mind if I slipped off for a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling excited.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. She took note of Harry the moment he entered. "Now aren't you a change of scenery. I haven't seen that many colors on one person ever since someone's wand broke mid-charm and everyone around them went multicolored."

Harry laughed at that comment – rare to see someone appreciate his flare.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

Harry noted the short boy next to him – well, short by his standards – before deciding to take a good look at his essence.

He didn't like what he saw.

Looks like I have a possible target when I get to Hogwarts.

The boy noted his attention.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley by this diminutive child.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more bored by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family has been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Harry, wishing the boy could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less every second. He just hoped his anger didn't show.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage— lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's interesting," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"Depends: birth parents are dead, and my adopted family are back in America," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"What do you mean?"

"You birth parents – were they a witch and a wizard?"

"Don't know, since they died before I could ask and all. One of them probably was, maybe both. My adopted family knows magic if that helps."

"But they were our kind, weren't they?"

Harry didn't enjoy where this conversation was going, "I guess."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's it, your done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool. "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

Harry turned back to the seamstress, "Since you already have my measurements, I will also need your finest selection of casual and dress garbs. Is that possible?"

Madam Malkin smiled, "Certainly. Do you have any preferences?"

Harry smiled, "Surprise me."

Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts) while carrying bags of clothes at his sides. Despite what many would say, Harry was, in fact, a shop-a-holic with specific tastes.

Harry decided to make a stop at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment first to get a top-of-the-line magic trunk. He didn't even bother getting the details for it; he just politely told Wiseacre that he wanted the best trunk they had and that price wasn't a problem. While Hagrid seemed to almost have an aneurysm at what the owner brought him, Harry didn't even flinch when he took out the galleons. The trunk he brought had everything – fireproof, water-resistant, and unbreakable among several other things. Besides being bigger on the inside and very lightweight despite all that you could possibly put in it, it was also magically keyed to only open for certain people. Harry added a few other safety features and the like before finalizing his purchase

Only when they went outside did Hagrid ask, "Harry, while it is nice to see that you do have money to spare, why do you need such a secure and large trunk?"

Because there is stuff I want to keep secure, duh. "Because based on the three bookshops I just passed, I am going to go on a large spending spree."

Now while most adults realize that such a comment would terrify them, Hagrid just smiled, "You're going to be a very unusual student, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

After making stops at Whizz Hard Books and Obscurus Books – where he did indeed buy one of every book and sign up for their owl delivery services for when a new books comes out – Harry finally went to Flourish and Blotts. While the manager argued against Harry buying textbooks for older years, Hagrid was kind enough to point out that the school had no actual policy regarding students buying more advanced textbooks for self-study. (12)

Harry wanted to buy a solid gold cauldron for school, but they did ask for pewter one, so he relented there. He did get a nice set of brass scales for weighing potion ingredients, a set crystal phials, and a collapsible gold telescope – better it then the cauldron. They visited the Apothecary next, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop). He considered some stuff for himself, but he just wagered he could pilfer some from school if he needed them.

Outside the Apothecary, Harry's checked his list again. "Just a wand left."

Hagrid gave the boy a look, "Don't you want to get a pet? Hogwarts does allow them, and with your trunk, that shouldn't be an issue."

While Harry looked back at the trunk walking behind him – since it was enchanted to do so – on its pegs, he gave it a though. The thing does have a lot of storage. "Well, I doubt I will need an owl for messages since you can always use the ones at Hogwarts. I doubt I'll actually need them anyway, since my family is in America and all."

"True, the flight there is harsh for most birds. But you still have a choice of a cat or frog."

Harry gave Hagrid a look. The friendly giant hasn't led him astray yet. "Tell you what. Let's see how out business at Ollivander's before I make up my mind."

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strange as though he had entered a very strict library. He inspected the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic. Plus, the concentrated energies in this room were giving him a massive migraine.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly. Where the hell did you teleport from?

He nodded his head and then spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again.… Oak, 16 inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er — yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now — what is your name child?"

"Harry MacLeod, sir."

"Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"I am ambidextrous, but I guess I prefer my right for most things," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. MacLeod. We mostly use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand. You are little large for an eleven-year-old." (13)

"I ate my vegetables when I was growing," jokingly said Harry. A hearty dose of angel and demon essence probably helped, with vigorous activity on the side.

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. MacLeod. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. 9 inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and - feeling foolish - waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. 7 inches. Quite whippy."

Harry tried - but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"Hawthorn wood, 10 inches, with unicorn hair."

As soon as Harry touched the wood, he drew his hand back as if he touched a hot coal. Mr. Ollivander cocked his head with a curious look in his eyes and then grabbed a different box.

"Mahogany, 11 inches, dragon heartstring."

Harry picked it up, but only a few lazy sparks fell from the tip. It was snatched away from him and immediately replaced with a different wand.

Several wands later, Mr. Ollivander pushed yet another wand into Harry's hands.

"Holly wood, 11 inches, phoenix feather core."

Mr. Ollivander seemed to hold his breath as Harry held up the wand, but nothing spectacular happened, only a weird feeling rose within him. "It seems to want to be with you, but something is holding it back… Very interesting – I never had that happen before." The wand maker hesitantly took back the wand he just handed over and replaced it with several more.

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere. Always a challenge to find just the right wand for a customer."

Harry – despite the poor man's jubilation – was becoming a tad annoyed. "Sir, I know this may not be an issue with the whole 'wands picking their masters' and all but is it possible you are holding back certain wands because they are… how to put it nicely… on the more extravagant side?"

Mr. Ollivander paused at that notion, carefully looking at the Harry, "While I do prefer to sell all my wands at a manageable 7 galleons, there are some wands I keep in the back that are… experimental in their nature."

Harry gave the old man a feral smile as he put his hands on the counter, "Bring out the most troublesome one of the bunch. If I could ride a Thunderbird, I can take on any wand."

Both Hagrid and Mr. Ollivander gave Harry looks of surprise at that, but the wand maker didn't hesitate to go around back. He came back a few moments later with a box with multiple locks. As he began undoing them, he started to tell his story, "When I was younger, I was rather interested in the story of "The Tale of the Three Brothers.""

"I am familiar with the work," interrupted Harry.

"Good, that saves me some time. The Elder Wand is one of the fabled Deathly Hallows, the first one created, bestowed on Antioch Peverell. Supposedly, it was made by Death himself after the wizard requested the most powerful wand in the history. According to legend, whoever reunited it with the other two Hallows would become the Master of Death. It is said to be the most powerful wand that has ever existed, able to perform tremendous feats of magic that would normally be considered impossible even by the most skilled wizards. While its creation is debated, it is known that the Elder Wand's core is the tail hair of a Thestral, a potent yet tricky substance to master that can only be handled by a witch or wizard who is capable of accepting death, since only by such can it be seen."

Harry could read the joy, the wonder in the man's voice as he described the story – with details he wasn't even aware of. So that's what the symbol I showed Death represents. Got to check the books I brought to see what the other Deathly Hallows are.

"You really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?"

Mr. Ollivander gave the boy a look of awe, "Oh yes, yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand's course through history. There are gaps, of course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but it always resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognize. There is one caveat to it: for it to pass to a new master, the wand master must be beaten by another – it recognizes no other unless done as such. Whether it needs to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands."

Harry whistled, "Thank god it's just a story then."

Mr. Ollivander shrugged as he finished the last lock, "Not so. It is currently in the position of Albus Dumbledore."

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. "Have you actually seen it?"

"Yes, I had the honor of even holding it when Albus became its owner decades ago. When I finally saw it, I was inspired to create its successor. I traveled far and wide, gathered a myriad of cores and woods, asked for guidance from other wand makers. While I did perfect my craft and made many of the wands you see behind me, I never truly succeed in my endeavors. This wand, however, came very close."

As soon as the wand maker lifted the lid, Harry knew. Harry has never truly needed the use of a magical foci to work his stuff, but he used some from time to time during his 'experiments' to see what would happen. His forgone conclusion was that in his particular case, his magic preferred to be unbound and unfocused.

The wand in front of him was about to prove him wrong. A beautiful, twisting black mistress, with what seemed like one dark and light pieces of wood twisting around solid piece of the same material.

"This wand here broke almost all of my personal crafting rules. The core inside of it is from a tail of an ancient Thestral, same as for the Elder Wand. The similarities end there, though. The Thestral hair is twisted inside the web strings of an Anansi Spider and the heartstring of a draconic descendant of Fafnir himself. All that is forged inside a 16-inch piece of African Black Wood (14). This wand balances on the edges of life and death with what was used to craft it, and in turn demands its owner to be just as chaotic in nature. In all the years I have owned this wand, I have only offered it to two others in the past – both were violently rejected by it. Are you willing to try?"

Not a second after the wand maker said the question, Harry grabbed the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, and a sense of euphoria that followed soon after. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air. A wave of magic emerged from it, cascading through the shop and spreading outside to Diagon Alley. A cacophony of sounds was soon heard from the Magical Menagerie. Hagrid whooped and clapped, and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

Harry tried his best to calm himself down from the rush he felt grabbing the wand. "Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

"When I received the African Black Wood, I was warned by an African medicine man that the person who would be accepted by that wand would go on to do… I guess 'interesting' is the most appropriate translation."

"Fits with what I have seen from the boy. I have only known him for half a day, and I already know he is going to do great things!"

"Choose your words carefully, Hagrid. I once said the same thing about the wand of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He went on to do many evil things – great things, but still evil. I only hope the same fate doesn't befall you."

Already walked down that path. Guess I have nothing to worry about."Mr. Ollivander… Is it customary to name a wand?"

"Not that I heard. I mean... only great works of legends are named…"

"How does one know that their work becomes legendary if they don't live to see them become so? Besides, for something as great as this, at least a special case is deserved."

Mr. Ollivander smiled, "I can do that. What would you like to be inscribed upon the box?"

Harry took a long look at the wand, slowly turning it in his hand. He was tempted – seriously tempted – to activate his Sight to take a good long look at it. Some part of him nagged with an appropriate name. But it felt right to him…

"It may not be a name as grand as the Elder Wand, but I dub thee Tiamat, after the primordial goddess of the ocean, the Mesopotamian dragon woman of creation and chaos."

The magic in the air finally calmed, as if it were drawn back into the wand that created it. Hagrid was in awe at what occurred while Mr. Ollivander marveled at the sight. "I shall engrave that on the box. Give me a moment."

After waiting a little bit, Mr. Ollivander came out with a beautiful black box and wand holster for Harry. As Harry put the wand into the box, he asked the question, "How much for everything?"

"Excuse me?"

"How much for the wand, box, and holster? You can expect to just accept these for free just because you think I am special for being able to tame Tiamat."

Mr. Ollivander had a look of shock on his face – probably because that is what he considered doing. "Well… I guess the customary 7 galleons then..."

"You're taking my 100 galleons and I am not taking 'no' for an answer."

Hagrid tried to stand up, but Harry glared him back down. "Please," pleaded Harry to Mr. Ollivander, "this is a work of art and should be treated as such. If you can't accept payment, then consider this a generous donation from a grateful customer."

Mr. Ollivander smiled at that and graciously accepted Harry's money. "Till next time we met, Harry MacLeod."

As Harry and Hagrid exited the store, Hagrid looked upon the smiling youth, "Feel like getting a pet now?"

"Yeah… I think I might."

Harry didn't know what to make of the Magical Menagerie. It looked like any other pet store – if every pet store was cramped, with every inch of wall covered by cages. Harry recognized some of the basic human pets - owls, ravens, cats, rats and the like – and some odd creatures he didn't know what to make of.

"So Harry, what would you like – toad or cat?"

"Cat, definitely cat," Harry looked toward the salesman at the counter, "What's the strangest and oddest cat you got?"

The wizard gave Harry an odd look before he shrugged and went to the very back to the store. He returned soon enough with a cage stuffed with something orange. As he took out the 'cat,' Harry got a good look at what he asked for.

'What is that?" inquired Harry.

"Either very big cat or quite a small tiger."

Whatever it was, it was definitely strange. It was very big, bandy-legged, ginger-colored and had a squashed head, something that looked like it the beast ran headlong into a brick wall. Its only other recognizable physical traits were its bottlebrush tail and yellow eyes.

"This male specimen here is a half-Kneazle named Crookshanks. Don't even remember how long we had this guy here. No matter what we offer for him, no one is interested. I mean the bugger is intelligent as they come, but his temperament needs some work."

"No, not his temperament," absentmindedly muttered Harry. He could already tell that this cat was special. While he needed to activate his Sight in private to confirm, he could already sense that this cat had some grand role to play in the future. "He just needs someone with a gentle hand but a domineering personality – and constant snacks."

At the mention of food, the beast let out a loud meow. After scratching the cat behind the ears to confirm, Harry felt like he was a better choice than a toad or an owl. "I'll take him."

The sun was starting to set as Harry and Hagrid were finishing their excursion across Diagon Alley. Hagrid carried a small bag of supplies, while Harry was followed by his ever trusty trunk he jokingly dubbed Lancelot and a cage stuffed with a monster of a cat.

"Did you expect the day to go the way it did after you met me?"

Hagrid slowed down as he seemed to think it through, "No, but with you, I think anything is possible. I am sorry to say that it's time for us to go our separate ways."

Harry did in fact notice they were at a crossroad – an irony not lost on Harry – as Hagrid made that comment. "You don't have anything to fear. We will meet soon enough at Hogwarts."

Hagrid smiled at that, "Sure we will. I am actually the one who leads the boats to the castle. Just look for me in the front boat so we can catch up."

"That will be wonderful. Till next time."

Hagrid nodded and turned, "Till next time, Harry MacLeod."

Hagrid only turned around for a second before remembering that he should have told the boy about how to get through platform nine and three-quarters. As he turned back, Harry had already disappeared. Hagrid looked around across the empty streets, but the child wasn't in sight.

"Remarkable child. Frightening – but interesting none the less," chuckled Hagrid.

"What could have possibly crossed your bloody mind when you decided to buy a cat?" questioned Crowley.

"Technically, he is half cat and half Kneazle."

"I don't give a bloody shite what a Kneazle is! YOU BROUGHT A CAT!" (15)

"Calm down, Crowley," spoke out Gabriel. The angel was currently sitting on the couch, stroking the cat in question, who was purring like a giant gramophone.

"Look, Crowley, it was my money…"

"No, it was my Nazi gold you took, so it was my money."

Harry winced, rubbing his neck, "Well I would have used my birth parents money if I could."

At this, the conversation reached full stop as Gabriel slowly put down the cat on the couch, "How did you do what now?"

"Alright, everyonesit down. It's complicated enough as it is and I have a lot of paperwork to go over regarding my accounts for the last decade or so. It all started when I spotted the half-giant wizard lost in the streets…"