Love Is Thicker Than Blood

Sixteen hours after Professor McGonagall's unexpected visit, the Granger family entertained a large group of expected visitors - friends and relatives who had come to help celebrate Harry's eleventh birthday. Number twelve Victoria Crescent bustled with good cheer as well-wishers milled about, eating, drinking and being very merry indeed.

Dad was in his glory as he cooked hamburgers and sausages over the brick barbecue pit in the back yard, holding court on barbecuing techniques and accepting pecks on the cheek from those who commented on his "Kiss The Cook" apron. The weather co-operated marvelously and everyone seemed to enjoy the meal, which also included Mum's famous potato salad, fried onions, and strawberry jelly moulded in the shape of a football. Mum glowed with pride as the guests oohed and ahhed about the delicious meal.

Mum and Dad's office manager, Mrs. Coleman, baked fancy birthday cakes as a hobby, and for Harry's birthday she had baked a large, rectangular chocolate sponge cake decorated in the colours of his favorite football team, Tottenham Hotspur. Harry ate his dinner quickly and waited impatiently for the guests to do the same so they could move on to what he considered the day's main event, cutting the cake.

"Make a wish, Harry," Mum said as she lit eleven candles on the cake while the assembled throng seemed to hold its collective breath.

I wish Mr. Hagrid would get here soon so I can find out more about Hogwarts, he thought, shutting his eyes while the crowd sang "Happy birthday to you." Opening his eyes, he blew out the candles with a single large breath and smiled broadly as they applauded and then went into a round of "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow."

"Blew 'em all out again, Harry! You've got the magic touch," Uncle Mark gushed, clapping Harry soundly on the back as he took his first bite of cake. Whether it was the pounding or the joke (a bit too close for comfort) Harry didn't know, but he barely managed not to spit his mouthful of cake onto Aunt Bridget's cotton jumper. He saw Hermione biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"You didn't say anything to Uncle Mark about last night, did you?" he questioned her quietly a few minutes later.

"Of course not," she responded with a look of shock. "I don't want anyone coming here to erase anyone's memories. And I bet Professor McGonagall would just know if we'd said something to anyone."

Harry had to admit he'd thought the same thing himself. A few people at the party had asked him and Hermione if they would be enrolling at the local secondary school, Stonewall High, in the autumn. The story they'd whipped up that morning with Mum and Dad was that they'd been accepted at "the Sagworth School," a small independent boarding school in Northumberland. Gran had recommended the school to them and Harry and Hermione were looking forward to being closer to Gran and being able to visit her more often. Harry had gone over the story about twenty times before the party, trying to memorize it so he wouldn't accidentally let slip anything about Hogwarts. He just hoped no one actually attempted to look up the Sagworth School, because they wouldn't find it.

"Well, I just hope Mr. Hagrid doesn't arrive until the party's over," he went on. Hermione nodded in agreement.

Since the next day was Monday, the out-of-town guests left before 8:00 p.m. Mrs. Figg popped in with the previous week's post just as the party was winding down and Mum insisted she take a piece of cake home. The last to leave were Uncle Mark, Aunt Bridget and their son, Daniel, who lived a new miles away in Chilworth.

As soon as they shut the front door on Dad's brother and his family, all four Grangers collapsed on the sofa in the living room. They sat in tired silence for a few minutes, catching their breath, Mum leaning her head on Dad's right shoulder while he gently rubbed the back of her left hand. Harry felt a tiny bit sad watching his parents' quiet display of affection. He wondered if James and Lily Potter had ever sat quietly like this, not talking, just sharing a close and gentle moment.

A sudden loud yet hesitant knock on the front door brought him back to earth. A grin bloomed on Hermione's face. Was she thinking what he was thinking? Could this be the visitor they were hoping for?

"I'll get the door!" he and Hermione said in unison; then they both giggled at saying the same thing at the same time.

"Jinx!" Harry laughed as he beat his sister to the door by a footstep. Hermione pouted as Harry opened the door, but her expression changed from disappointment to amazement when she saw who was standing on the doorstep.

Before them stood an immense mountain of a man, taller and wider than any man they had ever seen. Harry reckoned the man was close to three metres tall and weighed at least two hundred kilos. The man had a huge head of bushy black hair, an equally bushy black beard and beetle-black eyes that seemed both kindly and mischievous. His heavy brown overcoat bulged with hints of numerous objects stuffed in its many pockets. Although the evening was clear and beautiful, he was carrying a pink umbrella.

Harry and Hermione tried not to stare.

"M-m-may I help you, sir?" Harry stammered.

"Sure yeh can. Me name's Rubeus Hagrid, from Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall said yeh'd be 'spectin' me."

Harry looked at his sister. Her eyes were open almost as wide as his mouth. He suddenly remembered his manners and shut his mouth.

"Yeh are Harry Potter - Harry Granger, that is - aren't yeh?"

"Yes, sir, he is," Hermione piped up. "And yes, we have been expecting you." She shot Harry a look that said but you're not quite what we expected. Harry nodded. "Please come in, Mr. Hagrid."

Hermione and Harry backed away from the door to give their visitor more room to get through. Mr. Hagrid ducked his shaggy head down low and lumbered, rather hunched, across the threshold. Mum and Dad rose to greet him; Harry saw wonderment and a trace of fear on their faces. Last night they'd met an actual witch; tonight it seemed they were meeting a giant. Harry couldn't begin to guess what other wonders were in store for him.

"Hello, Mr. Hagrid," Dad said, extending his right hand gingerly. "I'm Alan Granger, Harry and Hermione's father, and this" - he pointed to his wife - "is their mother, Marcia Granger."

"Ev'nin', Mister an' Miz Granger," Hagrid replied, gripping Dad's hand in his own bearlike appendage. Harry noticed Dad wince a little. "Very glad t' meet yeh. Yeh can jes' call me Hagrid like ever'body else does." He turned to Harry and beamed. "An' Harry, yer a sigh' fer sore eyes! Yeh can't know how glad I am t' see yeh after all these years."

"Have I met you before?" Harry asked. He was sure he would remember meeting Rubeus Hagrid.

"Not since yeh was a wee lil' tyke, jus' over a year old. It was me wha' brung yeh t' this town after...after they was killed." Hagrid sniffled as if he were holding back tears.

Harry looked up at Hagrid and smiled past the lump in his throat. "You brought me here? You rescued me?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah, waren't me as rescued yeh, but I did bring yeh here so's you'd be safe. It was Dumbledore's idea, yeh see."

Harry hadn't realized Mum had left the room until she walked in from the kitchen carrying a large tray loaded with a teapot and several mugs. As she placed the tray on the coffee table, he mouthed a silent thank you to her. He was happy to have a few moments to consider this new information.

"Please have a seat, Hagrid," she said, motioning toward the sofa. Harry suspected Mum wanted to keep their guest away from the Queen Anne chairs so they wouldn't be reduced to splinters. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Thank yeh, ma'am," Hagrid replied, settling his enormous frame in the middle of the sofa. There was a low, crunching sound, followed by the whine of sagging springs. Mum's smile sagged a bit as well.

Dad poured some tea into an oversized soup mug and offered it to Hagrid, who grasped the mug between his thumb and forefinger. Pinky finger out, Hagrid lifted the mug to his lips and drained the contents in one swift gulp.

"Thank yeh kindly, Miz Granger," he enthused, smacking his lips in appreciation. "Nothin' like tea to warm yeh up after a long journey."

"How far did you travel?" Hermione asked.

"Don' rightly know," Hagrid replied. "A few hunnerd miles maybe. But it were a long way."

Harry wondered how someone as big as Hagrid could even fit into an automobile, much less use the controls and drive it. "How did you get here?" he asked.

"Flew."

"Oh." Harry started to open his mouth to ask "How?" but thought better of it. If it was a wizarding way of flying, he probably wouldn't understand it anyway.

"So, Hagrid," Hermione inquired, "Professor McGonagall said you would take us to get our school books tomorrow. Will we be able to get them here in Little Whinging?"

Hagrid shook his head and chuckled. "Nah, there's nowt in this town'd help yeh learn 'bout magic. We've gotta go to a very special place in London - it's called Diagon Alley, and it's kinda the main shoppin' area for wizardin' folk all across Britain. Whatever Harry and Hermione need fer school, yeh can bet they can find it in Diagon Alley. Plus we need teh get Hermione set up with an account at Gringotts, the wizards' bank. An' we need to get some of Harry's money outta his vault there."

Harry's eyes widened again. "I have a vault in the wizards' bank?"

Hagrid looked at Harry kindly. "Harry, yeh mum an' dad--James and Lily Potter, I mean--left all their money t' yeh. It's been sittin' in yer vault since yeh was a baby, jes' waitin' until it was time for yeh to start Hogwarts. Yer family" - he looked at the elder Grangers - "can put some money there for yer sister so's she'll have some t' use at school. Yeh can't use Muggle money in wizardin' shops, so yeh gotta get it changed into wizardin' money at Gringotts." Hagrid looked at Harry as though this arrangement ought to be intuitively obvious. Harry frowned slightly as he tried to file away this additional difference between the world he grew up in and the world he was about to rejoin.

"Hagrid," Mum began, "I know you mean well, and I know Professor McGonagall sent you here to take the children to...Diagon Alley...to get their school supplies." She cast a questioning glance at Dad, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "However, Mr. Granger and I would feel...a bit less anxious about this expedition into London if we went along with the three of you. Would that be a problem?"

A huge smile shone past Hagrid's enormous beard. "Nah, no problem at all. I don' get teh show Diagon Alley off much. Hardly any Muggles even know abou' th' place - an' the ones as do know're all related to students at Hogwarts. It'd be my pleasure fer yeh come with us."

Mum and Dad breathed small sighs of relief. Harry suspected they had been a little worried about him and Hermione going off to London with this total stranger who was even more unusual than Professor McGonagall.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Dad said. "So...I suppose you need a place to stay tonight?" Harry saw him glance at the sofa as if calculating whether it could handle Hagrid's bulk.

Hagrid caught Dad's glance. "Aw thank yeh, Mr. Granger, but I don' need a bed or nothin'. I brung me own tent. I'll jes' pitch it out behin' the house if yeh don' mind."

"Certainly, if that's what you want to do," Mum replied, breathing yet another almost imperceptible sigh of relief.

"Best be pitchin' it right now," Hagrid said, pulling a wad of tan material from one of his bulging coat pockets. "Maybe Harry could show me th' way outside?" he smiled.

"You bet!" Harry agreed quickly, leading Hagrid and a very curious Hermione out into the back yard. Hagrid stopped at a small level patch of grass near the barbecue pit and shook out the tan material like a sheet. On its own, the material popped up in the shape of a small camping tent suitable for one or at most two children. Although Hagrid produced no pegs or ropes from inside his coat, the tent nevertheless seemed firmly anchored to the ground. Harry and Hermione shook their heads in amazement.

"Excuse me, Hagrid, but are you actually planning to sleep in this tent? It does look a bit small for the task," Hermione inquired, grimacing unconsciously.

"Yeah, I am," Hagrid smiled, "an' if yeh've a few minutes before bedtime, come in and take a peek." He motioned to Harry and Hermione to follow him, then got down on his hands and knees and disappeared into the opening of the tent. Where's he gone? Harry wondered. That tent is barely big enough for me! How could it possibly hold someone Hagrid's size? The only way he'd find out would be to crawl in too. So he got down on all fours and slithered inside the tent, then pulled Hermione in after him. He turned carefully, expecting to hit his head on the inside of the tent, and was shocked when he didn't. What he saw instead made him do a double take.

The inside of the tent was four metres on a side and four metres high, with walls and ceiling of rough-hewn logs. Along one wall was a gigantic bed with a foot-thick mattress, two huge down pillows and a summer-weight coverlet. Across the room Harry saw a large wooden table, an equally large bench, a washtub and a fireplace. He looked at Hermione, whose eyes were as wide as his own with shock and awe.

"It's like something out of Doctor Who," she marveled.

"Doctor who?" Hagrid echoed.

Hermione smiled. "Doctor Who. On the telly. Harry and I have watched it for years; when we were little it was our favorite show. Our parents love it too. This tent is like the Doctor's time-traveling machine, the TARDIS - it's much bigger on the inside than on the outside."

A glimmer of recognition crossed Hagrid's eyes. "Ah well, see, this here's a wizardin' tent. They're all kinda like this 'un. Whoever owns th' tent can charm the inside to be whatever they need, however big and whatever kind o' furniture. Dead useful, wizardin' tents." Hermione nodded.

"So you're a wizard?" Harry asked. He'd been wondering about that ever since Hagrid arrived.

"Well, no, not technically," Hagrid explained. "I went to Hogwarts fer three years but then they kicked me out." He frowned. "Weren't me own fault but I couldn' convince 'em of that. Anyways, I'm not a full-fledged wizard, never finished school, and it's kinda illegal for me to do magic anywhere. But Dumbledore wanted me to come fetch yeh, so he loaned me his tent. Mighty kind o' him."

Hagrid pulled a rucksack out of one of his pockets and tossed it on the bed. A variety of objects fell out of the opening, including several sets of large old-fashioned keys, a tin of kippers, a woolen hat and some very large, very hard scones. "Rock cake?" he offered, pointing to the cakes. "Made 'em meself."

"Our parents don't like us to eat sweet things so close to bedtime," Harry fudged, afraid he might break a tooth noshing on one of Hagrid's cakes. "But thanks anyway." He glanced at his sister, who was examining the walls. "I think Hermione and I need to get to bed soon. What time do we need to go to London tomorrow?"

"Whenever yeh want teh go is fine wi' me," Hagrid replied. "But earlier is prob'ly better - yeh'll want time t' see all the shops, buy yeh robes an' so on." He stretched his long arms and stifled a yawn. "Best be gettin' t' bed meself. 'Been a long day. G'night, Harry. G'night, Hermione. Be sure teh duck on yer way out."

~~~*~~~*~~~

The next day, July thirty-first, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Excited about the trip to London, Harry awoke early and stayed in his bed a little longer than usual mulling over the events of the past few days. First the castle that he and Hermione could see, but Gran couldn't - did that mean it was a castle only witches and wizards could see? Then the letters that weren't a joke, that really were from Hogwarts - how did they arrive first in Culloden and then in Little Whinging? Then Professor McGonagall's sudden appearance - how did she get to their house? And how did she turn that pincushion into a hedgehog? Harry knew she must have used some kind of magic, but just how did she do that? Would he and Hermione learn how to do that too? Actually, he thought he wouldn't mind learning how to change things into something entirely different; that was probably dead useful sometimes. Finally, there was Rubeus Hagrid. Why was he so impossibly big? And why had he been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year? As Harry put on his glasses and ran his hand through his hair, he wondered how else the wizarding world differed from the world of Little Whinging.

Delicious smells wafting up from the kitchen made Harry realize he was hungry. In honor of his birthday, Mum fixed his favorite breakfast - two eggs over medium, bacon, orange juice and wheat toast with strawberry jam. As Harry tucked in appreciatively, he could hear Mum on the phone, talking with Mrs. Coleman at the dental surgery, asking her to reschedule all of today's appointments. After breakfast, his family presented several gifts they'd held back from the party the previous night. Harry was thrilled by Mum and Dad's gift - a Tottenham Hotspur football shirt. As much as he loved the shirt, though, he was just as touched by Hermione's gift -- a thick, lined journal and a very nice fountain pen with which to write in it. He'd never been much for writing about what he was doing or how he felt, but now that he actually had a journal, writing might help him make sense of the new life he was about to start. He smiled broadly as he thanked his sister with a hug. That was a very thoughtful gift she gave me, he thought, and I didn't even know I wanted it!

After breakfast, Harry went out back to see when Hagrid would be ready to leave for London. Mum and Dad had ruled out driving there, so they would take the train into the city and then transfer to the London Underground which, Hagrid assured them, was the easiest way to travel the final leg to Diagon Alley.

"Mornin', Harry, and happy birthday teh yeh," Hagrid smiled, shaking the wizarding tent flat and stuffing it into his overcoat as Harry approached him.

"Thanks, Hagrid. We're ready to go to London whenever you are."

"Well, I'm ready now, so les' get goin'. How's about I meet yeh out front?"

Harry nodded and went inside to retrieve his parents and Hermione. Dad locked up as Mum, Harry and Hermione met Hagrid in the front garden. Then the motley crew of Grangers and Hagrid walked to Little Whinging's train station about a kilometre away. Harry had always thought his father walked fast, but he noticed Dad huffing to keep up with Hagrid's huge strides. Harry was glad he and his mother and sister weren't even trying to keep up. By the time the three of them arrived at the station, Dad and Hagrid had been there several minutes and had already purchased tickets for the next train to Paddington Station.

Ten minutes later they boarded a rickety, cramped commuter train and settled in for the half-hour ride. Harry and Hermione sat opposite Hagrid, who took up an entire bench by himself. Muttering occasional complaints about the train being too small, Hagrid produced a pair of knitting needles and proceeded to work on something large and bright yellow as the Surrey landscape sped by. Harry was surprised when the conductor announced they'd arrived at their destination.

At Paddington Station, they transferred to the London Underground. Entering the tube platform, Hagrid got stuck in the turnstile and almost upended Harry and Dad when they pulled him through. Harry noticed more than a few people staring blankly at Hagrid while they stood on the platform waiting for the train that would take them to Charing Cross Road. When the train finally arrived, Hagrid almost had to double over to fit through the doors. Lucky for us we waited till almost midday to go into London, Harry thought. We'd never have squeezed Hagrid into one of these trains during rush hour!

Fifteen minutes later they saw 'CHARING CROSS ROAD' marked on the walls of the station as the train pulled in. In a few moments they exited the train, climbed one very long, very steep flight of stairs, and found themselves on a busy avenue lined with dozens of shops of all descriptions. Hagrid peered up and down the street as if trying to remember something.

"All righ', I know it's 'ere somewhere," he muttered as he led them through a shopping district full of teashops, hamburger shops, clothing shops and more. Harry and his family followed gamely, hoping Hagrid knew where he was going.

"Aye, there 'tis," Hagrid smiled, as he found an ancient sign between a record shop and a large bookshop. "C'mon now, time to visit the Leaky Cauldron and meet some of the reg'lars." As Mum and Dad looked around in surprise, as if they had no idea what Hagrid was talking about, it dawned on Harry that only he, Hermione and Hagrid could see the sign or the battered door beneath it. He heard his parents gulp as they held hands while he and Hermione pulled them through.

The Leaky Cauldron, it turned out, was a pub, and apparently a very old one at that. An old, balding man polished glasses behind a dusty bar. Men and women of varying ages and sizes huddled in small groups in the dim interior. Harry noticed that they were all dressed a bit oddly, at least by the middle-class standards of Little Whinging. They reminded him of some of the characters in Charles Dickens' stories.

"Hullo, Hagrid!" the balding man shouted from behind the bar. "What can I get you?"

"Five bottles o' pumpkin juice, Tom," Hagrid replied, "On Hogwarts business now. Takin' Harry and Hermione t' get their school stuff." He motioned the Grangers toward a large round table near the bar.

"Harry?" Tom exclaimed. "Could this be...Harry Potter?" Tom said Harry's name almost reverently. The chatter of voices in the room ceased and all eyes turned in Harry's direction. Harry felt a rush of blood in his cheeks. He could feel his parents and sister looking at him as if he were someone they didn't really know. Tom reached over the bar and extended his hand.

"Yes," Harry said, almost whispering. "I'm Harry Potter. I mean, I'm Harry Potter Granger. I was adopted when I was a baby. And these are my parents and my sister." He extended his hand to Tom, who shook it vigorously. As Tom let his hand go, Harry heard chairs scraping around the pub as a line of well-wishers formed. A middle-aged witch was the first to greet him.

"I'm Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter. It's so nice to meet you at last."

"Thank you, Miss Crockford. Nice to meet you," Harry replied. He thought the woman might twist his hand off his arm in another minute. Suddenly she let go and her place was taken by a little man in a violet top hat. Harry realized with a shock that he recognized the man.

"Dedalus Diggle, Mr. Potter," the little man said. "So happy to see you here."

"Mr. Diggle? You look very familiar!" Harry exclaimed as Hagrid beamed from the sidelines. "Did you bow to me once in a shop in Little Whinging?"

"Bless my soul! You remember that?" Diggle sounded positively giddy.

One after another, every person in the Leaky Cauldron greeted Harry. "So wonderful to meet you, Mr. Potter," they said as they grabbed his hand. Harry shook hand after hand, responding automatically "Nice to meet you too," because he didn't know what else to say. He barely had time to glance at his family, who sat there looking stunned, drinking their pumpkin juice and muttering to each other in low tones. They must wonder what the heck is going on, Harry thought. I guess I must be famous...but why?

After ten minutes of having his hand almost crushed, Harry was relieved to see the line had finally petered out. A pale, slender young man in a turban approached him and shook his hand tentatively.

"P-P-Professor Quirrell, Mr. P-P-Potter," the man stuttered. "F-f-from Hogwarts."

"Nice to meet you, Professor. What do you teach?"

"D-D-Defence Against the D-D-Dark Arts," Quirrell gulped. "Th-th-though I don't suppose you would need m-m-many lessons, would you?" he declared with one eyebrow raised and walked away.

"What did he mean by that?" Harry frowned at Hagrid, who was chuckling softly.

"I'll tell yeh later. Afeard o' his own shadow, that 'un, 'specially since he came back from Romania or wherever he went. They say he had run-ins there with a vampire and a hag. Hard teh believe he's teachin' Defence Agin th' Dark Arts, innit? Tha's th' class yeh'll need mos' agin' V-V-V-...You Know Who an' his kind," Hagrid whispered grimly.

"You Know Who?" Harry asked. "Do you mean the wizard who killed James and Lily Potter? Doesn't he have a name?"

"Well, I don' really want teh say it. It's spelled V-O-L- - oh, never mind, I can't spell it. I'll jes' have teh tell yeh." Hagrid bent over and whispered the name in Harry's ear.

"Voldemort?" Harry said loudly. Every head in the pub snapped in his direction, fear etched on their faces.

"Shhhhhhh!" Hagrid hissed. "Don' say that name out loud. Nobody says that name out loud."

"And why not?" Hermione suddenly joined in. "And why was everyone fawning over Harry like he's Bonnie Prince Charlie or something?"

Hagrid sat down at the Grangers' table and sighed. "Well, I guess I gotta tell yeh this eventually." He motioned Harry to sit down too. Harry had a feeling this might be a long explanation.

"Yeh see, Hermione, Mister and Miz Granger," Hagrid began, "Harry is famous in our world, in the wizardin' world I mean. In fact he's one of the most famous wizards in a long, long time." Harry's throat suddenly felt dry. Famous? Me? I didn't even know I was a wizard until two days ago!

"I suppose Professor McGonagall told yeh how Harry got his scar?" They nodded. "Well, You Know Who wasn't jes' any bad wizard - he was the most powerful bad wizard in the last hunnerd years." Mum, Dad and Hermione looked almost as shocked as Harry felt.

"Before he killed James and Lily Potter," Hagrid continued, "You Know Who an' his followers had killed hunnerds o' people around the country--an' they wasn't all wizardin' folk neither, some was Muggles, non-magic folk. Didn't matter how rich or powerful they was, nobody had stood up to You Know Who and lived. Not till Harry, that is. He was jus' a baby, but You Know Who couldn' kill 'im. He threw the worst curse there is at 'im--but Harry didn't die, he just got that scar on his forehead. An' the curse must've bounced back, because You Know Who jus' kinda disappeared. There's some as think all his powers left 'im. I think he's still out there somewhere, bidin' his time, waitin' fer the right moment teh strike again. Anyways, that's why Harry's so famous. In the wizardin' world, everybody calls him The Boy Who Lived."

"The Boy Who Lived," Harry repeated, getting that cotton wool feeling in his brain again.

"I remember that day like it was yesterday," Hagrid continued. "Halloween of nineteen hunnerd eighty-one. Once the word spread, Harry, there was celebratin' all over Britain like yeh wouldn' believe. Witches and wizards come out in Muggle towns in broad daylight" - he glanced at Dedalus Diggle--"there was shootin' stars an' owls flyin' by day an'..."

Mum and Dad were grinning at each other. "The shooting stars, the owls, the man who bumped into Vernon Dursley on the High Street... they were all because of Harry!" Dad marveled, smiling at Hagrid. "And you brought him to Little Whinging that same evening. How can we ever thank you, Hagrid?"

A bit of red crept into what Harry could see of Hagrid's face. "Oh, no thanks needed, sir. I jus' done what Dumbledore wanted. It were an honor to make sure Harry was safe. Anyone as knew James or Lily woulda done the same." Hagrid got that misty look in his eyes again and the little group fell silent for a few minutes. Suddenly Hagrid jumped up from his chair, almost overturning the table, and headed for the back of the pub.

"Almos' fergot what we came here for," he apologized. "We'd best be getting those school supplies before all the shops close. Foller me outside and we'll get to Diagon Alley."

They exited through the back door of the pub and found themselves in a small, dingy courtyard. Hagrid poked around the brick wall above the dustbin, tapping the end of his pink umbrella along the bricks. "Hmm, gotta remember how this goes...Three up an' two across?" He tapped hard and the bricks started to shake and quiver. Suddenly a hole started to open in the wall and as the hole widened, so did Harry's eyes. In a few seconds the hole was big enough for even Hagrid to pass through easily, and Harry looked out through a magical archway into a long and twisting street lined with dozens of shops.

Hagrid turned to the Granger family and smiled. "Well, here it is. Diagon Alley."

~~~*~~~*~~~

Stepping through the archway, Harry thought his brain would burst. If the wizarding world had anything like a shopping centre, Diagon Alley would have to be it, but the sights and sounds were like nothing he'd ever seen or imagined. Moving down the street, all four Grangers gaped as they peered into one shop after another. Witches and wizards in old-fashioned clothing and long cloaks bustled past them, some eyeing them with suspicion, and Harry was sure some muttered "Muggles!" under their breath as they passed. Numerous people greeted Hagrid, who quickly and politely told each of them he was on Hogwarts business and couldn't stop to chat or have a drink. Harry followed Hagrid quietly, lost in thought, aware only of Hermione reading items from their list of school supplies as they passed different shops. They passed a shop filled with broomsticks; Harry saw several boys pressing their faces to the window, trying to get a look at one advertised as "the fastest broom yet." They stopped in front of an apothecary shop that advertised "Dragon liver - seventeen Sickles an ounce." Harry and Hermione examined their list of school supplies to see what they could buy there, but Hagrid had other plans.

"First we've got teh get yeh some wizard money," he said. "Time to visit Gringotts. That's it up there." He pointed to a large, white marble building about one hundred metres away that was easily the biggest building in Diagon Alley. Gringotts Bank towered over the shops up and down the street, just as the bank in Little Whinging towered over the shops nearby. Harry found that comparison strangely comforting.

As they approached the front doors of the bank, Hagrid dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Jes' want to warn yeh before we get there, Gringotts is run by goblins." If Hagrid had expected looks of shock or surprise, he'd thought wrong. Mum and Dad wore their best poker faces as they allowed a goblin in a red uniform to open the bank's golden doors for them.

Harry glanced around the main banking room and saw dozens of goblins seated at identical desks, hard at work. He and his family followed Hagrid to the teller's counter where Hagrid struck up a conversation with a goblin named Griphook. A few moments later, Hagrid told Harry to follow him and Griphook while his family waited upstairs.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked. "Why aren't they coming with us?"

"We're goin' down teh the vaults, Harry. No Muggles allowed down there. High security area an' all."

"Your family will stay here, Mr. Potter, while my associate Grappletong sets up your sister's account," Griphook stated. "I will accompany you and Mr. Hagrid down to your vaults."

Griphook led Harry and Hagrid through a set of doors into a small room containing what appeared to be small-gauge railroad tracks. Griphook climbed into a small cart that resembled a coal cart and motioned for them to join him. Harry settled himself behind the goblin while Hagrid squeezed into the back of the cart. Suddenly the cart took off of its own accord and they were hurtling down a long, steep tunnel. They continued on this route for what seemed like a long time, though perhaps it only seemed long because the route was dark and twisting and full of hairpins turns. Harry tried to memorize the turns... right, left, left, right...or was it right, left, right, left, left... in the virtual darkness, with just a tiny lantern, he could barely tell where they were going. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the cart came to a screeching halt and Griphook got out.

"You have the key?" he asked Hagrid, who rummaged through one of his pockets and pulled out a tiny gold key. Climbing out of the cart before Hagrid, Harry noticed a small plaque numbered 687 on the vault door. Griphook took the key and inserted it into the lock. Click! The door opened, and Harry saw yet another remarkable sight. The vault was piled high with money--but not the kind of money Harry was used to. It was full of wizard money, pile upon pile of gold, silver and bronze coins. Harry had never seen so much money in his life.

"It's all yers, Harry. James and Lily left yeh all this money," Hagrid informed him.

Harry was dumbfounded. His parents never really talked about money to him and his sister, but he reckoned they made a reasonably good living as dentists. His family lived quite comfortably and he'd never gone without anything he really needed (although his parents had been determined not to spoil their children, so he often didn't get things he merely "wanted"). Still, no matter how much money his parents really had in the bank in Little Whinging, Harry couldn't imagine it could come anywhere close to the amount of wizard money sitting in this vault deep under London. He shook his head and sighed deeply.

"I... I had no idea," he sputtered. "This is amazing. What am I going to do with all this money?"

"Well, fer now, yeh're gonna leave most of it here," Hagrid said. "Yeh've got seven years ahead of yeh at Hogwarts; can' be spendin' it all at once, now can yeh?" Smiling, he gave Harry a large drawstring bag identical to one he held, and together they shoveled as many gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts as they could into the two bags. "I'll take this money back teh Hogwarts fer yeh so yeh'll have some money to use at school this year."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry replied. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but are we done now?" He was hoping he wouldn't have to endure another harrowing ride like the one that brought them down here.

Hagrid shook his head and smiled. "Nah, we've got summat else teh do. Special business for Dumbledore, asked me teh do it personal fer 'im. Gotta go to another vault." Harry sighed and followed Hagrid and Griphook back into the cart, which took off like a rocket as soon as they sat down. Harry couldn't see Hagrid in the dark behind him, but every now and then a rumble or a moan would escape Hagrid's lips, making Harry very nervous. After numerous twists and turns the cart finally stopped in front of vault 713, where Griphook and Hagrid got out. Waiting in the cart, Harry watched in amazement as Griphook ran his finger down the middle of the vault door--and the door melted away. Hagrid stepped inside the vault and a few moments later came out tucking a small package wrapped in brown paper into a pocket deep inside his overcoat.

"What's that?" Harry inquired.

"Nothin' yeh need to know about," Hagrid returned. "Jes' what Dumbledore asked me teh get fer 'im. Can' really talk about it, yeh know. Prob'ly already told yeh too much." Harry nodded but filed this situation in the "curious things to learn more about" section of his brain.

"Now we're ready to go," Hagrid huffed as he and Griphook climbed back into the cart. "An' Harry?" he added. "Don' tell Hermione what yeh saw here. I reckon yeh prob'ly share a lot wi' her, but yeh need to keep this teh yerself. If Dumbledore ever found out yeh knew where the vault is..." Hagrid's voice trailed off as he gave Harry a significant look.

Harry didn't know what it meant, but he realized he'd just come across his first Hogwarts secret.

~~~*~~~*~~~

Returning with Hagrid to the main banking area, Harry was glad to see his family again.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing his arm. "We were starting to think you'd never come back. Did you get your money? How were the vaults?"

"Well, I'm back now. Yes, some of it. Dark."

"That certainly was descriptive," Mum laughed, casting a sideways glance at the bulging moneybags. "So are we finally ready to buy your school supplies?"

"Yeah, we are," Hagrid answered. "Les' go buy yer books first before Flourish and Blotts closes." They marched out past the goblin guards, back out into Diagon Alley, Hagrid and Harry carrying the moneybags, Hermione, Mum and Dad bringing up the rear, muttering awed comments about the various magical shops. Once in the bookstore, they spent about half an hour finding text books on herbology, potions, charms, history of magic, and transfiguration ("So that's the name for what Professor McGonagall did to that pincushion!"). Harry had to smile when Hagrid returned from the back of the bookstore with a sulking Hermione; he remembered many times when either Mum or Dad had rousted her from the stacks of the local public library at closing time. Hermione's never met a book she didn't like, he mused. I bet she'll start reading these magic books as soon as we get home.

Next they doubled back past Gringotts, strolling past a pet store, a joke shop and a second-hand robe shop before reaching the wand shop, Ollivander's. Harry thought the shop looked ancient and the sign above the door confirmed it: "Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC." A single wand lay on a faded purple pillow in the front window. Harry, Hermione, Mum, Dad and Hagrid squeezed through the front door into the narrow shabby interior, which was lined floor to ceiling with long, narrow boxes. After Hagrid harrumphed loudly, an elderly man glided into the room and viewed them through eerie, moonlike eyes.

"Ah Hagrid, good to see you again. What can I do for you today?" the man began, looking over the four strangers.

"Afternoon, Mr. Ollivander. We're here to get some wands. They'll be starting at Hogwarts in September," Hagrid beamed, nodding toward Harry and Hermione.

Mr. Ollivander's eyes narrowed as he looked over the young witch and wizard. Feeling those eerie eyes linger on his forehead, Harry brushed his fringe to cover his scar. He was too late.

"Harry Potter," the old man stated. Mum and Dad sighed in unison. Hermione bit her lip.

"Yes, sir," Harry gulped. "I'm Harry Potter. Harry Potter Granger, actually. This is my sister Hermione and my mum and dad, Doctors Alan and Marcia Granger."

Ollivander eyed Harry kindly. "I remember the parents who brought you into this world, Mr. Potter -- James Potter and Lily Evans Potter. I also remember every wand I've ever made and sold, and I remember their wands well. James Potter's wand was eleven inches, mahogany, very pliable, excellent for tranfiguration. Yes, yes. And Lily Evans...hmmm....willow, ten and a quarter inches, swishy, very nice for charm work. I'm sure some nice wands will find both of you. You don't actually choose the wand - it chooses you."

He pulled out two tape measures and started taking measurements of most of Harry's body above the waist. Harry looked sideways and realized that while Ollivander was measuring Hermione, the other tape was measuring him of its own accord, including seemingly meaningless measurements such as the space between his nostrils and the thickness of his left earlobe. Satisfied with the measurements, the wandmaker took dozens of boxes down from the shelves and stacked them up for Harry and Hermione to try. Wrong wand after wrong wand became apparent by the havoc they wrought; Harry blew a hole in the ceiling and Hermione cracked the front window from ten feet away. Finally, Harry picked up a wand that felt different from all the others. As he extended his right arm and pointed the wand aimlessly, the wand glowed and a thrill of electricity coursed through his body. As he swished his arm up and down, red and gold sparks showered from the end of the wand. The corners of Mr. Ollivander's mouth curled in a smile.

"Excellent!" the wandmaker said. "Made from holly, eleven inches long, containing a single phoenix feather. And it's very interesting you should end up with this wand, since its brother gave you that scar."

Harry felt everyone in the shop freeze in their tracks.

"I've made only two wands that contain phoenix feathers, and the other belongs to" -- he sucked in a breath -- "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"You mean Voldemort?"

Ollivander flinched and then looked at Harry knowingly. "Yes, I do. Because of what happened ten years ago, the whole wizarding world has expected great things of you. Now that I know this wand has chosen you, I expect great things of you, too. It is up to you to decide whether you want to achieve good things or terrible things."

Harry stood mute for a minute, not knowing how to respond. It sounded like owning this wand would be a great responsibility. He wasn't sure he was up to it; after all, until two days ago he'd thought he was an ordinary kid--well, maybe not exactly ordinary. But he couldn't forget how the wand felt in his hand. It felt like...power. He'd never felt anything like it in his life. He didn't care if Voldemort's wand resembled his somehow. He wanted to have that wand, to feel that power again and again. And unlike Voldemort, he would use his power for good things, to help people and to protect them from harm. He owed that much to James and Lily. Harry reckoned it might take him some time to learn how to use the wand properly, but once he did, maybe he'd be able to do something more useful than transfiguring a pincushion.

"I'll take it," he said finally.

"Seven Galleons, please," Ollivander replied. Near the window, Hagrid opened one of Harry's moneybags, counted out seven large gold coins, and gave them to the wandmaker.

Harry realized he'd not paid much attention to Hermione's efforts to find her own wand. Glancing at his sister, he saw her smile as she put a long pale wand back into its box. "How much for this one?" she asked.

"That will be six Galleons and fifteen Sickles, Miss Granger."

Dad counted out six gold coins and fifteen silver ones from the moneybag in his jacket pocket and gave them to the wandmaker. After Ollivander tied up the wand boxes securely, the five shoppers were off to buy robes at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The proprietor herself, a short witch in mauve robes, greeted them at the door and whisked Harry and Hermione into a waiting room where, she informed them, another witch would measure them for their robes in a few minutes.

Seating themselves in a couple of ancient armchairs, Harry and Hermione chatted quietly, glad to have a chance to catch up with each other however briefly after the day's excitement. Suddenly, a slender young wizard about their age appeared through a doorway, wearing black robes that were much too long for him, dragging on the floor. He had silvery blond hair and a pointed nose and wore a pinched expression that Harry read as "I'm better than everyone else." After the boy climbed up on a short stepstool, one of Madam Malkin's tailors entered the area and began pinning up the bottom of his robes.

"Starting Hogwarts too?" the boy asked Harry and Hermione. They nodded.

"So am I. Everyone in my family has attended for the past five hundred thirty years. I hope there aren't many Muggle-borns this year. Father says Hogwarts has let in too many of them lately. He thinks Dumbledore's been lowering the school's standards," he sniffed with an air of superiority.

Hermione's eyes narrowed and her expression turned stony. "That's a very interesting theory," she countered. "Why would he think that?"

The blond boy looked sideways at her. "Well, they don't know how to act like we do, do they? Can you imagine when they receive their letters? That must be priceless. And everyone knows that pureblood witches and wizards have more magical talent. Everyone except Dumbledore, that is. Father says that old goat is going to ruin Hogwarts," he smirked.

Hermione started to open her mouth to say something, but Harry quieted her.

"So what house do you think you'll be in?" the blond boy asked. Harry shrugged. Hermione maintained her stony glare. The boy didn't seem to notice. "I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin. Everyone in my family has been in Slytherin for hundreds of years. It's the best house, of course."

"If you say so," Harry said noncommittally. I'm not sure I'd want to be in any house that wanted this bloke, he thought, anger starting to bubble up in him. Hermione must have noticed this, because instead of letting him lash out at the boy, she repeated the advice she'd given him many times.

"Let's ignore him, Harry. Ignore him and he'll go away."

Harry smiled at his sister. She was not only the smartest kid he knew, she was also very mature for her age. As usual, her words calmed him, and Harry chose to bide his time rather than tell off the blond boy for the idiotic things he was saying about Muggle-borns.

"So do you play Quidditch at all?" the drawling boy asked.

As Harry opened his mouth to ask what Quidditch was, Hermione jumped in. "No, not really," she said, which wasn't quite a lie but wasn't the truth either, since neither of them had any idea what Quidditch was. Hermione was usually a stickler for obeying rules and telling the truth so it was unusual for her even to fudge as little as she'd just done. Harry decided he'd have to thank her for trying to direct the conversation away from yet another unfamiliar subject.

"Well, I expect I'll play on my house team at Hogwarts," the boy went on as a needle and thread magically sewed up the hem of his robes. "I've got my own broom, of course, but I think I'll twist Father's arm so he'll buy me a new one. The Nimbus 2000 is the fastest broom yet, so naturally I'll have to get one." Nodding dumbly, Harry felt himself liking this boy less with every word he spoke. Hermione continued to glare. At least now they knew Quidditch was probably a sport that involved brooms.

At that moment, Madam Malkin came to their rescue. "All done," she said, shooing the blond boy off the stepstool.

"See you at Hogwarts," he said, tilting his nose haughtily as he carried his new robes out of the room.

"What an annoying prat," Hermione grumbled after he was out of earshot as a pink-haired young witch pinned up her robes. "I hope we don't end up in whatever house he's in."

"He said he wanted to be in Slytherin House. At least now we know which house to avoid!" Harry laughed as another witch finished the alterations on his robes.

"What's so funny?" Dad asked, entering with Mum and Hagrid, who were having an animated chat of their own.

"Nothing much, Dad, just a snotty boy who'll be in our class at Hogwarts," Harry replied.

"I wouldn't have minded him so much," Hermione added, "if he hadn't been spouting off about Muggle-borns and calling Professor Dumbledore names."

Hagrid bristled. "Who's callin' the headmaster names? An' what's this about Muggle-borns?"

It was Hermione's turn to bristle. "We don't know his name. He was being a prat, that's all. A know-nothing prat." A pensive look came upon her. "Harry and I both got angry at some of the stupid things he was saying, but we managed to keep our heads and not get into an argument with him. He's only our age, of course, but who knows, maybe he already knows some magic. It seemed better not to stand up to him."

"Discretion is still the better part of valor," Dad replied. "I can always trust you to keep your head, Hermione - and of course, you too, Harry."

"We know you trust us, Dad, and Mum too," Harry said. "We won't forget everything you've taught us just because we're going away to school."

Mum looked at Harry and Hermione as if her heart would burst with pride. She placed one hand on his cheek and the other on Hermione's. "I love both of you so much, and I'm so very proud of you. Witch, wizard, milkman, astronaut, ditch digger, I don't care what you do. I love you because you're you," she finished, hugging them both soundly. Harry flinched in embarrassment at the public display of affection, but deep down he appreciated the reassurance. He had the feeling nothing would be quite the same from now on, and he needed to know that some things--like his parents' love--wouldn't change.

Hagrid cleared his throat.

"Don' mean to break yeh up," he sniffled, "but we've got one more stop teh make." With that, he led them out of Madam Malkin's, up Diagon Alley toward the Leaky Cauldron, and finally into Eeylops Owl Emporium.

"Harry an' Hermione can bring a pet to Hogwarts," he reminded the elder Grangers. "We don' have any Muggle post at Hogwarts, really no Muggle ways fer them teh contact yeh. So if yeh want teh hear from 'em between holidays, they'll need to have their own owl." Mum and Dad looked a bit shocked, but after some quick whispering they shook their heads in agreement.

"Glad yeh agree with me," Hagrid continued, looking pleased. "An' now, I'd like to buy their owl for 'em, if yeh don' mind. Kinda me belated birthday present to Harry fer the last nine years."

"Thank you, Hagrid. That's very kind of you," Dad replied. Mum and Hermione joined Harry in nodding their thanks.

"My pleasure. Now you two, go pick out an owl."

Wandering around the darkened shop, Harry and Hermione saw shelf upon shelf of cages, each holding an owl. There were at least five species of owl to choose from, and after much looking, they finally agreed on a large, beautiful snowy owl.

"Where to now?" Hermione asked as they left the shop carrying the owl in a large brass cage.

"Now we're done," Hagrid smiled. "Time fer all of us to go home."

With that Hagrid led them back through the magical portal. The crowd in the Leaky Cauldron cheered as Harry made his way back through the pub. As they trudged along Charing Cross Road toward the Underground station, Harry hoped that his family could get used to the adulation being heaped upon him - and that it wouldn't go to his head. He finally knew why he was different, but as far as he could tell, he wasn't really special as wizards went - except for the fact that Voldemort hadn't managed to kill him. He wondered if he'd ever find out why he'd survived when so many others had not.

They walked into the Underground station and waited for the same train that had brought them from Paddington Station.

"Well, this is where I leave yeh," Hagrid said as the train approached. "Oh, an' here's yer tickets teh get to Hogwarts when term starts. Yeh need teh go teh King's Cross Station on September first. Once yeh're there, take the train that leaves at eleven a.m. from Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Jes' look at yer tickets if yeh ferget what to do."

He shook hands with Harry, Mum and Dad and gave Hermione a squeeze that appeared to knock the breath out of her temporarily. Loaded down with several oddly shaped packages and a softly hooting owl, the four Grangers boarded the train and settled in for the brief trip to Paddington.

Hagrid stood on the platform and waved to them, oblivious to the stares of the Muggle commuters. Opening the window halfway, Harry blinked as he leaned out to wave to him.

"Goodbye Hagrid, see you in September," he called. But Hagrid was already gone.

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