Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and its characters are not mine; they are J. K. Rowling’s, and several lines in this chapter were borrowed from her. Various elements of this story (the design of the green Necromancy book, and some of the spells and rituals that will come up later) come from multiple sources, which have been cited in previous disclaimers, but the plot is mine.

A/N: Another new chapter finished already. I'm surprised at myself. Don't expect updates to always come so quickly. I have no intention of abandoning this story again, by any means, but sometimes life may get in the way, and there might be a couple of weeks or maybe a month between new chapters. Mostly, I got this one done so quickly because of all your lovely reviews. You guys are amazing; your response to the last chapter blew me away. To my reviewers, Kage Mirai, Maira Blue, Gae Bolg, S. Faustus, The French Dark Lord, randompalindrome, G. L. M., and Angelis Raye, I express eternal gratitude.

-o-o-

Chapter Four: School Supplies

-o-o-

Harry kept a close eye on his godfather during the days that followed the arrival of the Hogwarts letter. Sirius seemed constantly jumpy; there were dark circles under his eyes, and he had become almost as pale as Harry himself. Every time Harry spoke to him, he would look up in alarm, as though he’d been deep in thought and hadn’t even noticed his godson’s presence. He rarely said a word, and he ate almost nothing.

For the first time, Harry was concerned. Something about that letter had affected Sirius terribly. Not to mention, whatever bothered the Animagus so was purposefully being kept a secret, and he was almost certain that this secret involved him in some way.

Five days after he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter, they made a trip to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies. Sirius seemed uncharacteristically paranoid as they stepped through the archway onto the cobbled street. His blue eyes darted around as though he expected Death Eaters to appear at any moment. Harry noticed that he kept a tight grip on his wand as they made their way through the crowd. Normally, he had to put considerable effort into ditching Sirius to visit Knocturn, but he had a feeling that it would be ridiculously easy today. It turned out he was right.

Barely a minute after entering the Alley, Sirius spoke.

“I’ll go get your books while you get fitted for robes, okay, kiddo? Then we’ll see about a pet and a wand, and leave.”

“You aren’t visiting your Quidditch store?” Harry asked, surprised. Sirius usually made a habit of dragging him to Quality Quidditch Supplies whenever they were in Diagon.

The Animagus shook his head, glancing suspiciously at a group of wizards nearby. “Not today. Let’s just get what we need and go home.”

So they parted ways, but instead of heading toward the robe shop, Harry made his way down the street toward the entrance of Knocturn Alley. Considering how busy Diagon was today, he had a feeling he could get what he needed and arrive at the robe shop long before Sirius got money from Gringotts and managed to purchase his textbooks. The goblins probably had their hands full over at the bank. Harry had only seen them once, on his third visit to the Alley. The small creatures with their pointy teeth and claw-like nails gave him the creeps, especially since they all seemed to know exactly what he was and kept looking at him darkly. He’d made a point of avoiding the bank ever since, deciding that his first visit there would also be his last. He didn’t like the idea that the goblins might mention something about the darkness that he knew they felt radiating from him. How they felt it, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to take the risk of them telling Sirius.

Knocturn Alley was dark and dreary, as usual. The place never seemed to change, and Harry had come to feel a certain fondness for it. Here, no one tried to stop him and ask why he wasn’t with a guardian; he didn’t have to put on a false smile and pretend to be polite; he could walk into any shop and look at any thing. He’d found that if anyone gave him trouble, all he had to do was mention necromancy and they would say no more.

A group of four people in long, flowing black robes were standing outside a shop that sold poisons. Their hoods were pulled down low, hiding their faces. Further ahead, a hag sat at a small table in a nook between two buildings, counting a pile of human fingers. Other people milled about, looking at window displays or striding in or out of shops.

Harry was a little surprised; this was uncommonly busy for Knocturn Alley’s standards.

He entered the familiar bookstore where he’d gotten his book of Necromancy two years ago. He made a point of visiting the place whenever he could; there were new, fascinating books every time he came, and he had several stashed throughout his room at home.

The shopkeeper, Mr. Barrow, was standing behind the counter. A few new wrinkles had appeared on the man’s face and there was more grey in his dark hair, but otherwise he looked the same as the last time Harry had seen him, four months ago. For someone who worked in Knocturn, Mr. Barrow was surprisingly polite.

“How may I help you today?”

“I’m just having a look around, since I’m not entirely certain of when I’ll get a chance to come back again,” said Harry honestly, already examining the books on the shelves closest to him.

The shopkeeper paused for a moment, apparently thinking. “You’d be… eleven now, wouldn’t you? Going to Hogwarts this year?”

Harry went very still.

How did he know – of course. I told him how old I was the first time I came here. A better question would be why he bothered to remember it.

If there was one thing he’d learned about Knocturn, it was that the Alley was a fascinating and dangerous place; people here had all sorts of means and motives. You had to be cautious in what you told people, because any information could be used against you. However, he had a feeling Mr. Barrow wasn’t trying to use anything against him; he just sounded curious.

“Yes, I am,” he replied, trying not to sound as suspicious as he felt. “I got my letter a few days ago, actually.”

Mr. Barrow nodded. “I’m sure you’ll find Hogwarts to be an interesting place.”

Harry frowned. After a few minutes of looking, he found a couple of books that interested him. Even though he knew he was probably getting short on time, he kept scanning the shelves. He’d discovered that there were precious few books on necromancy to be found, and his green one seemed to be the only real guide. He had only discovered three other books that mentioned the art in detail, and only one of them actually gave instructions. Nevertheless, he kept searching whenever he came to Knocturn, on the off chance that another might pop up someday.

He spotted a worn black leather book and picked it up, the title catching his interest. ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’ was written on the cover in faded gold letters. Since he knew he was getting short on time, Harry didn’t bother to look through it before setting it and the other two books he wanted onto the counter.

Mr. Barrow looked at them, then at Harry. “Yes, I thought you might find these,” he said. He paused, and added, “If the patrons of my shop want to buy books about untraceable poisons or turning an enemy’s blood to acid, well, who am I to stop them? I try not to get involved. But you… you’re a highly unusual child, as I’m sure you know. Barely eleven and already studying things that make some adults cringe.” The shopkeeper paused again. “…I feel that a word of caution is necessary. Some of the things you’ve purchased here over the years would be enough to get you expelled from Hogwarts, or worse. You should be very careful in deciding what to bring to school, and what would be best left at home. I’m certainly not the only one who would be disappointed if such a promising young Dark wizard were thrown in Azkaban.”

Harry remained silent. Besides learning the man’s name and occasionally asking for help finding a book, he had never spoken at length to Mr. Barrow. And just because he studied Necromancy did not mean he was going to be a Dark wizard… although it undoubtedly seemed that way.

“That’ll be five Galleons,” Mr. Barrow added, as though nothing had just happened.

-o-o-o-

Somewhere, a bell dinged as Harry pushed open the door to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. A plump witch dressed entirely in mauve was at his side almost immediately.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she asked with a smile, when Harry went to speak. “We’ve got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. Follow me.”

She led Harry to the back of the shop. Sure enough, a taller boy with pale blond hair and grey eyes 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 and handed him an identical black robe, which he pulled on. As she began to pin it to the right length, the blond boy spoke.

“Hello,” he said. “Going to Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“My father’s looking at owls while my mother gets my textbooks,” said the blond in a bored drawl. “I plan to look at racing brooms before we leave. Can you believe first years aren’t allowed to have their own, or try out for the Quidditch team? It’s unfair – my father’s on the Board of Governors, and if I complain enough, I’m hoping he might be able to abolish those rules, and perhaps a couple of others as well.”

Harry simply nodded. This boy sounded a bit manipulative, but maybe all children were like that. Harry himself had certainly twisted Sirius’s will in the past.

“Do you play Quidditch?” asked the boy, interested.

“No,” Harry said flatly. “I’ve always thought it was ridiculous and a waste of time.”

The blond nodded, apparently not put off by the cold tone. “I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way,” he said proudly.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry shortly. He realized he should probably try to be a bit more polite, as this was only the first of many times he would be forced into the company of others his age. Once he got to Hogwarts, there would be no escape, so he might as well get used to it now.

He’d read a book about the Pureblood families once, and remembered the Malfoy line being one of them. According to Sirius, Lucius Malfoy, who had to be Draco’s father, had once been accused of being a Death Eater. He claimed he had been under the Imperius Curse the entire time, so the Ministry never charged him. Sirius had never believed it, and Harry wondered what the Animagus would think if he knew that his godson was being friendly with the son of a supposed Death Eater. He wouldn’t like it, that was for sure. Sirius loathed Death Eaters, and anyone who had anything to do with Voldemort or Dark magic in general.

Meanwhile, Malfoy’s eyes had widened. “Harry Potter?” he repeated. “You’re the one who defeated the Dark Lord?”

“I suppose, although I’ve never really thought of it as ‘defeating.’ From what I’ve been told, he killed my parents, and he must have tried to kill me as well, but somehow disappeared in the process.”

“All done, dears,” said Madam Malkin, before Malfoy could reply.

The blond stepped off his stool with an air of cool grace. “See you at Hogwarts then, Potter,” he drawled, his haughty attitude returning.

Harry had just stepped out of the robe shop when Sirius finally reappeared, looking faintly annoyed. “Got your robes, then?” he asked, looking at the bag in Harry’s hand, and continued before Harry could reply. “Sorry I kept you waiting so long – I had to wait forever in Gringotts before one of those blasted carts was free, and Flourish and Blotts was packed. Got your schoolbooks, though. Ready to go get a wand?”

Without waiting for a reply, he started walking toward the wand shop. Harry followed, feeling a little irritated. He couldn’t understand why Sirius suddenly seemed so moody, but whatever the reason, it was getting on his nerves. Hopefully, he would go back to his usual joking self soon; otherwise, leaving for Hogwarts would be Harry’s only hope of relief.

The wand shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A quiet bell rang in the background as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place; the walls were lined with shelves, holding hundreds or perhaps thousands of narrow boxes, which were stacked right up to the ceiling. The only furniture was a single wooden chair, which Sirius took a seat in. Harry examined the boxes on the wall curiously.

Suddenly, and not for the first time in his life, he knew that someone was coming. He turned, looking at the doorway at the back of the shop. Sure enough, a wizard with white hair emerged moments later, his wide, pale eyes shining.

“Good afternoon,” he said softly.

“Good to see you again, Ollivander,” said Sirius. “We’re here to get Harry a wand, as I’m sure you know.”

Ollivander turned his great pale eyes to Harry, looking at him as though searching his soul. Harry gazed back calmly, wondering if he was supposed to be intimidated, although he had to admit Ollivander was a little creepy.

“Ah yes,” said Ollivander after a moment. “Yes, yes. I thought I might be seeing you soon,” he seemed to pause slightly, and frowned, “Harry Potter. You look very like your father… It seems only yesterday that he, and your mother as well, were here buying their own wands. Your father’s was yew and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches. A powerful wand, very powerful… Your mother, on the other hand, favored an ebony wand, ten-and-a-quarter inches, with a unicorn hair core… They were quite something, your parents. Very great indeed. Though when I say your mother favored it… well, it‘s the wand that chooses the wizard, really…”

Harry was interested to hear these things, but Sirius had gone very still.

Those were not Lily and James’s wands that Ollivander spoke of – Sirius had seen them more times than he could remember and the description was completely off. James’s definitely wasn’t yew, and Lily’s was… willow, wasn’t it? Not ebony. Ollivander must be talking about Tom Riddle, and whatever Slytherin girl Harry’s mother had been, (because there was just no way Voldemort would do… that with any girl who wasn’t a Slytherin, was there?).

But how in the names of Merlin and magic did Ollivander know that Harry was the Dark Lord’s son?!

Sirius continued to stare at him as the white-haired wizard began handing Harry various wands to try. He hardly noticed the reactions – an inkwell exploded into a million shards, splattering black ink on everything within three feet, a vase shattered, the flowers inside hitting the floor, turning grey and shrivelled, and violently boxes flew from the shelves. But the Animagus was panicking silently, and paid no attention. This was the second reminder of Harry’s true parents to pop up in less than a week. How much longer could the secret last? Who would finally be the one to let something slip, something undeniable that they couldn’t explain away? Heavens – Harry hadn’t even started his first year yet. How could they have ever thought that they’d be able to keep the identity of his parents from him forever? All their carefully laid plans seemed to be dissolving before his eyes.

Sirius only came back to reality when a jet of black sparks nearly singed his hair.

Ollivander smiled widely and clapped. “Yes, very good, very good indeed! A rather unusual combination – ebony and phoenix feather, eleven inches… very good indeed… a perfect match…”

Ebony and phoenix feather… the words echoed in Sirius‘s mind as he examined his godson. Harry was impassive, as usual, but there was an undeniable proud gleam in his eyes. And now that Sirius really looked at them, didn’t the blue there seem much more noticeable than before? And the flecks of black, too? Lily’s emerald green was almost non-existent. The Magical Adoption seemed to be wearing off.

Sirius paid seven Galleons for the wand, and they made their way out of the shop, down the busy cobbled street, and into the pet store, where Harry chose a snowy white owl.

Then, they finally headed home.

-o-o-o-

“Wake up, kiddo! You only have four hours to get ready! The Hogwarts Express won’t wait!”

Harry rolled his eyes, hearing Sirius’s shouts from downstairs.

Everything was ready to go. He had packed yesterday. It had taken some thought (should he bring his Dark spellbooks, and his potion ingredients? What about chalk and charcoal, for drawing the pentagrams and circles needed in certain rituals? Or the bottles of various types of blood?) But finally he managed to choose what he might need, and hid the rest securely in his room. His owl, which he had decided to name Hedwig, was in her cage, and he was already dressed in the Muggle clothes that Sirius had picked up… somewhere.

He didn’t like them, but according to his godfather, it was necessary that they blend in to the crowd. If they went strolling into King’s Cross Station in wizard’s robes, they were likely to be mobbed by Muggles. From what he‘d seen in the Daily Prophet, things were going badly between the Muggle and Wizarding governments all over the world, especially in Britain and America. Now that the Muggles knew the truth about magic, they wanted the chance to learn it, and none of them seemed to understand that they couldn’t. They were getting frustrated, and there were reports that some Muggles had taken to attacking witches and wizards. There were rumors that an all-out war might fire up soon, and that was the last thing Britain needed, since they already had Voldemort to worry about.

Harry was broken out of his thoughts when Sirius knocked loudly on his door.

“Are you up yet, Harry?” he called. “It’s time for breakfast! You don’t want to be late, do you?”

Harry pulled open the door. “I’m completely ready to go, Uncle Sirius. We have plenty of time, and even if I somehow missed the train, you could just transport me to Hogwarts yourself. Stop worrying.”

Still, having Sirius worry was better than having him be constantly short-tempered and angry, as he’d been a month ago when the Hogwarts letter arrived.

-o-o-o-

King’s Cross was loud and busy, with people rushing about as they tried not to miss their trains, tourists gawking at things, someone nearby asking for directions, luggage everywhere… Harry took one look at the place and decided he disliked it immensely. That feeling was only made worse when a Muggle pulling some sort of suitcase with wheels ended up banging into him.

Scowling over his shoulder at the idiot, who hadn’t even stopped to offer an apology, Harry nearly bumped into Sirius when he came to a sudden halt. He was looking at the barrier between platforms nine and ten, and smiling.

“Well, there it is. You can go first, and I‘ll be right behind you with the trolley,” said the Animagus. “You know what to do?”

Harry nodded. Without pausing, he walked quickly toward the wall. Making sure no Muggles were looking, he broke into a bit of a run, and closed his eyes. Part of him waited for a painful impact, but he passed right through the bricks with no trouble at all. A little relieved, he moved out of the way, and studied Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

It was just as busy as the Muggle platforms on the other side of the barrier, but with noticeable differences. Witches and wizards, some in Muggle attire and some in robes, were trying to get their children onto the train. Owls squawked, cats hissed, people talked and laughed. One woman sighed and scolded a boy about losing a toad, and a plump woman with red hair was berating red-haired twins about blowing up toilets. Trunks were being loaded onto the scarlet steam engine, and children were hanging out the windows to talk to their families.

Harry took it all in and had to fight down the urge to demand that Sirius take him home at once, and forget this whole mess. He did not like this. Not at all. It was loud and chaotic and he had never felt more out of place.

How could he ever hope to survive an entire year of this?

-o-o-o-

A/N: There was very little action in this chapter, and that annoys me. Things should pick up soon. You may recognise the book Harry buys in Knocturn Alley, Secrets of the Darkest Art. Yes, it’s the very book Hermione gets from Dumbledore’s office and learns all about Horcruxes from, in Deathly Hallows. Also, some lines in this chapter were taken directly from the American edition of Philosopher’s Stone. I based the description of Kings Cross on some stations we have here in the States, as I’ve never been to England. I apologise if it was off.

PLEASE vote in the Poll on my Profile page. I need your opinions to help me decide which House Harry should go to. Slytherin is in the lead with six votes, and Ravenclaw is a close second with five. Understandably, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are tied at zero. The Poll will be closing on May 25th.

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