Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Hey guys. I know it's been forever since I updated this story. I went through a huge bout of writer's block. I realized I had written myself into a nice little hole. So, I decided to rewrite. I also have a beta now (He's over at fanfiction.net, but you guys still get the benefit here!)

Oh, one other thing, there won't be as many chapters as I cut a LOT out, and then combined some of the other chapters because they were fairly small after editing.

Once my beta is finished going through all the chapters, I'll start updating with some regularity. Thanks for reading!

It was a small, but otherwise pleasant room that the stiff matron of the orphanage ushered Albus Dumbledore into.

"Would you like a cuppa?" offered the nun.

Dumbledore beamed at the woman, smiling jovially. "That would be excellent, thank you."

"His parent's alma mater, you say?" asked the woman, a bit suspiciously if not more than a little cautious, once the two of them were sipping on two cups of tea.

"Just so," said the elderly man with a smile. "They were former students of mine. I confess myself surprised at discovering that their son was not where I thought him to be all these long years. Tell me, Sister, how long has Mr. Potter resided within your facility?"

"Around ten years," replied the woman shortly. "We found him on the doorstep the morning of November 2nd, I believe," the nun paused for a moment. "No, I'm sorry, it was on the the 3rd that we found him. Always thought it was a bit strange, that any parent would abandon their child, especially such a quiet and good natured child as Harry was, but it didn't take long for us to see why..." She trailed off.

"Oh?" asked the Professor.

Sister Agatha hesitated. "And he's already been accepted at this school? So you'll take him, no matter what I say?"

"No matter what," he confirmed kindly. "He'll have to return here during his summer holidays, of course, but otherwise..."

The nun nodded and let out a sigh of relief. "He was always such a quiet child. Never cried, never whined like the other children, so quiet. It was unnatural," she shivered. "And he knew things, always. It was like he could see through you, into the darkest corner of your mind, and know what was there. Unnatural," she repeated. She stopped as if to gauge his reaction, but although his mind was reeling, he did not allow his surprise to show.

Outwardly, at least. Indeed, he was not, perhaps, as surprised as he should have been. He'd had very nearly the same conversation once before, regarding another young wizard, half a century before. He continued to watch the Sister who had fallen silent. "What else can you tell me about the boy? Does he have many friends? Does he perform well in school?" Professor Dumbledore prompted gently after another several minutes of silence.

"Friends?" she asked slowly. Professor Dumbledore nodded. She shook her head. "No, he hasn't many friends at all. It's just, well, the children are frightened of him, you see," she confessed. A horrified look appeared on her face. "You'll still take him, won't you?"

Dumbledore nodded patiently, a pleasant smile on his lips. "There's nothing you could tell me that would make me change my mind, I assure you. He's been signed up for attendance to my school since his birth."

"He's rather odd boy," Sister Agatha murmured softly, as if speaking to herself.

"So I've gathered," said Dumbledore, not unkindly. "You say he frightens the other children. Is he a bully, then?"

"A bully?" the Sister repeated. "No, not a bully. The other children, well you know how children can be, especially to those that are different." She seemed to be gaining confidence. "They used to bully him, but then strange things began happening around him."

Dumbledore rubbed his beard. "Strange things, you say?"

"Y-yes," she said, hesitating again. "I could never prove any of it, of course, and if you'd ever seen him, you'd understand why I am reluctant to do so. He couldn't have done it physically, but just the same, Sam's arm didn't break itself, now did it?"

"They rarely do," said the Headmaster quietly.

"And all the snakes, well, Harry said he hadn't let him in, and I don't see how he could have done, really. Where would he have gotten that many snakes at any rate?"

"Where indeed?" murmured Dumbledore.

*

Harry Potter woke up on July 31st, 1991 much as he did any other day. Only that it wasn't just any day; it was his birthday – his eleventh to be exact. Not that he expected anything special, because he didn't. In fact, Harry Potter had not celebrated any of his other birthdays either. Except perhaps the one he'd had with his parents, but since he couldn't remember it, he couldn't rightly count it, now could he? The orphanage he lived in – St. Nicolas' Home for Boys – did have cake once monthly to celebrate any birthdays that fell in that particular month, but that was it.

But Harry was no ordinary little boy. All of his short life, he had known he was different – special. Strange things had a tendency to happen around Harry whenever he was angry or frightened. Sometimes they happened just because he wanted them to.

The strange happenings started out, as most things do, small. It was the weekend before he was due to start school, and Sister Beatrice had decided to cut Harry's hair. Harry hated his new haircut and wished that it had never been cut. The next morning when Harry woke up, his hair was back to its original length. It took nearly a dozen hair cuts before the Sisters realized there was nothing that could be done; his hair just kept growing back!

Once Harry discovered he could control whatever it was that he could do, he took advantage of it. And why shouldn't he? The other children had certainly caused him enough trouble. Broken glasses, torn library books, ripped jeans, and plenty of undeserved beatings. He really hadn't planned on hurting any of them badly. In fact, the first time it happened, he had just stared at the boy's arm – it stuck out at an obscene angle – in shock for several seconds before running for the teacher.

It rained all morning that day. Growing up in London, Harry was no stranger to the rain, and he certainly never allowed it to hinder his weekly trip to the local library. He spent several hours in the library before returning to the orphanage for lunch. He made his way silently to his bedroom. He was the only boy in the orphanage who had his own private room. They'd given him the room because they were frightened of him, of course, but Harry liked his room all the same. He opened his bedroom door and was surprised to discover that it was not empty as it should have been. There was an elderly man standing next to Sister Agatha who was glaring balefully at his drenched appearance.

"Harry, this is Professor Dumbledore. He's come to speak to you about attending his school," stated Sister Agatha.

Harry eyed the man from the doorway. He was certainly odd-looking. He had long white hair and an equally long white beard. He wore glasses, but unlike Harry's, his were only half-circle. He certainly didn't look like a Professor despite his button-down suit, no matter what Sister Agatha said.

"Well, go on," urged Sister Agatha. "Say hello to 'im. He's come all the way from Scotland to talk to you."

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," murmured Harry, still watching the man carefully.

"Perhaps I should speak to the boy alone," suggested the Professor.

Sister Agatha seemed torn. "If you're sure," she replied hesitantly.

"I insist."

The nun threw another glance towards Harry before hurrying out of the room, the door shutting loudly behind her.

*

The boy, Professor Dumbledore discovered, looked remarkably similar to his father at that age. He was a bit smaller than other eleven year olds, perhaps, but he seemed in good heath regardless. His dark and wavy hair was damp from the rain, and seemed to be naturally untidy. His complexion was pale, but it was not sallow by any means, just the sort of paleness achieved by those who preferred inside activities than outside ones. It was his eyes that Dumbledore was drawn to, however. Those eyes were Lily Potter's eyes. They were a brilliant green, and intelligence shone through them. All in all, Dumbledore was pleasantly surprised the boy did not look the worse for wear. His clothes, while obviously secondhand, were meticulously neat, as was the boy's room. No, he did not seem to suffer any ill effects of being raised in an orphanage. Not that Tom Riddle had either, no, Tom had preferred to hide things, especially things he considered weaknesses. Whether it was his emotions or his actions, he was adept at the art of subterfuge. Harry's face seemed to be schooled in the same emotionless mask that Riddle had worn when Dumbledore had come for him, all those years ago.

"Now then, do you know why I'm here, Mr. Potter?" asked the elderly man.

"You want me to attend your school," Harry said matter-of-factly, curious green eyes studying the Professor.

The elder man smiled kindly. "Rightly so, Mr. Potter."

Harry relaxed somewhat, but did not become complacent. "What sort of school is it?" asked Harry carefully.

"What sort of school indeed," said the Professor with a chuckle. "It's called Hogwarts, and it's a school for gifted students, students with very special skills."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, then. I don't have any special skills," Harry said quickly, much too quickly.

"Oh, am I?" asked the man with a knowing smile on his face. "Tell me, has anything strange ever happened when you were frightened or angry?"

"No," said Harry. "I didn't do anything to Sam, and if Sister Agatha has said otherwise, she's lying."

"Perhaps, I should start over. I can see we are going around in circles, my dear boy. I am Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you, Harry Potter, are a wizard."

"Magic?" breathed Harry. "It's magic, what I can do, then?"

"What is it that you can do?" asked the Headmaster.

"All sorts of things," he replied breathlessly, obviously quite excited. "Whatever I want."

"Whatever you want?" repeated the elder wizard, hiding the shock he felt at the words.

Harry nodded but offered up no other information. "So, this school of yours... it's a magic school?"

"Yes, quite so, Mr. Potter, and I would very much like for you to attend."

"I've never heard of a magical school before," said the boy, his tone suspicious and his expression wary and guarded.

"And for good reason," responded the Professor. "Necessity dictates that we keep ourselves hidden, but there is an entire world out there, similar to this world, especially for those who are magical."

"And I've a place at this school of yours? Hogwarts?" queried the boy.

Dumbledore nodded once. "Yes, you have been down for attendance since your birth as were your parents before you. Are you interested in attending?"

"I'm afraid it's not possible," Harry said, mournfully. "I haven't got any money."

"I don't think that will be a problem, Mr. Potter. Your parents have left you a great deal of money," replied the wizard.

A peculiar look flitted across the boy's face at that. "My parents," he started quietly, "are they dead, then? I've never known. The nuns say that I was found on the doorstep with naught but a note."

Professor Dumbledore paused for a long moment before speaking. "I am very sorry to say that your parents are, in fact, deceased. They were murdered by a dark wizard when you were merely an infant. After their deaths, I entrusted your care to your only remaining family, your mother's sister, Petunia Dursley, and her husband. I cannot be sure how exactly you came to be placed here, as I was only made aware of your true location this morning."

If the boy was unsatisfied with Professor Dumbledore's explanation, he gave no indication. "My parents, sir, could you – perhaps – if it isn't too much of a bother, that is, could you tell me about them?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled indulgently at the boy. "Your parents, James and Lily Potter, were both quite remarkable. You look very much like your father, save your eyes, which are your mother's. I'm afraid I didn't know them all that well, so I cannot tell you their hobbies or anything of that sort, but I can tell you that they were vivacious, intelligent, and exceedingly brave. Your father was the wizarding equivalent of a police officer, we call them Aurors, and your mother hadn't yet decided on a career though she was quite talented in a number of areas."

Harry was silent for several seconds digesting all of the information. "And they were murdered, you say?"

The professor nodded. "Indeed. Despite their perceived differences, the magical world and the non-magical world have much in common, including war. Much like Adolf Hitler who terrorized the non-magical world decades ago, the magical world was being terrorized by a man who referred to himself as the Dark Lord Voldemort. Your parents were targeted by Lord Voldemort and despite all of our attempts at protecting them, they were eventually killed."

"What happened to him, this Lord Voldemort?"

"That, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid is a mystery. It was said that he was defeated by the only witness to the atrocious act – you. Though there are none alive to tell the tale, it is said that when he turned his wand on you, he was unable to kill you. The curse meant for you rebounded back on him, killing him in the process and leaving you with nothing but a lightening bolt shaped scar on your forehead."

Instinctively, the boy's hand went up to touch the odd scar that had been his for as long as he could remember, as he studied the professor's face. At last, he spoke. "You don't believe that, though, do you, sir?"

"Do I believe that Lord Voldemort, the most dangerous dark wizard the world has seen, is gone forever? No, I do not believe that, but do I believe you temporarily defeated him and have given the wizarding world a ten year reprieve from his reign of terror? Yes, I certainly do believe that. Now, as I was saying before, there is an entire world dedicated to witches and wizards, the wizarding world, if you will. And, as in this world, there are certain rules - laws - that one must follow," continued Professor Dumbledore before Harry could question him further.

"Rules? What sort of rules?" asked the boy slowly, his expression becoming blank at once.

"There are all sorts of rules. Magic can be a very powerful thing, Harry – may I call you Harry?" Harry nodded his approval and the man continued. "So I must request that, whether you choose to attend my school or not, never use magic in order to cause others pain. Especially against those who are unable to wield it, those who are not magical - we call them Muggles. To do so is beyond cruel, Harry, because they can have no hope of defending themselves against it, you see. You must promise me this."

Harry's green eyes flashed in anger and, for one brief second, a frown flittered across his face, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

A little over an hour later, after giving Harry a more in-depth explanation of Hogwarts, and everything he would need to attend: his Hogwarts letter that contained his supply list, his ticket for the Hogwarts Express, the key to his vault, and directions to the Leaky Cauldron, Albus Dumbledore left St. Nicholas' Home for Boys.

It had been his plan to accompany Harry to purchase his school supplies himself, but the boy had insisted on going alone. It was with great reluctance, and thoughts of another fiercely independent dark-haired boy that had haunted him for over half a century, that he had agreed. He did not plan to leave the boy completely alone, however. In fact, he had just the person who would be perfect for the job of watching over young Harry as he shopped.

Lost in his thoughts, Professor Dumbledore missed the pair of calculating green eyes that watched his departure from the window above.

*
A tall, lanky man with inky black hair, a sallow complexion, and narrowed obsidian eyes glared at the Leaky Cauldron's barkeeper, daring the man to make small talk with him.

The barkeeper, of course, could not hear the man's thoughts, and, even if he could, he would've probably ignored them.

"Professor Snape! What'll it be for you today? A butter beer or perhaps you could do with a fire whiskey? It's a bit early, I know, but judging from your look..." Tom, the barkeeper, was silenced by the murderous stare said man imparted to him.

"I'll have a cup of tea," said the man brusquely.

Tom hurried off to get his tea, mumbling about the rudeness of young people today. The man, Professor Severus Snape, wondered, for what must have been the hundredth time since he woke up that morning, how he had been tricked into shadowing the Boy-Who-Lived as he purchased his school supplies. He blamed it on the Headmaster, of course. The man had been in quite a state when he returned from his journey the previous day. Apparently, upon visiting Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Harry Potter's supposed guardians, he had discovered the boy had never lived there.

It turned out Petunia Dursley, loathsome woman that she was, had sent the son of her only sister to live at an orphanage instead of caring for him herself. Dumbledore had been shocked and outraged. Severus had not been. He had known both Evans' sisters since they were children, after all. Petunia had always been vindictive and more than a little bitter over Lily being magical when she, herself, was not.

Severus had vehemently declined Dumbledore's suggestion that he watch after the boy in question, until, that is, Dumbledore had resorted to emotional blackmail and uttered the one phrase that would always be his weakness: for Lily.

That was how he found himself sitting on a stool at the Leaky Cauldron wishing, quite frankly, to be doing anything but what he was doing: waiting for the boy. The boy that Dumbledore seemed to believe shared a few too many qualities with a certain wizard that must not be named. Severus had, thankfully, never known the Dark Lord as a child, though if the adult version was anything to go by, he was glad of it.

Tom brought the tea over and then, fortunately, left without saying another word. Severus was relieved for he didn't have the patience for idle chatter. Not even half an hour later, the door opened and the boy in question entered the room.

He needed no introduction because Snape had seen that face too many times, albeit in the form of James, rather than Harry, Potter. Oh, there were differences, certainly. He was smaller than James had been and his face less open than his predecessor's. James Potter was never without a mischievous grin, and for good reason, but this boy had a guarded look to him, as if he was suspicious of everything around him. His eyes, true to Dumbledore's word, were a startling shade of green, the same shade of green Lily's had been, but where hers had been bright and full of life, his were cold and calculating.

He watched as the boy walked across the room, nimbly maneuvering himself so that he was not in physical contact with any of the many patrons crowded the wizarding pub. He arrived at the counter at the same time as Tom came to settle his bill giving Severus ample opportunity to observe him more closely.

"Don't be a stranger, Professor Snape," the man said, jovially, before turning to Harry.

*

Harry stole a glance at the dour man beside him. A professor, was he? Could it be that he was a professor at Hogwarts? He certainly looked the part of a stern school teacher right out of the pages of a Dickens novel.

"What'll be for you, lad?" asked the barkeeper.

The barkeeper's question brought Harry out of his reverie. He turned his thoughts away from the sharp eyed man beside him and onto his current goal.

"I am looking for the entrance to Diagon Alley," he began, "if you would be so kind as to show me the way? I've never been, you see."

A knowing look came over the man's face. "Ah, first time to Hogwarts, then?"

"Yes," Harry said, simply.

"Come on, then, entrance is this way! Wonderful school, Hogwarts is!" The man continued to wax poetic about Hogwarts, and Albus Dumbledore, as he led Harry into the alley behind the pub. He tapped a series of bricks on the wall in front of them, and Harry watched, amazed, as the wall opened.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, sincerely, before stepping through the wall and entering Diagon Alley. Professor Dumbledore said that this was the only place to shop in Britain if you were a witch or wizard.

Harry felt a little like Alice after she'd fallen through the rabbit hole. Everything here was different. The clothing was completely different from anything he'd ever seen. It was old fashioned, as if he had somehow wandered onto the set of one of the Jane Austen teleplays they broadcasted on the BBC.

There were people performing magic everywhere. His eyes continued to sweep the long street before finding the large, looming building of Gringotts, the wizarding bank, exactly where Professor Dumbledore said it would be. With his destination within sight, he walked straight to the building. There was no sense in looking in the shops before retrieving his money. It seemed best, not to mention logical, to get the money bit taken care of first so that he would be free to shop.

Harry was very excited about this. As an orphan and, more so as an orphan who grew up in an orphanage, Harry was not used to having much of anything of his own. He certainly had never had anything new. He wore second hand clothing, his school books were second hand, and if the nuns could have managed it, even his notebooks and pens would have been second hand.

Upon entering the bank, he discovered it was run by odd-looking creatures. The headmaster had warned him they were goblins and that they weren't to be trifled with. They seemed gruff and more than a bit unfriendly, but when he gave them his key, their manner, while still curt, appeared to lessen somewhat.

"This way, Mr. Potter," the small creature said stiffly.

Harry followed the creature, Griphook, into what appeared to be a mine-cart. What followed could be described on as a death-defying fall in which Harry would have likened to a roller coaster if he had ever been on one, that is, but as he had not, he really had no basis for comparison.

Griphook unlocked the door in front of them with Harry's key before handing it back to him with the brisk advice to keep it on him at all times. Then, Harry opened the door, and stopped, mesmerized by what he saw. There were coins, as far as the eye could see. Gold coins, silver coins, and bronze coins, piled nearly to the ceiling.

"The gold ones are Galleons, the silver, Sickles, and the bronze, Knuts," stated Griphook after seeing the confused look on his face.

"Right," Harry breathed. "And it's mine?"

A curt nod. "Yes, Mr. Potter."

Harry grabbed several handfuls of the gold coins and shoved them into his pockets, and then the two of them made the trip back to the surface of the bank. Once outside, Harry pulled the folded letter out of his pocket and a glance over the list before refolding it and tucking it back in his pocket as he entered the first shop.

An hour later, Harry had been through several of the shops and had purchased all sorts of things, including quills, parchment, potion supplies and a rather large trunk in which to place his things. He had spent some time at a magical menagerie, contemplating a pet, but in the end left empty handed. After all, the only animal Harry could think of to get were snakes which weren't allowed. He had considered an owl, but as he had no one he cared to write to, he felt it was unnecessary. He might have liked a cat, but he knew Sister Agatha couldn't abide them, so he left the store with nothing.

As Harry went into the robe shop, he noticed the man from the bar, Professor Snape, following closely behind him. He contemplated saying something to the man, but in the end, decided to simply continue with his shopping. It was likely that the man was there to watch after him. The headmaster had seemed quite reluctant to allow him to shop alone, though he had relented in the end.

The woman that ran the shop, Madam Malkin, Harry thought she was called, reminded him of Sister Agatha. She was short and stout and dressed head to toe in an horrendous shade of mauve.

She smiled when she noticed him. "Hogwarts, dearie?"

Green eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't take kind to people acting quite so familiar with him. Especially when around others, and there were currently others in the shop. A blonde-haired boy and another tailor, to be exact.

"Yes," said Harry, tersely.

"It is the time for it," she hummed. "Well, come on then. Up you go," she motioned to the stool.

"This your first year?" said the blonde-haired boy when Harry was in place next to him.

"It is," Harry confirmed. The boy was staring at him. He seemed to be almost sizing Harry up. He wasn't quite certain how he felt about that.

"This is my first as well though I've seen the castle loads of time. My father is a school governor, you know. What about your parents?" the boy chattered on as the witch took his measurements.

"Dead." was Harry's curt reply. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about his parents or the information the headmaster had shared with him, but he did know that he didn't much care for the boy's tone.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said, shrugging. He didn't seem sorry at all. Quite the opposite, in fact, if Harry had to guess.

Harry was glad when the witch declared him finished and allowed him to hop off the stool.

Next it was the wand shop. Harry was most excited about his wand, even more excited than the book shop, though that was a close second. The wand shop was a strange store, with peculiar knick-knacks sitting around and an odd odor that seemed to be coming from a plant that sat on the front counter.

"Harry Potter, I've been expecting you," said a soft voice. It was a man, Ollivander if the name of the shop was any indication.

"Have you?" asked Harry, a bit sharper than he intended. His eyes were fixed on the seemingly endless rows of long slender boxes.

"Indeed, it seems as only yesterday your parents were in here purchasing their first wands."

Harry's curiosity was piqued at the mention of his parents. The headmaster had been fairly tight lipped about them, though Harry got the distinct impression he knew more than he was letting on. "Shall we get started then?" he asked politely.

This seemed to have the desired effect. The man's moon-like eyes cleared up. "Hold out your wand arm. The one you write with," he clarified, noticing the confused look on Harry's face.

Harry held out his right arm, and for about the next two hours, they searched for his wand.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter," the man had said enigmatically about an hour into their journey. "We just haven't found the right one, that's all."

After another hour had passed, Harry was feeling quite discouraged. Was it possible that no wand would choose him? It didn't seem likely, but then again, none of this would have seemed likely a week ago.

Ollivander glanced from Harry's face to the box on the top. "I wonder..." he murmured to himself. He climbed the small ladder and pulled the box off of the shelf. He opened it and gingerly pulled out the wand it contained and handed it to Harry. "Give this one a try, then. A bit of an unusual combination, but then you are a bit of an unusual customer. It is holly wood and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

As Harry's fingers got closer to the wand, he felt an odd sensation. Much like a magnet that was drawing a piece of metal. The moment he curled his fingers around the wand, he let out a sigh of relief. This was his wand, he knew it. He didn't even have to wait for Ollivander to tell him so.

Ollivander, for his part, was studying Harry. "Curious... very curious."

He continued on when Harry didn't press him as to what was so curious. "Phoenix feathers are common enough, but... it's like this, Mr. Potter. I remember every wand I have sold. Every single one. The phoenix who donated the feather that lies within your wand gave one other feather, only one other. The other feather lay in the wand that gave you the scar on your forehead. So you see why it is so curious that you would be fated for such a wand."

Harry nodded, still staring at the wand in his hand. He quickly paid the man and hurried on his way. The last place he had to go to was the book shop, and given his love of books, he knew it would not be a quick trip.

And indeed, it was not. He bought so many books that the clerk at the shop had given him a special bag. It would remain the same size, no matter how many books he placed within it. He wasn't quite sure what he would need. He purchased the set needed for school, of course, but he ended up with half a dozen others as well including some books geared towards introducing muggleborns into the wizarding world. He wasn't a muggleborn, not really, but as he had no prior knowledge of the existence of the wizarding world, he thought it would be best to be prepared. Hogwarts: A History also seemed interesting as did The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. There was even a section of the book dedicated to him and his parents. They were heroes, and he... well, they called him the Boy-Who-Lived, their savior who, for the past ten years, unbeknownst to anyone else, had rotted away in a muggle orphanage. Of course, they weren't aware of that, but still. He had also discovered that wizards weren't big on fiction, not like muggles, but he did manage to find a book of children stories that would expand automatically when new stories were added. Several of the stories were about the "brave, courageous, Boy-Who-Lived". It seemed surreal that someone had written stories about him and the night he was made an orphan. Just how famous was he? He sighed as he took his magical bag filled with books up to the counter.

After paying for his books, he exited the bookshop only to discover Professor Snape waiting for him on the sidewalk near the door.

"Mr. Potter, I am Professor Snape," the man said, needlessly introducing himself. "Professor Dumbledore thought it unwise to allow you to return to the orphanage as it would be far more trouble than it is worth to ensure your safety there. Instead, you are to spend the next month lodging at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Ensure my safety?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," the man replied slowly, as if speaking to a dimwitted child, "even now, ten years after the fact, there are those who are still unhappy with your part in the defeat of the Dark Lord. Now, come along, I'm to accompany you there."

Harry nodded his acquiesce and followed the man back to the pub, pulling his trunk behind him.