Harry woke up to hear four other boys getting ready in a rush.

“Oh, no, I’ve lost my tie—Trevor! No, not under the bed—oh, my tie, you clever toad!”

“I swear, Long-arse, if you don’t shut your mouth about how smart that damn toad is—“

“Aw, leave off him, Seamus. Just because he actually has a pet—“

“Yeah, so what? So I don’t have a pet, Weasley, at least I have first-hand robes, yeah?”

Harry sat up, rubbed his eyes, and put his glasses on to his nose.

Dean was helping Neville tie his tie and looked over. “Hello! You’re awake, we thought you’d sleep through breakfast!”

Harry had eaten more yesterday than he had in months, maybe years, and he didn’t know if he could eat a breakfast too. He smiled at Dean, then yawned and ran his hand through his hair. He liked it short, like this. He would ask Tookie to cut his hair all the time.

“Do you need to know where the shower is? You probably have time for a quick one,” Ron said as he tried to pull on his sweater. Harry, who had almost forgotten he would be able to shower here, quickly agreed, and twenty minutes later he found himself running down the hallway with Dean, Ron, and Neville.

Seamus was already at the table when they got there.

Harry felt the eyes of the whole school settle on him, and he shrunk into himself. He wasn’t supposed to be noticed, that was the first rule, but this wasn’t the street and he didn’t know what to do, so he just shrunk into himself and ignored them.

Dean and Ron sat next to Seamus, while Harry and Neville opted for the other side of the table. While Neville was shoveling bacon and eggs onto his plate, Harry looked around for something that wouldn’t make him sick.

He settled on lightly buttered toast and started to nibble on it as everyone else started in on their plates.

“H-harry, you can’t have j-just that for breakfast,” Neville stammered. “You’ll be hungry a-and they don’t l-let you get food in between classes.” He fed a piece of bacon to his toad, then ladled some of the eggs onto Harry’s plate.

“Thanks,” Harry said softly, and he tried some of the eggs. They were delicious, and soon he was nibbling on them and on his toast and a piece of bacon Neville had slipped him.

“Don’t listen to Lard-bottom, Potter, he’ll make you fat as he is,” Seamus sneered, and Ron elbowed him in the stomach while Neville stopped eating. His toad jumped onto his shoulder, seeming to try to console him.

“Shut up, Finnigan,” Harry said quietly. He’d never had anyone feed him, except Tookie, and he wasn’t going to let them tease Neville for being kind. “Neville’s just being nice, you can’t just be mean to him because there’s nothing better to do.”

Seamus looked around, prending to be shocked. “And here I thought that was the one thing Longbottom was good for!” He looked to Dean and Ron for laughs, only to find Ron immersed in his cereal and Dean biting his lip.

Angered by his lack of support, he pushed on. “Well, I guess you’re just useless, then, Long-arse.”

“Don’t call him that,” Ron said. “I told you, Seamus, leave him alone. Remember what your mam said.”

There was a secret conversation going on between Seamus and Ron. Dean looked in on it too.

Seamus scowled at Ron. “Who are you, my mother? My mam ain’t here, but you do a very fine impersonation.” He started to mimic Ron in a falsetto, waving his hands in the air. “Ooh, Seamus, don’t tease the stupid, useless fat ass. He might try to hurl himself off the Astronomy Tower, too bad he’d bounce!”

Harry looked over at Neville and saw him holding back tears.

“Neville,” he said loudly. “Hey, Neville, I left something in the dormitory, can you help me find my way back?”

Seamus snorted. “What’d you leave, Potter—your imaginary friend? You don’t even have a wand.”

“Neville—“ Harry continued, staring at the boy. “Help me find my way back?”

The boy finally nodded and pushed away from the table. Once they were farther away from the Hall, Neville started to sniffle.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he sniffled. “I know I’m just a c-crybaby, but I can’t—“

“All the boys at my old school used to tease me,” Harry said suddenly as they headed down the corridor.

“Really? Wh-what’d you do to make them stop?”

“Er—nothing,” Harry admitted. “My, uhm, my cousin used to be the worst of them all, and I lived with his family, so I just—didn’t do anything.”

“I t-told my gram, but she said it’s my own f-fault for being fat. My father and mother weren’t fat, so she says i-it’s just me eating too much.” Trevor ribbitted and fell off Neville’s shoulder.

While they were trying to catch the frog, Harry remarked, “You know, my cousin was really fat. I mean, reallllllllly fat. He musta weighed, like, the size of—six Seamuses. Maybe seven.” He gave a small laugh, then peeked over his shoulder to make sure Dudley wasn’t lurking in the shadows.

Neville’s eyes were the size of saucers. “But—but that’s huge!”

“Mhmm.”

“That’s—that’s huge!”

“Uh-huh.”

Neville and Harry wandered around the corridors for a few more minutes before they found, completely by accident, Dumbledore’s office.

“See, you did know the way!” Harry said happily.

“No I didn’t, we just muddle across it,” Neville replied.

“No, no, you knew it in your—uhm, you know, your subconcious. Yeah!”

Neville just shrugged, smiling, then looked at the door.

“I don’t know the password, do you?”

Harry frowned. “I think I heard it yesterday—but I don’t know, cause I didn’t know you needed a password.”

“Ron says his brother knows it, cause he’s prefect, but I don’t know where he is now.” Harry shrugged, noticing Neville’s stutter seemed to disappear.

“Uhm—Hocus Pocus?” Harry tried, but the door stayed closed. Harry giggled and turned to Neville.

“Hum—Gryffindor?” he tried, then he giggled too.

“Hogwarts?”

“Mugwump!”

“Chicken!”

“Licorice Wands!”

“Peppermint Humbugs!”

“Professor Snape!” Neville giggled, and Harry, in hysterics by now at the sheer absurdity of what they were yelling, fell to the ground.

“Ca-candy floss!” he yelled, and him and Neville rolled on the ground for a full minute before the realized the door was open.

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After Harry bid Neville good luck, he headed up the stairs and was immediately set upon by some sort of magical tape measurer.

In front of him was a young man with the queerest eyes he had ever seen, the lightest blue color that he had only seen on blind people, but this man wasn’t blind, not the way his eyes were fixed to Harry’s scar. He wass still young, probably about twenty or twenty five, and he looked very excited.

“Mr. Potter, it’s an honor, let me tell you! My name is Ollivander. Octavian Ollivander, at your service.” The young man bowed, almost tripping over his feet.

“Pleasu—blech!” Harry said, spitting the tape measurer out of his mouth, where it was try to measure his tounge.

“Don’t interfere with the measurer, Mr. Potter, it’ll mess up the configurations and your wand may not fit.”

Harry was confused. “What’s the legnth of my tounge to do with my wand?” he asked as he ducked the measurer again.

“Well, in 1233 there was a wizard named Reguko Mugwert, he used to hold his wand between his teeth and move it by his tounge—amputee. But—“ he said, hurrying as he heard the Headmaster shifting behind him, “—let’s get you sorted, hmm? Bet you’re eager, eh?” Octavian rubbed his hands together. “I can tell you’ll be a challenge, Mr. Potter, feel it in my very bones. And Ollivander bones never lie!” He started to rummage through a box filled with scrolls on his right, muttering to himself about legnths.

“Master Ollivander—“

“Please, Headmaster, call me Tavey! It’s not like I’m the real deal, you know, just subbing in because Father can’t leave the store—he’s a conference, you know, with Baguette-Filles, been on for months, can’t be moved—hmm, the green in his eyes--let’s try the Curly Maple and Rosewood, 11 2/3.” He waited a moment, then yelled at the paper. “OI! MAPLE CURLY AN’ ROSEWOOD. HOP TO IT!”

Out of the paper popped a wand, which Tavey handed to Harry quite dramatically. “Give it a wave, then, Mr. Potter!”

Harry, feeling a bit foolish, waved the stick shyly, aware of the headmasters eyes burning holes in him. He tried the next twenty wands, getting shyer and shyer each time he waved it.

“No, no, you’ll need something a bit finer—giving you that is like giving you an axe to cut a toothpick. Hmm…now this, this is one that my Father wouldn’t have picked out for you, but he’s a staunch traditionalist, he is—Phoenix feather, I think, for the scar, and—hmm, holly, yes. Well, you’re a shorty, aren’t you?”

Harry bristled, and Dumbledore looked a little sad.

“Yes, well, 11 inches should do the trick.” Tavey called it out the to parchment, and it immediately popped out.

Professor Dumbledore was watching, curiously, and Harry felt a little twinge of nervousness go up his spine. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if the wand didn’t work? What if the professor threw him out, and just after he’d made friend with Neville? He’d never had a friend before, and now he would lose—

Harry hadn’t even noticed the wand being placed in his hand, or the greedy way it seemed to be leeching fears from him. All he noticed was how warm it felt in his hand, how comfortable, and how he raised it and gave it a flick almost instinctively.

Out of the wand tip came an enormous red and gold fire, and Harry was terrified it would the room alight until he noticed the Headmaster sitting in the center of it. With a wave of his hand, the fire disappeared, and Dumbledore held his hand out.

“Harry, I am afraid you cannot have that wand.”

But Harry had tasted it, magic, he’d felt it on his tounge and through his veins and in his very ears, and he’d be damned if he was going to give his magic up. Never, he’d go back to the streets first! The Headmaster could beat him till he bled and shut him in the cupboard for weeks, he had just found something worth it and he would never give it up.

“No,” he said stubbornly. He’d faced the Dursleys and Muggle London and Snape and he could face him. He could. He was old, he couldn’t catch him if he decided to run. No one could catch Harry. A touch of fear flooded his spine when he saw the Headmaster grip his own wand.

He couldn’t take into account what the old man could do with magic. And Harry started to get scared, because how could he give up his wand, his whole new life, how could he?

“See here, Headmaster—“ Tavey said, frowning. “The wand makes the choice, you know that.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, making a motion with his hand. “Give me the wand. You can pick another.”

Harry shook his head and started to back towards the door.

“Please, sir,” he pleaded. “It knows me.”

Dumbledore simply sighed and held his hand out further. “It’s not safe, Harry.”

“See here, Headmaster!” Tavey exclaimed angrily. “Ollivander’s wands aren’t dangerous, they’re made with the finest of care. That wand has your own phoenix—“

But Harry had run out of the room before he could hear anymore, running down, down, down with his wand in his hand, and he could hear the blood in his veins pump.

Magic, magic, magic, magic.

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Having the Gryffindor-Slytherin class after the Gryffindor’s had History of Magic was always an interesting experience, Severus mused as Weasley nodded off for a moment, pouring powdered Billiwigs into his potions. He snapped out of it with a yelp and a wail, and Finnigan started berating him as he frantically tried to counteract the results. Severus smirked and pretended to be immersed in Malfoy’s potion. Not near the right color, but Snape fixed that with a handful of Shrivelfig seeds.

BOOM!

He could hear Longbottom wailing and Weasley whimpering and that nasty piece of work, Finnigan, was moaning and groaning. The only unharmed Gryffindor, it seems, was the Thomas boy, who had leapt backward and under his desk at the first mention of a mistake.

“Twenty points,” Snape said dismissively. “Go to the hospital wing, Longbottom, Weasley,” and Longbottom scurried away, his face and hands an awful mess of red, itchy blobs. Finnigan had shielded himself with Weasley when the explosion occurred, so he was almost fine except for a few bumps on his hands. Weasley had run before Snape could properly assess the damage, but he was sure Poppy would rant at him about it later.

He had dismissed the rest of the class, ending it with Weasley, Finnigan, and Longbottom in detention. As he sat at his desk, grading papers and thinking, a small, black haired boy threw open the door, slammed it shut, and, clenching his eyes and holding his wand so tight Snape was surprised it didn’t snap, paused for breath. When he opened his eyes, he saw Snape standing over him and cursed under his breath.

“Five points, Mr. Potter. Watch your language in front of teachers.”

“You can’t have it.”

Snape arched an eyebrow. “What, Potter?”

“My wand. The Headmaster says I can’t have it, but it’s mine and it chose me and I chose it and I won’t let him take it, I won’t!”

“Hmm, let me guess—your mother and father will come and, how did you put it yesterday, ‘kill him dead?’”

Harry blushed. “I’mverysorryaboutthat,” he whispered, but then he continued. “It’s my magic, and if I don’t have it he’ll send me back. Please, Professor, make him not do it, don’t let him take me back.”

Snape had a shrewd look in his eye and a plan formulating in his head. Casting a quick locking charm on the door, he motioned for Harry to sit down in a chair across from his desk and he seated himself behind the desk. Harry sat slowly, perched enough on the edge of the chair

that a quick escape was possible.

“I have a proposition for you, Mr. Potter.”

“Erm—is that a deal, sir?” Harry asked, gripping his wand tighter and almost relaxing as he felt that warmth run through him again.

“Yes, Potter, it is a deal, as you so eloquently put it.” Snape leaned forward, his eyes locked with Harry’s as he put forth the idea. “You will come to me for a detention later tonight and answer some of my questions. Truthful, honest answers, mind you. Then I will protect you and your silly stick to Dumbledore.”

Harry shook his head. “Three.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Three questions. That’s how much it always is in storybooks, three questions, three answers, three wishes.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Fine, three.” He extended his hand and waited. “Deal?”

Harry shook Snape’s hand back. “Deal.”