Harry’s eyes widened as he and Snape stepped into the bright, bustling alley, a far cry from the dimly lit, dusty roads of Knockturn Alley. He’d never imagined that a place could look so… magical.

The scene really did look like something out of a fairy tale.

There were crowds of men, woman, and children clad in varying hues of robes, some plain and dark like Snape wore his, and some with embellishments such as wide lapels, lace, and brightly colored stitching. Some wore what would have been considered normal clothing if not for the fact that they were several decades out of date, though Harry did spot the occasional person wearing jeans.

Harry could feel magical energies vibrating in the air, sending a warmth into his chest as though the very atmosphere was speaking to him.

“Come along,” said Snape, prodding Harry’s arm to get him moving from where he had paused in wonder by the arched entrance.

Harry quickened his step, eyes darting back and forth in desperate attempt to take in everything. He could see shops with names like Magical Menagerie, Slug and Jigger’s Apothecary, Potage’s Cauldron Shop, Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions…

Within a few moments, he and Snape reached a tall, regal-looking white building.

“Gringott’s first,” Snape said, while leading Harry up the marble staircase to the wide, imposing doors, which swung open at the touch of Snape’s wand tip. Once inside, Harry scanned the room interestedly. Aside from the clearly non-human tellers, there was nothing particularly odd about the place, though it was obviously considerably grander than he would have imagined a bank to be.

Goblins. That’s what they are, thought Harry, recalling the conversation he and Snape had had about the bank.

As they neared the counters, Snape fished a small, metal object from his pocket, handing it to Harry.

“Your key,” he said in a low voice. “It has been kept safe for you until now, though I imagine you’d prefer to keep hold of it henceforth?”

Dumbledore probably had it, Harry thought with an inward frown. But he simply nodded his thanks as he accepted the key. Then a sudden thought occurred to him.

“Has anyone been able to access my account?” he asked suspiciously.

“No. No one but the legal owner is allowed access.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

They reached the counters, and Harry felt very small as a severe-looking goblin peered down at him. He squared his shoulders, refusing to display timidity.

“Mr. Harry Potter would like to make a withdrawal,” said Snape smoothly. The goblin raised an eyebrow, his shiny, black eyes boring into Harry’s, who stared back uncomfortably.

“Key, please,” the goblin said in a gravelly voice. Harry set it on the counter, standing on the balls of his feet to reach it.

The goblin pronounced it satisfactory, and, not ten minutes later, Harry, Snape, and another goblin had ridden the dizzying cart ride down to Harry’s vault.

The goblin unlocked the door with Harry’s key and pushed it open.

Harry stared.

He had never, in his wildest daydreams, imagined that he’d have such a sheer amount of money in his possession. There were mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins stacked nearly to the ceiling, so much so that it didn’t even seem real.

All this is… mine? It was just sitting here all this time...

Harry felt Snape press a small, velvet pouch into his hand, but he made no move to fill it. He continued to stare, transfixed, at the immense amount of money in his possession, entirely overwhelmed.

How much is this worth? Does this mean I never have to work for money? Or is wizard gold worth less? What do I do with all of this? 

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry looked up quickly, and Snape seemed to pick up on Harry’s utter confusion. He moved to assist Harry in filling the pouch, explaining the wizarding monetary system in clear terms as he did so.

Apparently, the gold was worth quite a bit.

---

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Snape exited the bank, and Harry couldn’t help patting his pocket every few moments to remind himself that the money was real. An image of a pale, aristocratic boy rose in his mind as he did so, and Harry forced back a scowl.

I bet Draco never had to think about such things… He has everything, why does he get to have Snape too?

“Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?” Snape cut in.

Harry shook his head, avoiding Snape’s eyes. There was a slight pause.

“Are you absolutely certain that you did not run into any trouble?” Snape asked, a tinge of urgency lacing his tone.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said tonelessly.

Harry heard the older man sigh, and he jumped when Snape gripped his upper arm and pulled him to the side of the cobblestone road.

“Look at me.”

Harry obeyed reluctantly, not a little apprehensive at Snape’s irritated tone. The man’s face was tight, and he immediately trapped Harry within his dark, assessing gaze.

“Due to your record of being less than honest with me, I am having a very difficult time believing that nothing occurred in that alley,” Snape said sternly.

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but Snape held up a finger, silencing him.

“I suggest that you think over your response carefully,” Snape whispered harshly, his eyes snapping. “I will not tolerate lies. Not about this.”

Harry stiffened slightly, but he refused to shrink back.

Why is he pushing this? He doesn’t care. As soon as school starts, I’ll just be another student to him, and he’ll only care about Draco…

“Harry,” Snape said warningly.

Harry sucked in an annoyed breath. “Nothing happened.”

Snape leaned down so his face was inches from Harry’s. Harry tried to step back, but Snape held him in place.

“I may be an expert Legilimens, Mr. Potter, but I do not have to access your mind to know that you are not being honest with me.”

Harry remained silent, and Snape continued to hold him in place, looking at him sharply.

He’s seriously not going to let this go. And he’s invading my personal space.

“Fine!” Harry bit out, yanking himself out of Snape’s grasp. Snape allowed it, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“I ran into this kid, Draco.” Harry paused for a moment, reluctant to continue. Snape raised an eyebrow in warning.

“He’s just a- a conceited jerk, and he said you’re his godfather,” Harry muttered, feeling idiotic that such a minor thing could upset him.

Snape closed his eyes for a moment.

“Come with me.”

Harry squinted confusedly as Snape turned and led the way down the cobbled road, expertly weaving his way through the hordes of people. Harry followed closely at his heels.

Snape eventually stopped, and Harry looked up at the sign to read ‘Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor’.

What…?

Snape sat at an empty table in the outdoor dining area, pointing to the chair opposite him. Harry sat, peering around apprehensively.

Snape swiveled a menu around to face Harry.

“Choose your preference.”

Harry stared at the menu of the various ice cream flavors, entirely at a loss.

I don’t know what any of this stuff tastes like. What’s the difference between strawberry and strawberries and cream?… unless wizards don’t uses cream to make ice cream…?

“Harry?”

Harry looked up, then immediately looked away, ashamed that he couldn’t handle a task as simple as selecting a flavor of ice cream.

“I- I don’t know what to choose,” he mumbled, looking up through his lashes.

Snape looked at him carefully for a moment, then plucked the menu from his hands.

“I would recommend the dulce de leche; it has long been a favorite of mine.”

Harry nodded, relieved, and Snape tapped the menu with his wand twice.

“The order is transferred to the kitchen,” said Snape in response to Harry’s questioning look.

Harry nodded, feeling awkward.

I’m sitting with Snape at an ice cream parlor. This is just strange…

“So you have enjoyed the dubious pleasure of Draco Malfoy’s company, I take it?”

So that’s his last name.

“Yes.”

Snape leaned forward in his seat slightly, clasping his hands together with his elbows resting on his knees.

“He has been raised in a wealthy, privileged home, which has lent itself to providing him with a sense of entitlement.”

“Damn right it has,” Harry muttered under his breath.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Did I just say that out loud?

“Sorry,” Harry whispered.

Snape inclined his head, shifting in his seat slightly.

“I am… acquainted with the Malfoy’s, so I have known Draco for most of his life.”

And you care more about him…

“However,” Snape continued, raising his voice as if sensing the turn of Harry’s thoughts. “Draco has a tendency to exaggerate. I am not his godfather, nor do I have any intention of providing him with preferential treatment in school, as he undoubtedly implied. ”

Harry looked down, chewing his lip uncomfortably.

“Your orders, gentlemen.”

Harry looked up to see a waiter, their ice cream orders hovering in the air in front of him. Snape thanked the waiter and paid him, at which point the ice creams settled neatly on the table.

Harry stared at his ice cream, a sense of fear suddenly overtaking him…

***

He was six years old, and he’d been watching enviously as Dudley scarfed down pints of the ice cream Aunt Petunia had stocked up on for the summer.

“We must keep our Diddykins hydrated,” she’d said dotingly. She had also made no secret of the fact that ice cream was too good for freaky, ungrateful little whelps.

Harry had already known then that he was freaky and ungrateful, but that did not prevent his mouth from watering nor his stomach from rumbling as he watched Dudley eat, the sweet, melting treat dripping down his cousin’s pudgy chin.

Maybe if I’m really, really good, I’ll get to have some, too, Harry’s young, still fairly innocent mind reasoned.

So he tried. He did everything he was told immediately, without dawdling or complaints. He even went to his cupboard early to keep out of the way, and he got up extra early to prepare breakfast.

But no one seemed to notice, and day after hot summer’s day, Harry was forced to watch Dudley enjoying the treat, the envy and longing almost too much to bear. Harry was lucky if he was given a drink of water after a long day doing chores in the sun.

And one day, it got to be too much.

It was the hottest day of the year; Harry had known that from overhearing the man on the weather channel saying so before Dudley had waddled in and demanded that Vernon change the channel.

It hadn’t preventing Aunt Petunia from putting Harry to work as usual. She has also forgotten to feed him that morning, and he was forced to tend to the garden and mow the lawn despite the suffocating heat, his attempts to ignore the crippling thirst proving futile as he repeatedly wiped sweat from his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut to combat the dizziness.

So that night, Harry had snuck out of his cupboard, which, somehow, had unlocked of its own accord, and he crept toward to kitchen, certain that at an hour as late at this, the Dursley’s would be fast asleep.

He stood on tiptoe to open the freezer, straining to grab hold of the ice cream carton. However, it was stored on one of the higher shelves. So close, yet so tantalizingly out of reach.

At the time, Harry had figured that it was because he’d wished for it so hard that it happened.

The carton of chocolate ice cream floated off of its shelf and fell slowly through the air into his open, waiting hands.

Harry stared in awe and wonder, and his hands trembled as he eased off the lid. He dipped his small finger into the frozen treat, eye’s wide with excitement, when…

“Boy!”

Harry had never really remembered what happened next.

***

“Harry?”

Harry swallowed, then looked up into Snape’s concerned face, forcing his hands to remain still.

Harry tried to say something, but his throat felt too dry.

Stop being so pathetic. He’s not like them.

“Ice cream tends to melt if left to its own devices for long enough,” Snape reminded.

Harry lifted his spoon, but he couldn’t bring himself use it.

“What is it, Harry?”

Harry couldn’t speak, and though ashamed by the show of weakness, he lowered his head into his hands.

Harry felt Snape reach out and pull his hands away from his face. The man then picked up Harry’s spoon, scooped up some ice cream, and handed it to Harry. Snape then took a bite of his own ice cream casually, as though it was something he did regularly.

That was what brought Harry back to the present.

Snape? Eating ice cream? That’s just…

Harry took a tentative bite, and was immediately deluged in the pleasure of something he’d never had but always wanted.

He gradually relaxed as he and Snape ate in silence.

Slightly more than halfway through his serving, Harry set down his spoon, unable to finish it.

He looked up from his bowl and noticed Snape looking at him contemplatively.

“I was never allowed ice cream,” Harry, oddly, felt compelled to say.

“Oh?”

“I was never allowed much of anything, really,” Harry said quietly.

Snape was silent for a moment.

“I imagine that must have been difficult, watching other children receive that which you did not,” Snape said in a low voice.

Harry bit his lip. “I tried to sneak some ice cream, once.”

“That endeavor did not end well, I gather?”

Harry paused.

“I don’t remember,” he whispered.

Snape looked at Harry, his expression unfathomable. He then reach out his hand slowly to cover Harry’s.

“Despite what your past may have taught you, Harry, you are entitled to the simple joys that all children are given.”

Harry nodded, his throat dry. Lowering his eyes, he stared into the melted remains of his ice cream.

He then felt Snape’s hand leave his and grasp his chin, forcing Harry to meet his eyes.

“Despite my familiarity with Draco, you, not he, are my first priority,” said Snape intently.  “That will not change once school begins.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered.

Snape released Harry’s chin, then cleared his throat.

“As it seems we are done here, do you have any preference as to where we should go first?” he asked.

“My wand, sir,” Harry immediately replied.

Snape nodded his acquiescence, and they both rose from their seats and made their way down the road.

Before long, they reached a small shop, titled Ollivander’s. Snape pushed opened the door, and a faint ring reverberated somewhere above their heads

Though it was empty, dim, and somewhat dusty, the room all but pulsated with magical energy. Harry shivered slightly.

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice suddenly spoke. Harry turned his head quickly to see a small, thin man with wispy, silver hair. His wide, pale eyes, which matched his hair, seemed to stare straight through Harry, as though the man could decipher his innermost thought just by looking.

Harry nodded back, resisting the impulse to lower his eyes. Harry heard the rustle of Snape robes as he leaned against the wall.

“Harry Potter. I've been expecting you,” the man said in a whispery voice.

How does he know my name? I didn’t think people know how I look; no one else recognized me…

Harry stiffened as the man drew closer, the intense, silver gaze unnerving him.

“You remind me of another young man I once knew.” the man whispered. “So much potential…”

How the hell can he tell?

There was a pause, while Harry and Ollivander continued to stare at one another.

“Those with the potential to do great, too, possess the ability to do great harm.”

Harry, furrowed his brow slightly, unnerved

This man knows thing, Harry realized. He knows about people, he understands them. I suppose that comes with being a wandmaker, because wands relate to people’s personalities. That's what it said in that book, anyway… 

Harry wished the man would look away.

“Well, to business,” Ollivander finally said. He gestured for Harry to follow him to the counter, summoning a rather ordinary-looking tape measure.

“Wand arm?”

“Er… right.”

Ollivander flicked his wand, setting the tape measure to action while he pilfered through the boxes.

Why exactly does the distance between my eyes matter for a wand?, Harry thought, bemused, as the tape measure continued its work.

Ollivander returned shortly, arms piled with boxes. He set them down on the counter, banished the tape measure, and began sorting through the boxes, eventually pulling out a thin, light brown wand.

“Hazelwood and unicorn hair, nine and a quarter inches,” said Ollivander, pressing the wand into Harry’s hand. Harry closed his fingers around it, unsure of what to do.

“Go on, give it a wave,” said Ollivander impatiently.

Harry obeyed, but it was snatched out of his hand within seconds. The pattern repeated itself until the counter was piled with wands of varying color and sizes, and empty boxes were strewn all over the floor. The odd thing was, that the more wands Harry attempted, the more pleased Ollivander seemed to become.

“Ah, tricky customer,” he said, all but rubbing his palms together in glee. “I suspected you would be…”

He rummaged through the shelves near the back of the store, then slid out one box carefully.

“Perhaps… though, would it be wise…?” Harry heard the man mutter to himself. Ollivander walked over, and yet another wand was pressed into his hand.

“Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Go on…”

Harry gripped the handle tightly, lifting the wand to shoulder height, when a sudden feeling of warmth rose up his arm, seeming to shoot directly into his heart. He brought the wand down quickly with a gasp, and was pushed backwards when intensely bright silver sparks exploded from the wand’s tip.

Harry staggered, just managing to keep himself from falling. Ollivander walked over, the very picture of delight, waving his hands to restore the rejected wands back to their respective places on the shelves.

“Ah, very good, very good.”

‘A powerful wizard you are, indeed, Mr. Potter.” The man drew closer, meeting Harry’s eyes. Harry stared back, still clutching the wand, liking the feeling it gave him.

“You use the power you possess for good, and we may be looking at…” the man’s voice trailed off, and he put out a hand to take the wand.

Harry reluctantly relinquished it, and Ollivander replaced it in its box. Harry paid seven gallons and exited the shop alongside Snape, mulling over his experience and what Ollivander had said. Harry was grateful that Snape wasn’t saying much, because he didn’t feel up to discussing what had happened.

“Perhaps you’d like to collect your textbooks?” Snape eventually said. Harry nodded his acquiescence, and they continued their leisurely walk down the cobblestone road.

Harry then noticed something out of the corner of his eye that made him stop in his tracks. They’d just passed Eyelop’s Owl Emporium, and Harry had caught the bright amber eye of a snow white owl.

“Sir, do you mind…?”

“Go ahead.”

Harry walked slowly toward the owl, which was perched on a low branched, eyeing him with an assessing gaze. He reached out a careful hand to stroke the bird’s white feathers, feeling a sense of calm as he did so.

This owl is mine.

Harry knew it was true; there was a strange connection between him and this animal, and he didn’t want to let it go.

“You are quite taken to that animal, it seems,” said Snape, moving closer.

Harry nodded, pulling out his money pouch. He was going to buy this owl, whatever the cost.

“No,” said Snape, pushing Harry’s pouch out of the way. “Let me.”

Harry looked up, startled.

He wants to buy the owl for me?

“W- why?”

Snape caught Harry’s gaze. “Your eleventh birthday is approaching, is it not?”

Harry nodded slowly, a bit perturbed. “Yes, but-”

Snape silenced him with a finger.

“Let me do this for you, Harry.”

Harry took a breath.

“A- alright, sir.”

Snape patted Harry’s shoulder once, then motioned for him to follow as he swept into the shop.