The morning came with grey light filtering through the shack's grimy windows. Harry was already awake, had been for an hour, running through mental exercises while the others slept.
Hagrid stirred first, groaning as he unfolded his massive frame. "Mornin', Harry. Ready fer London?"
"I'm ready." Harry stood, ignoring the stiffness in his back from sleeping on bare wood. Warriors didn't complain about discomfort.
The boat ride back to shore was silent except for the splash of oars. Vernon and Petunia huddled with Dudley, shooting Harry looks of pure loathing mixed with something new: fear. Harry ignored them. They were already beneath his notice.
On the mainland, Hagrid led him to a train station. "We'll take the Underground ter London, then get yeh sorted."
"What about them?" Harry nodded toward the Dursleys.
"They can find their own way home," Hagrid said gruffly, clearly holding no love for Harry's relatives.
The Dursleys didn't argue. Vernon actually looked relieved to be rid of them.
On the train, Harry studied Hagrid carefully. The giant was kind, clearly, but there was something… soft about him. Sentimental. He'd actually teared up talking about Harry's parents last night.
Sentiment was a weakness Harry couldn't afford.
"This Diagon Alley," Harry said. "Tell me about the currency."
Hagrid explained the wizarding money system - Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Then, somewhat reluctantly, he mentioned that Harry's parents had left him gold in a vault at Gringotts.
"How much?"
"Er… quite a bit, I'd say."
Harry nodded. Resources were important. He'd need to spend wisely - everything focused on becoming stronger.
The Leaky Cauldron was dark, shabby, and filled with witches and wizards who all seemed to freeze when Hagrid led Harry inside.
"Bless my soul," whispered the bartender. "Harry Potter… what an honor."
People swarmed him immediately. A pale young man babbled about being honored to meet him. A nervous professor named Quirrell stuttered his way through a handshake, his turban askew.
Harry endured it all with growing irritation. They were treating him like some kind of trophy, gawking at his scar, calling him brave for something he couldn't even remember.
"I didn't do anything," he said sharply to the third person who praised his "courage." "I was a baby. There's nothing courageous about being the victim of someone else's failure."
The crowd went silent, shocked.
"Harry!" Hagrid hissed. "That's not—"
"It's the truth." Harry's voice was cold. "Everyone needs to stop celebrating what I survived and let me focus on what I'm going to become."
He pushed through the crowd to the back door, leaving stunned silence in his wake.
Hagrid caught up, looking troubled. "Yeh can't talk about yer parents like that…"
"I never knew them." Harry watched as Hagrid tapped bricks with his umbrella, revealing the magical alley beyond. "I won't trade on their deaths for unearned respect. I'll earn my own."
The wall opened, and Harry's breath caught despite himself.
Diagon Alley stretched before them, a cobbled street packed with shops of every description. Witches and wizards bustled about with shopping bags. An owl hooted from a high window. In the distance, he could see a shop with broomsticks displayed outside.
Power. Knowledge. Tools for growth.
"First stop, Gringotts," Hagrid said, pointing to a snow-white building that towered over the other shops.
The goblins fascinated Harry. Small, clever-looking creatures with sharp features and sharper eyes. They bowed to no one - he could see it in their posture, their curt efficiency.
He approved.
Inside his vault, Harry stared at the mounds of gold Galleons, the piles of silver Sickles and bronze Knuts. Wealth beyond anything he'd imagined.
"My parents earned this?" he asked.
"Aye," Hagrid said. "The Potters were an old family. This is yers by right."
Harry filled his bag methodically, calculating. "What's the exchange rate to Muggle money?"
"Don't rightly know. Yeh shouldn't need it much."
"Information is power," Harry said. "I'll find out myself."
They hit the shops next. At Madam Malkin's, Harry stood still as a statue while she pinned robes, studying his reflection. Black robes. Simple. Functional.
A pale boy with a pointed face was being fitted nearby. "Hogwarts too?" he drawled.
"Yes."
"My father's next door buying my books, and Mother's looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms." The boy had a bored, superior air. "I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."
Harry studied him. Pure confidence based on… what? His father's money?
"Can you fly?" Harry asked.
"Well, no, but I'll learn easily enough. Some people are just naturally talented."
"Natural talent without hard work is wasted potential," Harry said flatly. "You'll crash."
The boy's face reddened. "And what would you know about it?"
"I know that entitled people who think skill comes from birth usually get humbled by people who actually train." Harry turned away dismissively. "I'm sure your father's money will cushion the fall."
"Do you know who I am?" the boy sputtered.
"No. And I don't care."
Madam Malkin finished, and Harry paid without another word to the pale boy, leaving him gaping.
Outside, Hagrid looked concerned. "That was Draco Malfoy, Harry. The Malfoys are—"
"Rich. Proud. Untested." Harry shrugged. "If he has real strength, I'll find out eventually. If not, he's irrelevant."
At Flourish and Blotts, Harry's approach was methodical. The required texts went into his trunk first. Then he scanned the shelves, finding the sections on defensive magic.
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. Required text. Basic.
Curses and Counter-Curses by Vindictus Viridian. More advanced.
Self-Defensive Spellwork by Araminta Skeeter. Practical applications.
He grabbed all three, plus two more on shield charms and stunning spells.
"Those are bit advanced fer first years," Hagrid noted.
"Then I'll be ahead." Harry added A History of Magic and Magical Theory to his pile. "Information, practice, mastery. In that order."
At the apothecary, he bought his potions supplies. At the Owl Emporium, he selected a snowy white owl with amber eyes that watched him with unusual intelligence.
"She's smart, this one," the shopkeeper said. "Knows things, if you take my meaning."
"Good. I don't need a pet. I need a tool." Harry met the owl's gaze. "If you're intelligent enough to understand me, then you know I'll treat you with respect as long as you're useful."
The owl clicked her beak - almost like agreement.
"Hedwig," he decided. "After someone I read about who was strong."
Finally, Ollivanders.
The shop was narrow, shabby, with a single wand on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Thousands of boxes were piled to the ceiling.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice.
Mr. Ollivander appeared, his wide, pale eyes gleaming in the dim shop.
"Ah yes," he said. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." He examined Harry with unnerving intensity. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
"I don't care about charm work," Harry said. "I need a wand for combat."
Ollivander's eyebrows rose. "Indeed? Most children don't think in such terms."
"I'm not most children."
"No… no, you are not." Ollivander smiled slightly. "Well then, let us find you a wand."
He tried dozens. Each time Harry waved a wand, Ollivander snatched it back almost instantly, muttering about wrong combinations.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere…"
More wands. Harry's frustration grew. He could feel something, a tingling at his fingertips, but none of them clicked.
"I wonder…" Ollivander disappeared into the back, returning with a long box covered in dust. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took it, and warmth spread through his fingers. He gave it a wave, and red and gold sparks shot from the tip like a firework.
"Oh, bravo!" Ollivander cried. "Yes, yes, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"
"What's curious?" Harry demanded.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."
Harry's hand tightened on the wand. "You mean—"
"Yes. Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."
Harry met his gaze unflinchingly. "I'll do greater. And I'll actually succeed."
He paid seven Galleons for the wand and walked out, feeling its weight, its power.
A connection to Voldemort. To the wizard who'd killed his parents.
Good.
When they met again, Harry would be ready. He would surpass him.
He would surpass everyone.
"One more stop," Hagrid said, leading him to a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies.
In the window, a magnificent broomstick was displayed - the Nimbus 2000, latest model, gleaming and perfect.
Harry studied it. "What's Quidditch?"
Hagrid's face lit up, and he launched into an explanation of the wizarding sport - flying, scoring, the Snitch…
"First years aren't allowed brooms," Hagrid concluded regretfully.
"Why not?"
"Rules. Too dangerous, they say."
Harry studied the broom with calculating eyes. Flying. Speed. Maneuverability. Combat applications.
"I'll learn anyway," he said. "Rules are for people who accept limitations."
As they headed back to catch the train, Hagrid looked troubled. "Harry… yeh seem awfully… hard, if yeh don't mind me sayin'. Yer going ter need friends at Hogwarts. People ter rely on."
"I'll rely on myself," Harry said. "Friends are a weakness. They slow you down, hold you back. I'm going to Hogwarts to become stronger, not to make friends."
"That's not what Hogwarts is about—"
"Then I'll make it about that."
Hagrid sighed deeply but said nothing more.
On the train back to the Dursleys, Harry sat with his trunk and Hedwig, pulling out Curses and Counter-Curses and beginning to read.
One month until Hogwarts.
One month to prepare.
The weak spent their time playing. The strong spent their time training.
Harry Potter would be strong.