Harry Potter: Raised by Wolves.

Harry could hardly believe it, when it all sank in.

He wasn't expelled. He wasn't even getting punished. He'd inflated Aunt Marge, and the Ministry wouldn't even give him a slap on the wrist. But that wasn't the best part.

There were still three weeks until school began, and he would be spending them in Diagon Alley. Alone. Unsupervised — at least, as unsupervised as the thirteen year-old saviour of the wizarding world could get — allowed to do whatever he pleased, as long as he stayed within the confines of the alley. No teachers keeping an eye on him 'for his own safety', no Dumbledore with his annoyingly knowing gaze, no Mrs Weasley herding him around like one of her own. Not even Ron and Hermione. He could go where he liked, and not have to explain his actions to anyone.

He'd never had such freedom before. Harry couldn't wait to make the most of it.

.-.-.-.-.

For the first few days, Harry didn't push the boundaries. He spent most of his time sat at a sunny table sat outside Fortescue's, doing his homework with a tall ice cream sundae at his side, charmed not to melt too quickly. It was a nice change from doing it under his blankets in the dead of night — and it let him see if anyone was actually keeping an eye on him. It was a perfect spot to people-watch, to keep track of anyone who might linger too long or look his way too often. He was noticed — of course he was noticed, he was Harry Potter — but no one seemed to be following him. Even when he left the ice cream parlour and went to explore, he couldn't see anyone keeping watch. He stuck to places he would be expected to go, of course. Quality Quidditch Supplies, Flourish and Blotts, Gambol and Japes'. Normal haunts for a thirteen year-old wizard. Only after he'd finished all his homework, and made absolutely sure that he wasn't being secretly supervised, did Harry start to widen his exploration. In the past, when he'd been to Diagon Alley, whichever adult was with him had just wanted to get school supplies and get out as quickly as possible. Honestly, Harry didn't blame them, especially when he was with the whole Weasley family. But Diagon was so much bigger than he'd thought it was. There were all kinds of side-alleys with small shops and vendor stalls. Sure you could buy potion supplies, and spellbooks, and brooms — you could also buy enchanted jewellery and elaborate sweets and bespelled household objects, and a million other things in between. It made sense, Harry supposed; wizards didn't have a lot of places to shop, and you couldn't just conjure everything you needed. Diagon was like the biggest shopping centre wizards could go to. And it was all open to him, now.

Harry couldn't resist. With a bag of assorted sweets from Sugarplum's in hand, he meticulously scoured every inch of the alley from one end to the other, determined to uncover all its hidden joys. He bought a practice snitch at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and a self-inking quill from Scribbulus Writing Instruments. He spent almost an hour in the back of the Magical Menagerie, talking to the snakes and telling himself he couldn't take them all home with him. He bought a new pair of glasses at a small stall next Madam Primpernelle's — indestructible, self-adjusting prescription, with weather-repellent charms. Harry's prescription hadn't been adjusted since he'd first got his glasses aged seven, and he'd forgotten what it was like to actually see clearly.

After a while, wandering the alley made his heart ache. All these new and wondrous things were items he probably would have grown up with, had he been raised in a wizarding family. No wonder Ron didn't care about the alley; it was all old hat to him. He wondered if Herm ione had ever come here without them, and done the same thing he was doing now. He doubted it — she would've talked his ear off about it if she had. But how could she not be curious? There were so many incredible things; things he would buy, if he had anywhere to put them. He imagined the look on Aunt Petunia's face if he were to start filling his room with magical posters and enchanted clocks and a statue of a dragon that really breathed fire.

If he ever went back to Aunt Petunia. Minister Fudge might've said they were alright with taking him back at the end of the school year, but Harry doubted they were happy about it. Then again, he didn't really have any other options.

As he browsed the shelves of Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, Harry absently daydreamed about what his bedroom might look like in a wizarding house his parents' house. Would it look more like Ron's? He snorted to himself; hopefully far less orange than Ron's.

But would he have a favourite quidditch team, with posters on the wall? A shelf full of spellbooks, with little moving figurines on the ledges? A fancy perch for Hedwig, with a self-filling water bowl? Bedsheets that changed colour when they needed washing? (You really could get everything in Diagon Alley).

He pushed the thought away, biting his lip against the unexpected swell of emotion. Desperate for a distraction, he turned his gaze to the display in front of him.

Wand Holsters, for the canny witch or wizard — never worry about losing your wand again!

They were thin leather tubes, with straps to secure them at each end. They came in several different lengths and colours; at first Harry thought it was to adjust for the length of the wand, but upon reading the description realised they were either for the forearm or calf, depending on your preference. Apparently they would accept wands of any length, even if they were longer than the holster itself.

He glanced down at his wand, sticking out of the pocket of his jeans. His mind flashed back to all the times he'd dropped it, or had it fall out of his pocket, or not had a comfortable pocket to stick it in. Perhaps buying one of these holster things wouldn't be a bad idea.

Harry kept reading the description. Each holster had in-built invisibility charms, and an anti-summoning ward once it had bonded with its owner. It claimed to keep the wand safe and accessible at all times — apparently, they were what aurors used on the job. Harry grinned to himself. That sounded pretty cool, if he was honest.