Harry Potter: Raised by Wolves.

If he was being really foolish, he told himself, he would have bought a Firebolt. But he didn't, so no one could begrudge him a little shopping spree. No one had to know how much he'd really bought.

The start of the school term was drawing ever closer, and Harry was keen to make the most of his remaining freedom, wandering around Diagon in his new clothes, getting used to actually wearing things he liked. As the week went on, he spotted more people he knew from school, all there to buy their things for the upcoming school year. He stopped and spoke to some of them, but most he just observed with a small smile, keeping his head down. Until one.

Harry was wandering past Twilfitt and Tattings when he — quite literally bumped into someone. "Watch where you're going, you filthy— Potter!"

He looked up into the steely grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. Harry winced. "Sorry, I wasn't looking." He'd been too busy thinking about a passage in one of the books he'd been reading, about the history of the Wizengamot and why the fifty houses had originally been chosen. "Malfoy," he greeted, bowing his head briefly, keeping his palms open at his sides like the etiquette book had said, to show that he wasn't holding a wand. That seemed to throw the blond boy for a loop, and he blinked, before his eyes narrowed.

"Looks like you're finally learning how to dress yourself, Potter," he retorted sharply, though he too showed empty palms. "Where's your usual entourage? They finally got sick of you?"

"They're on holiday," Harry told him. "I've been at the Leaky Cauldron for a while."

"Alone?" Malfoy's pale eyebrows shot up. "I find it hard to believe Dumbledore's letting you wander around without a babysitter, all things considered."

"What do you mean, all things considered?" Harry asked, bracing himself for some kind of insult or remark about how he was too stupid to survive by himself.

In reading his new books, Harry had discovered that he'd actually been enormously insulting in refusing Malfoy's hand before the sorting back when they'd started Hogwarts, and it was probably that that got Malfoy's back up around Harry all the time. That and Ron constantly antagonising him. He'd decided to try and be civil instead, and see where that got him; if he could take Malfoy off the list of things he had to worry about, it would make all the other things — like Voldemort, potential danger, and exams — a lot easier to bear.

"You mean no one told you? Merlin, it's like they want you to die," Malfoy muttered disparagingly. "Sirius Black? Ring any bells?"

"Wait— The escaped criminal? What's he got to do with anything?" Malfoy sighed impatiently.

"Do those glasses even work, Potter? The man's face is up on wanted posters all over Diagon! He broke out of Azkaban."

"Yeah, I know that," Harry replied slowly, wondering why he should be any more scared than anyone else.

"He was one of the Dark Lord's most loyal supporters. And, rumour has it," Malfoy gave a vicious smirk, "he's after you, Potter."

Harry's heart stuttered. "What?"

"He's coming for you. Talking in his sleep, the same words — 'he's at Hogwarts'. He wants revenge for his Lord, so you'd better watch out, Potty."

Malfoy sounded gleeful, but he actually looked a little disturbed that Harry had been left alone under the circumstances. Harry thought about all the times he'd been alone and unguarded — his trip to muggle London, his forays into the emptier parts of Diagon Alley. No wonder Fudge had been waiting for him when he'd arrived. He probably thought Black had got him.

But in that case, why hadn't he been given a guard?

Shaking his head and figuring it was probably all part of some scheme of Dumbledore's, Harry turned back to Malfoy. "Well, he's not likely to come into the middle of Diagon Alley, is he? I'm perfectly safe."

"Are you?" Malfoy retorted with a smirk. "I suppose at least you can defend yourself here. If you were capable of that, anyway," he added disparagingly. Harry stared blankly at him again. "Sweet Salazar, they really don't tell you anything!" He pulled his wand, and Harry automatically took a step back, but all the blond did was send out a trail of green sparks that formed a hissing snake before fading out. "Underage magic can't be traced in Diagon Alley," he informed Harry smugly. "There's too many people around for them to tell who cast what. As long as no one sees you, you can cast what you like." "Well I wish I'd known that before I got here," Harry muttered, thinking of all the spells in A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know that he'd been desperate to try out for days. Two whole weeks, wasted! "Why are you telling me all this, Malfoy? I bet you'd love to see Sirius Black get me."

"There's something different about you, Potter," Malfoy remarked, eyeing him over with his arms folded over his chest. "I feel like it's going to make the year… interesting. It'd be a shame if you died before I could see how Weasley's going to react to your new look. Silverling's isn't cheap." Harry was wearing his new jacket, but he hadn't expected Malfoy to notice that, much less where he'd bought it from. Still, it made him wince; if Ron noticed, would he start thinking Harry was trying to rub his money in his face? He was always so sensitive about that sort of thing.

"Draco!" The call could only come from his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, and Malf oy jerked his head to see her at the end of the street. "Draco, dear, we have an appointment."

"See you at school, Potter," Malfoy spat.

"Malfoy!" Harry called, and the blond turned around with a raised eyebrow. "Thanks. For the information. I'll see you at school." He smiled and Malfoy seemed baffled by it as he went to catch up to his mother. Harry turned away, feet leading him back towards the Leaky Cauldron.