Harry Potter and the Hunt for Happiness - Gimlili - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Harry stared at Kingsley.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat but he didn’t look up from where he was shuffling the papers on his desk. Another memo flew in and the Minister barely glanced at it before tucking it in a box labelled Percy Weasley.

“I’m sorry. What?”

1 month. It had been one month since the battle. In that 1 month Harry had been in here almost every day and yet this was the first he was hearing about this.

“She has the experience we need to get the ministry back up and running.” Kingsley was continuing to avoid eye contact and Harry found himself running through various violent fantasies on how to make the man just look at him. “We don’t have many people left with the experience we need-“

Harry snorted.

Kingsley fell silent, looking through the next few memos that landed on his desk before putting them in a couple of the other boxes around his desk.

Harry took a moment to look around the newly refurbished office of Minister Kingsley. They had prioritised the atrium and the minister’s suite of offices when they started on the rebuild. Hermione had said it was important to make a good first impression so Harry had been splitting his time in the last month between the clean-up at Hogwarts and tearing down the changes made by Voldemort at the ministry. He and Ron had taken too much joy out of ripping down Lucius Malfoy’s office. It had been a bright spot in what had been an unrelentingly terrible month.

A month that was about to get worse apparently.

The silence was getting uncomfortable but Harry was done with making an effort to make people comfortable .

Harry was just done.

“If you bring Umbridge back, if you give her power again. I’m out.” Harry stated coldly.

Kingsley grimaced and glanced up at him, eye contact made finally but not held for long. Harry found himself sneering. Coward.

“Harry, I understand that this isn’t ideal.” Kingsley paused and seemed to be waiting for Harry to step in.

Harry just raised an eyebrow.

“We need Umbridge, we don’t have many administrators left with her skill set.”

“When did bigotry, arse-licking and torturing children become a skill set that the ministry needs?” Harry kept his tone light, the last month had been an essay in patience but the last year of endless camping had taught him how to wait.

“Harry, I have really appreciated you and your friends helping out over the last month.” This sounded familiar. “But you’re only seventeen, you don’t understand what it takes to run a country yet, this is politics Harry, personal feelings can’t come into it-“

“My personal feelings are that Umbridge is a psychopath who enjoys hurting children and that fact should absolutely be relevant to her appointment to a ministry position . Again.” Harry was just about holding on to the calm. Just about. “I have three cursed scars on my body Kingsley, three. One from Voldemort, one from Pettigrew and one from your new bloody undersecretary.”

“You have to understand the situation at Hogwarts during your fifth year was an isolated incident in a 25-year career with the ministry.” Harry stared across the desk at the man he had just fought a war with, the man who had comforted him over Tonks and Remus’ bodies. The man he had helped put into office only a month ago. Harry stared at Kingsley speechless as a list of excuses worthy of Lockhart spewed out of him. “1995 was a bad year for everyone involved, Dolores was completely loyal to Fudge and was merely following orders. I know it is hard to separate feelings from past hurts but that is something that comes with age, I know you don’t have the distance at the moment to see that.”

Harry rubbed his face, Sirius had once described Kingsley as the order’s moral compass, where had that unrelenting belief in doing the right thing gone?

“Look Harry I understand you have a history with Umbridge but we need her if we’re going to be able to put the ministry back together.” Kingsley was staring at him earnestly in between reading the continuous stream of memos that he continued to glance at before shoving them into one of the many boxes he was surrounded by.

“Then don’t put it back together.” Harry gestured at the flying memos. “Is any of this actually helping people? Is that memo going to improve anyone’s life? Save a life? Do anything at all to actually impact anyone at all?”

Kingsley looked down at the memo in his hand which even from here Harry could see was from the magical games department. Such high-priority work for just after a civil war.

He at least had the grace to cringe. “All work is important in order to restore normality, we desperately need to get back to normal, surely you can see that Harry?”

“If you need a woman like Umbridge in order for something to function then that should be a sign that what you’re trying to fix isn’t worth fixing.” Hermione was already being blocked from even starting conversations about Magical Creature reform, Kingsley had told Mr Weasley that they would be repealing some of the anti-muggle laws and it already looked like Lucius Malfoy would be going free again.

Harry eyed one of the boxes Kingsley kept tucking memos into, it seemed to be deliberately angled so Harry couldn’t see the name. If Kingsley had already resigned himself to working with marked Death Eaters he could see why Umbridge was suddenly so easy to justify.

“That isn’t an option,” Kingsley stated firmly, Harry watched the man pull himself firm. A familiar movement. Here comes the ultimatum. “If you’re unable to work with us on this then you might find yourself-“ The man at least paused but hesitation wasn’t going to do much for Harry's opinion of him at this point. Harry had been subject to a lot of threats over the last seventeen years but he could already tell this one was going to hurt. “-you might find yourself facing more opposition on clearing Mr. Black and Mr. Snape’s names.”

Oh, there was the rage.

Familiar bubbling bile rising, his magic was always too close to the surface these days and he could feel the fire of it burning in his veins as he glared across the desk at the latest Minister of Magic to disappoint him.

“You going to take back Remus’s Order of Merlin next? What about Tonks? You going to sh*t on her memory too?”

Kingsley’s eyes flashed and he slammed his hands down on the desk in front of him. “Mr. Potter, Tonks was-“

“What?” Harry spat back. “Your friend? Your colleague? You’ve already started holding other dead Order of the Phoenix members hostage, why stop there?”

They glared at each other over the desk, Harry could feel the roaring need to crush, to destroy, he wanted to reduce the whole office to dust and then continue to destroy the remains. Burn it. Whatever. He drew in a sharp breath and released it, breathing through the rage.

He had been forced to bend too far this time. This wasn’t what he fought for, bled for, died for. He forced himself to relax and sat back in his seat.

“I think this conversation is over.” He stated firmly. “Goodbye Minister Shacklebolt.”

He pushed himself upright and tucked the file he’d come in with back under his arm. “Harry, I’m sure we can-”

“Yeah, I don’t reckon you have the right to call me Harry anymore.” Harry glanced back at the slumped man still sat behind his shiny new desk. “After all I don’t work for the Ministry and we are clearly not connected to each other anymore in any way that matters.”

He swept out of the office.

“Mr Potter! Wait I’m sure we can-“

Whatever the minister had to say was cut off when Harry closed the lift behind him.

He groaned and lent back against the wall of the lift as it made it’s erratic way down to the Atrium. He glanced down at the file Hermione had handed him this morning, her plans for an alternative Wizengamot were clearly going to have to wait.

He bumped his head back against the lift wall and groaned. It had been such a long month.

The lift doors opened and he was immediately met with flashes and calls from the journalists permanently camped out in the foyer.

Harry stalked as quickly as he could through the photographers, eyes fixed on the apparition point just beyond the floo entrances. Too slow as always to avoid all of them.

“Mr Potter”, a familiar simpering voice from the bespectacled beetle herself, Harry barely stopped himself from cursing her. “Are you going to the memorial tomorrow?”

Eyes fixed on the apparition point Harry almost ran her down when she failed to get out of the way quick enough. “Mr Potter,” she called after him. “Are you still claiming that Known Death Eaters Sirius Black and Severus Snape were part of your victory against You Know Who?”

Harry paused for a moment, considering.

Well, if she was asking. Harry turned to eye her. “I will give you a statement if you promise to print it in full.”

He watched Rita Skeeter hesitate, glancing at the other journalists around her. She narrowed her eyes. “I can’t guarantee-“

Harry turned back towards the apparition point. He heard an impatient sigh behind him, “Fine! Fine.”

He turned back around, raising an eyebrow and waiting for her counteroffer.

“If you promise not to glare in one picture. I promise you will be printed in full, no deviations.” Rita pouted at him but quickly motioned her usual photographer forward when it didn’t look like Harry was going to leave.

Harry kept his eyebrow lifted but relaxed the rest of his face for the next picture. He wasn’t going to smile but he could hold off on his usual glare. Once.

Rita glared at him. Harry glared back.

She gestured with her quill and then left it floating in the air where it poised itself over a piece of parchment. “Dictaquill only,” Harry stated calmly, the rest of the journalists around them tittering lightly when Rita roughly stuffed the quill back in her bag, muttering something under her breath that Harry was sure was complimentary.

She produced a different quill. Harry might be imagining things but this quill felt dramatically less malevolent.

Rita gestured at him to start, clearly too frustrated for words.

“Sirius Black was the closest thing I had to a father before his death in 1995. He died defending me from Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries. He fought as part of the Order of the Phoenix against Voldemort before and after he was illegally incarcerated by the ministry for the murders committed by Peter Pettigrew.” Harry paused. “He was not my parent’s secret keeper, and he spent 12 years in Azkaban without a trial when plenty of Voldemort’s actual death eaters walked free. He gave so much for this country and I would like to see him be recognised for that.”

He could see a couple of people nodding but most of the growing crowd just looked confused.

“I made Minister Fudge aware of Sirius’s innocence when I first encountered Peter Pettigrew alive in 1993, I was dismissed then as a confused child.” He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes when people gasped. “I was dismissed again a year later when I confirmed, in front of multiple witnesses, that it was Peter Pettigrew who murdered Cedric Diggory on the orders of Voldemort. I wasn’t believed about a lot of things that year, all of which turned out to be true. In fact it was because of telling this truth that I got this scar” Harry angled his hand towards the photographer who dived in for a close-up. “A teacher sent to Hogwarts by the ministry forced me to carve I must not tell lies into myself as part of a series of detentions, detentions assigned to punish me for telling the truth to the wizarding world. The truth about Voldemort, the truth about Cedric Diggory’s death and the truth about Pettigrew’s actions - all of which clear my godfather’s name.” Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a mystery who the ministry teacher was.

He glanced at Skeeter who was eyeing him like he was a side of beef. Ew.

He cleared his throat and tried not to sneer.

“Severus Snape was deeply unpleasant to the vast majority of people he interacted with, including me.” The journalists seemed taken aback by this opening but Harry wasn’t going to lie about the man. “He was childhood friends with my mother and they remained good friends until their 5th year when he chose to join the Death Eaters whilst my mother joined the Order of the Phoenix. Severus Snape was a Death Eater and on the opposite side of a war but when Voldemort threatened my mother Snape switched sides.” Harry took a breath, this was more difficult than he expected. He still didn’t know how to feel about Snape, he wasn’t a good man but Harry owed him his life. They all owed him. “He swore an oath to Dumbledore and when Voldemort came back Snape took up the role of double agent. He fed the Order information and gave Voldemort false reports, he consistently put his life at risk to give us the intelligence we needed to combat Voldemort and his forces.”

He could see the questions brewing so he kept going.

“In 1996 Dumbledore was suffering from a curse that ate away at his right arm, Snape worked tirelessly to prevent the spread of the curse but only managed to extend Dumbledore’s life for a matter of months.” Harry glanced around at the gathered journalists who were frantically scribbling. “I was given a memory of the conversation, which I have supplied to the ministry, that confirms that Dumbledore had weeks left to live when he died. He was aware of the attempts being made on his life and he asked Severus Snape to kill him as part of a strategy to embed Snape further into Voldemort’s trust and to prevent Dumbledore’s death from being made into a bigger spectacle than it already was.”

And wasn’t that a bombshell? He had kept this to himself because he trusted the ministry, or at least trusted Shacklebolt, to get this sorted. If the ministry wanted to put monsters like Umbridge back into power then he was at least going to make this sh*t difficult for them.

“Over the last year Snape repeatedly provided support to Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and I in our efforts to defeat Voldemort and in his dying moments Snape passed on essential information to me that directly led to Voldemort’s defeat.” He paused to let that sink in for a moment but started speaking before he could be interrupted. He could see the lifts opening at the other end of the atrium and Shacklebolt’s distinctive purple-clad form exited followed by a gaggle of other ministry workers. “Severus Snape made mistakes but he died a hero.”

His voice carried and he could see the moment Shacklebolt realised who was talking to the press. His pace sped up but Harry still had a couple of moments before the minister reached them. He felt the grin, wide and sharp, break across his face briefly enough to make the photographers around him frown when they missed it.

“Heroes like Sirius Black and Severus Snape deserve to be celebrated alongside the likes of Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Fred Weasley.” His voice broke but he continued to push through. “So many incredible people sacrificed themselves to defeat Voldemort and free our world from the threat that has lingered over our world for decades. We cannot forget them just because they weren’t perfect.”

He glanced over at Shacklebolt who was now close enough for Harry to see the panic on his face. “Corruption and ineptitude from the Ministry of Magic, sensationalism and lack of objectivity from our press and bigotry and ignorance from our society as a whole.” He was basically quoting Hermione here but he had a feeling she wouldn’t mind. “These things let us ignore the contributions of figures who deserve our thanks and focus too hard on contributions from people who fit our idea of a hero. Anyone who contributed to Voldemort’s defeat deserves to be acknowledged for that, whether they are a convict, a death eater or a house elf.”

Shacklebolt reached them and Harry reached out to clap him on the shoulder with a grin, “The Minister worked with both Sirius Black and Severus Snape as part of his own contribution to the war effort, I am sure he can tell you more about their contributions to The Order of the Phoenix.” Shacklebolt looked like he was trying to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. “To quote Dumbledore, ‘We must all face the choice between what is right, and what is easy.’ It would be easy to ignore the contributions of people we do not like, but that doesn’t make it right."

Harry nodded once at Skeeter and stepped back into the apparition zone. “I will see you all at the memorial tomorrow where all of those who sacrificed themselves to defeat Voldemort will be celebrated.”

And then he apparated.

—————

Harry grimaced as Hermione rubbed firmly at his cheek with the sleeve of her dress. She was mid-rant and showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon.

“- basic understanding of governance works, if they would just take a look at examples from the muggle world rather than sneering at me every time I mention-“

Ron gave him a commiserating look over her shoulder but was clearly uninterested in reigning his girlfriend in. Or providing a distraction so Harry could escape. Traitor. Hermione had moved on from his face at least but what had started as Hermione straightening his tie felt a lot more like he was being strangled as her ranting continued.

“- can’t believe Kingsley would be so stupid as to rely on the bureaucratic capabilities of that toad, school children organised an uprising against her, how she can be considered competent-“

This particular rant had been ongoing since Harry got back to Grimmauld yesterday, the nearby paintings had already evacuated and Kreacher was nowhere to be seen. Hermione had made Harry repeat the whole conversation verbatim repeatedly until he had just given up and gotten out the pensieve.

It’s not that Harry didn’t get it, ever since they’d got back to Grimmauld both Harry and Hermione had been researching as much as they could. Politics in the wizarding world was completely messed up, the Minister was the only elected position on the Wizengamot and the rest of the seats all seemed to be held by old purebloods. It was overly complicated and illogical and everything Hermione had always accused wizards of being.

Hours in a tent with nothing to do had ignited a passion for reading in Harry but law tomes were a little beyond his comprehension and attention span.

“- given you a decent write-up even if they did completely miss your point about House Elves. Honestly, I am convinced there isn’t a competent journalist left in the whole of Britain-“

Harry glanced at the clock and sighed in relief. “Hermione if we don’t leave now we’ll be late.”

Hermione sighed lightly and thankfully released his tie. She smiled at him sadly and looked over at Ron, “Sorry, I’m nervous. Today was meant to be about honouring the dead and now it’s turned all political.”

Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her gently on the cheek, his face still showing a degree of awe at the fact that he could do that now. “It’s alright love, we understand.”

Harry smiled at the two people he loved most, who loved him most. “We’ll get through it, we’ve said goodbye already. This is just-“ he shrugged. They’d had the funerals. All of them. This memorial was meant to mark the end. End of what he wasn’t sure because it certainly wasn’t grief. No, that still felt as sharp as ever.

“Worst comes to worst we’ll just set mum on them.” Ron shrugged, mouth pulled up in a half smile, “Ever since she killed Bellatrix everyone’s at least a little scared of her.”

“Anyone who wasn’t always a little bit scared of Mrs Weasley is an idiot.”

“You’ll get no argument from me there mate.”

“Portkey leaves in 45 seconds.” Hermione interrupted them firmly.

Harry looked down at the portkey he’d been posted yesterday, apparently, there were some security concerns so the ‘Golden Trio’ had been given special dispensation to portkey directly into Hogwarts. In typical wizarding fashion the portkey itself was weird, a short piece of steadily unravelling rope.

They each held on firmly and when the familiar hook into his navel sent the usual thrill of fear through him he was comforted by the closeness of his best friends. They’d been through hell together, they could get through this.

Harry hit solid ground and immediately fell into a sprawl. One day he would work out how to stay upright during portkeys but he’d only just started managing to stay upright during apparation and he’d practised that one extensively. He didn’t have much hope.

Harry blamed the disorientation for how long it took him to realise something was wrong.

They had arrived in the Entrance Hall, which was unexpected, the port key was meant to lead to Headmistress McGonagall’s office.

They were not alone in the Entrance Hall, despite the memorial taking place outside, their arrival was met with a wall of sound.

Harry glanced around them and had just enough time to recognise the third thing that was wrong.

Walden Macnair.

They made eye contact, hatred burning out of red-rimmed eyes.

Harry barely had time to go for his wand before the explosion hit.

And then there was only darkness.

—————

Harry woke slowly, screwing his eyes up against the bright light. His breath was still coming rapidly but his mind was curiously blank, any memory fleeing as soon as he tried to hold on to it.

He was in a void of whiteness, and as he slowly blinked his eyes open he became more aware that this was weird. He pressed his hands down on the surface he was resting on, it seemed to become more tangible the longer he concentrated on it, solidifying into something that felt like polished glass under the press of his fingers. That realisation brought another stuttering on its heels, he could now feel the cool, smooth texture of glass pressing against the rest of his skin.

Harry was rapidly reaching the conclusion that he was lying on his back, naked in a weird void made of glass. His emotions felt like they were moving through molasses, he felt vaguely concerned that none of these facts seemed to be causing him any concern.

His concern for his lack of concern was growing more concerning by the minute.

He really felt like he should be upset by the lack of clothes. He was sure that was something he had been upset by in the past.

But maybe he only had to be concerned if someone was there to see his lack of clothes?

He blinked at his surroundings again, features slowly emerging from the blank space around him.

He was in a… train station?

He scrubbed at his eyes and sighed into his hands. Of f*cking course.

“If you’re going to tell me some more bullsh*t about blood and hope and love I would really rather you didn’t.” He called out to the painfully familiar space.

When the only response was a deep chuckle Harry’s eyes flew open again and this time he wasn’t alone.

But there was no whimpering child this time.

Nor was there a white-bearded ball of frustrating double talk and regret.

Instead, there was a tall, dark-haired man who was draped across the back of a nearby bench with a level of insouciance that Harry had previously only witnessed in a Malfoy.

Harry stared at him.

He wasn’t sure this was better and he was increasingly sure that he didn’t want to be naked anymore.

The man raised his head to look back at Harry and Harry found himself questioning his previous assumption that this was a man. His eyes were pitch black.

“Hello, Harry.” The man directed a sharp smile Harry’s way and slipped his feet onto the seat of the bench, resting his head on a hand as he leaned over his knees to focus on Harry. “No talk of blood, hope or love planned though if we venture into that territory feel free to call foul.” His voice was rich and plummy, the crisp enunciation reminding him of Snape’s overly precise rhetoric.

“Oh well then, consider all of my concerns withdrawn then.” Speaking was leading Harry to remember that he did in fact have feelings and one of those feelings was a strong desire not to be naked in front of a rando in a weird spiritual train station.

The weight of cotton settled across his shoulders and when he glanced down he found himself in a familiar, comfortable pair of jeans and the worn light blue shirt he typically wore under robes. He sat up and stretched out his legs, the clothes felt real.

Well.

In that case, he would also feel more comfortable if he had his wand. The press of his forearm holster made him feel a bone-deep level of relief. It was a gift from Shacklebolt after the final battle, handed over with a wink, “For when you join the Auror Academy.” Harry hadn’t been without it since.

Harry snorted at the direction his thoughts had taken, for some reason he didn’t think the Auror Academy was in his future anymore.

The dark-haired maybe-man was still watching him, a quirk to his lips gave his face a lighthearted, mischievous look. It was slightly undermined by the black eyes of a demon thing but the guy still looked, friendly?

He was still sitting comfortably on the floor but when the man shuffled over slightly Harry took the invitation at face value and sat down on the bench next to him. He took a closer look at his new companion, he certainly wasn’t less handsome up close. He had the kind of perfectly sculpted facial hair that Harry had always associated with film stars, he was wearing a three-piece suit which certainly added to that vibe.

Harry glanced around at ghostly King's Cross and hummed to himself. “I’m dead then?”

The man shrugged. “In some ways.”

“Is this another Horcrux thing?”

“Not this time.” The Man waved his hand back and forth in a seesaw motion. “At least not entirely.”

“Right. I see.”

He didn’t see.

“No, you don’t.”

“No I don’t,” Harry agreed.

“You died in an explosion.”

Harry nodded. That sounded about right, the memories were still vague and muddled but he remembered blinding hot pain and bright light. Walden Macnair. “Umbridge?” He questioned, some of the circ*mstances becoming clear. After all, the ministry had issued the portkey. It wouldn’t be the first time Dolores Umbridge had sent a monster after him.

The Man nodded.

Harry could feel tears pressing against his eyes now and he tried to swallow them down before he asked his next question. “Ron and Hermione?”

The Man didn’t have to answer this time, the sympathy in his eyes was enough.

Harry closed his eyes, tears released to run down his cheeks.

Everything. 7 years of adventures, challenges and insurmountable odds. Ron and Hermione dead. The way Harry always felt they would be, too close to him.

He gasped, unable to keep in the sob that ripped its way out of his chest. Was he cursed? Surely nothing else could explain the way people were ripped out of his hands whenever they got too close.

This time. This time it was after it was all meant to be over.

He did everything, he sacrificed everything alongside his friends to free the wizarding world from this figure of all-round evil. He destroyed the big bad and they all gave up so much, so many people, to do it.

“Did Kingsley know?”

The sigh next to him was heavy, “He knew Umbridge was planning to do something about you, he wasn’t expecting her to use the opportunity to kill anyone else.”

Harry creaked out an awkward laugh.

“Of course, he f*cking didn’t.”

Killed by the f*cking ministry.

The surge of regret and rage swelled up in Harry like a physical thing. He could feel himself choking on it as hot tears streamed down his face.

“They deserved more.” He spat, throat tight and unpleasant. “They deserved so much more.”

He could feel the man on the bench shift but he made no move to say anything, just resting a hand softly against Harry’s shoulder, lightly squeezing in a way that felt like permission. It was the gentleness that broke him.

Harry found himself sobbing, great heaving childish things. Tears streamed down his face, breath caught in gasps, mouth twisted and fists balled into his jeans. He let himself mourn everything because, with Ron and Hermione gone, there was nothing left for him to hold on for.

Through it, there was a soothing hand on his shoulder, a gentle pressure accompanied now by quiet murmurs.

He focused on the rumbling baritone, the sound giving him something that wasn’t the sound of his own devastation. The words slowly became clearer.

“Let it out Harry, that’s right. You all deserved so much better. You all did. This isn’t your fault. You did your best with what you were given. You did so good Harry. So good.”

Harry turned his face into the man’s chest, burrowing in and desperately holding on to that calm, comfort.

“Shhh, get it all out love. You’ve worked so hard. Let it all out.” The man’s arms wrapped loosely around him, pulling him close. “This isn’t your fault Harry, you did so much with so little.”

Later Harry wouldn’t be able to tell you how long he just cried, sobbing out his regrets and rage and grief into a familiar stranger. Later Harry would feel mildly embarrassed but for now he took what he needed, here at the end of his world.

——————

When the sobs finally subsided Harry slowly became aware of the arms embracing him. He stiffened but when the stranger didn’t comment he relaxed back into the comfort, at the moment it was comfort Harry didn’t feel like he could refuse. His edges were barely holding together.

Harry took the handkerchief that was proffered as soon as he started to try and wipe his face with a sleeve. The stranger released Harry enough that he had some freedom of movement back but kept an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Harry found himself leaning heavily against the warmth of the man next to him whilst he dried his face, breathing slowly returning to normal.

He cleared his throat.

“I should probably’ve at least bought you a drink before making myself this comfortable,” Harry glanced over at the man who seemed frustratingly at ease comforting a recently dead man having a breakdown on a park bench. “I definitely owe you a pint.”

The man raised a glass that hadn’t been in his hand a couple of seconds ago and Harry looked down to see he was also holding a pint glass of what looked like lager.

He took a sip.

Tasted like lager too.

“Whatever makes you happy Darling,” The Man winked at him and Harry found himself unwillingly smiling. Despite his life, or unlife, whatever this was, being tragically sh*tty this was still the better conversation he’d had in a weird limbo space. He raised his glass to clink against the other man’s with a quiet cheers. The man’s eyes were getting less creepy by the second.

“So,” After a couple of minutes of drinking quietly together on the bench, Harry turned slightly to face the man. “What’s your name?”

The man chuckled again, slipping further away on the bench so he could also turn and face. Harry already missed the reassuring weight of the guy’s arm around his shoulders. “Got to love a direct question!” The man grinned at him sharply. “I am Death and you, Harry, are my Master.”

Harry breathed in sharply and glanced down at his wand holster, the familiar sight of his holly wand missing, replaced by the elder wand still slightly alien shape. sh*t. To add to his panic, he felt pressure on his hand and looked down in time for the Resurrection stone to materialise on his finger. When a heavy fabric was draped over his shoulders Harry just sighed heavily.

“Right. So it was too much to hope that the three brothers were a myth then?”

Death just shrugged at him, eyes sparkling with repressed mirth. “I’m sure your great, great, great etc. Grandfather and his brothers will be very sad to find out that you think they’re mythological.”

Harry groaned theatrically. “f*cking Peverells.”

“Quite right.” Death smirked. “I was less than pleased with them in the beginning but them and their descendants had provided me with centuries of entertainment at this point.”

Harry snorted.

“And ultimately they produced you, so I am going to have to write them a thank you note after all.”

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow, “And what’s so special about me?”

“What isn’t special about you Harry?” Death laughed when Harry’s face pulled into a grimace. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s true. It takes a unique kind of wizard to not only collect my Hallows but master them.”

Harry continued to stare at the being and Death huffed.

“Firstly,” Death raised a finger, “you value the cloak of invisibility not for its power but for it’s familial connection.”

Harry blinked at him, okay, apparently he was getting a list.

Death raised his second finger, “You used the resurrection stone and were not consumed by it.” Another finger. “You turned away from the power of the Elder Wand.” Another finger. “You have been touched by death your whole life.” When Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Not like that you fiend, do you know how many times you came close to death in your childhood? Honestly, I’m surprised you made it to Hogwarts in the first place.”

Death raised another finger. Harry looked at his hand in confusion.

“Finally, you went back.” Death paused and looked at his own hand, frowning for a second before he shook his hand. “You chose the obviously more difficult path in order to try and maintain the balance and in doing so prevented billions from dying.”

Harry frowned. “Billions?”

Death shrugged, still frowning down at his fingers. “You think Voldemort would have stopped at Britain?”

And wasn’t that a bleak thought.

“And you don’t resent that? That I stopped people from passing into your realm?” Harry ventured.

Death snorted. “No darling, I could never resent you.” And on that bombshell, Death clearly decided that they had done enough sitting. He rocketed to his feet and started pacing into the void, dragging a reluctant Harry by the hand. “I always find it’s easier to talk about important topics on a brisk stroll. Come along love, I have a lot I need to explain to you about death.”

Harry stumbled alongside him for a moment before he managed to get his feet underneath him. “Right, yes, nothing like walking and talking about death.”

“I’m glad you agree darling.” Death cheerfully tucked Harry's hand into the crook of his elbow and Harry had never felt like more of a Victorian maiden. All he needed was a parasol and a dramatically different outfit. “Where to start!” Death hummed, patting Harry’s hand absentmindedly as he did so. “As my master, there is one core thing you need to understand about me. I am inevitable but I am not in a rush.”

Oh.

OH.

“I see you understand me, darling, I don’t really care what happens in someone’s life, I am not here to judge the souls of those who pass the afterlife. They exist in my domain but their afterlives are their own. What I care about is that the living keep living and when they reach their time they come to me.” Death nodded slightly as if confirming something to himself. “Death, with a small D dear, is just an inevitable end to life. Death’s job, that’s me, is to ensure balance and as I live in my realm I need to be balanced amongst the living.” Death nudged Harry, happily grinning down at him, the tall bastard. “That’s where you come in.”

“I’m meant to balance you?”

“In a way, you are my balance in some ways, my companion in others, my favourite in every way.” Death smirked at him, the twist of his lips turning into a genuine smile when he saw Harry’s continuing confusion. “I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time.”

Harry just blinked at him for a while, his feet automatically keeping pace but his brain hitting a wall of static.

One thing stuck out though.

“In the world of the living?”

Death’s face turned to terrible sympathy and Harry couldn’t look at him anymore. Harry blinked down at his shoes.

He slowed his pace, coming to a stop, hand still grasping desperately at Death’s arm. He was going to have to go back.

Alone.

“I don’t think I can do that again,” Harry whispered, tightening his grip on Death. “I can’t go back again.”

Death turned and pulled Harry into a tight hug, “I know darling, I know.”

Harry breathed through his panic, remembering Hermione coaching him through breathing exercises in the tent. He had never needed them more.

He finally managed a calm breath. “You’re surprisingly tactile for an immortal embodiment of death.”

Harry felt Death’s mouth twitch from where it was pressed into his hair. “Oh darling, I have watched you your whole life, you are dangerously overdue for some hugs. Forgive me for being a little overeager to make up the deficit.”

“Death. Please. Don’t make me do this.”

“I know Harry. I know you didn’t pick this. I know you don’t want this but I promise I am going to do everything I possibly can to make sure you can be happy.” Death tightened his grip and Harry desperately burrowed into him. The part of his brain not currently panicking noted that Death gave shockingly good hugs considering how little practice Harry assumed he had. “I know you can be happy Harry. I know it.”

“How?” Harry asked, a plaintive note creeping into his voice.

Death leaned back to look Harry in the face and, whilst the black eyes sent a chill down Harry’s spine on an instinctual level, the seriousness of Death’s face felt more reassuring than an unbreakable vow. “Because I am going to give you back the thing you’ve always been missing, time.”

Harry was confused.

Death smiled lightly and ruffled through his hair. “Come on, let's sit down again. I think it's my round this time.”

Harry found himself shuffled into sitting, this time on a comfortable sofa that had appeared in lieu of a bench. Death thrust a cup of tea into his hands and he automatically sipped, the familiar taste of Hermione’s favourite blend doing more to settle his nerves than anything else had so far. Sighing happily Harry tucked a foot under him and turned to Death. “So, time?”

“Time.”

“Care to explain?”

“The whole of time? We might be here a while.”

“Death.”

“Harry.”

“Tell me the plan.”

Death chuckled into his tea and took another sip before he angled his head to look back at Harry. “I have to send you back but I don’t have to send you back to the moment you just left. Time isn’t linear and limbo exists outside of time, it's why Fate was able to meddle enough to send you Dumbles as a spirit guide last time. She hid the old goat’s soul in Limbo so he could spring out at the right moment and waylay you.” Death snorted. “Most annoying thing she’s done in centuries had to mess around with one of her seers to get revenge. Kept sending him visions of funny deaths until the man was laughed out of proper divination circles, she was livid.”

“Fate is real too?” Harry gaped at the embodiment of death opposite him who was still snigg*ring into his tea.

“Oh yes, and we love poking at each other. Should be another couple of centuries before she comes up with something suitably annoying to provoke another response and then we’ll be able to plan our retaliation together. I’ve been needing someone on the inside desperately, she has all these seers working for her and it can get really annoying.” Death was actually pouting. At least Harry didn’t have to worry about being bored for the next however long he lived, apparently he had a prank war with Fate to worry about.

In a couple of centuries.

f*ck, now he was back to morose.

Death topped up his tea and smiled gently at Harry, pulling him out of his terrifying consideration of what forever might mean. “Time means I can send you back to the beginning if you want, whatever point in your life where you feel like you could make the most difference. With your memories intact and with a new friend in your corner to help when things get bad.”

Harry mustered a smile back at the man but it quickly fell back off his face. “Doing it all over again…” Harry looked down at his lightly steaming tea, “What difference would it make really? Some of the same people might not die but I’d still have to fight Voldemort, I’d still have to die again, even if I go back with all this information ready to go I’m not sure I’ll be in a better position to do anything about it.”

“Harry.” Death’s voice was quiet but it commanded attention the same way a shout did for other people. “Harry the purpose of me sending you back isn’t to make you more effective at killing Voldemort, or to make less or different people die.”

“Then what is it?” Harry demanded, suddenly angry at this being who was so thoroughly turning his everything upside down. “Another way to make me forget that I’ll never see my parents again? Another way to make me feel better about living forever?”

Death didn’t seem offended by his anger but he didn’t smile and make a joke either. Instead, Death took Harry’s hand in his, “It’s for you to be happy Harry. That is the only reason to send you back, to find a way for you to be happy for however long you’re my companion.”

Harry gaped at him. “What?”

“Well, you can’t expect me to want to make you miserable darling, of course, I want you to be happy. Happy in whatever form that takes.”

“I don’t want to be alone.” Harry blurted, anxiety making his voice tight and high. “I can’t do forever without other people and I can’t lose everyone again.”

“Okay then, that can be our first point of business then.” Death summoned a blackboard from somewhere, standing in stark contrast to their still ghostly white surroundings. Death wrote in a neat cursive at the top of the board ‘Harry’s Aims’ followed by a single bullet point:

- a companion for my companion

“Any other requests darling?” Death asked politely, tapping the chalk lightly against his own lip. “I think I’ve got one for you.”

- no self-sacrifice

“It’s not healthy my love, all this self-sacrificial stuff has a weight on the soul.” Death glanced back towards Harry who was still stuck on the idea that they were making a to-do list. “Anything else love?”

What did he want? If getting rid of Voldemort wasn’t his overall aim what did he actually want?

He thought back to Hermione and Ron, both of their faces tired and worn, thin from too long on the run and exhausted from their endless work to try and make the world better, make the people around them better.

Harry knew exactly what he wanted.

“I want to burn down the ministry.”

Death hummed, “Arson? Not the way I was expecting you to go but a valid expression of your feelings I suppose.”

Harry snorted a laugh, imagining twelve-year-old Harry swanning into the ministry atrium with a can full of gas and a handful of matches. “I mean that could be fun but I was thinking more, overhaul the government, get rid of all the bullsh*t oppressing muggleborns and werewolves and everything else the ministry f*cked up on.” Harry gestured angrily with both hands. “Make them actually take responsibility for magical kids, have a proper justice system and some less idiotic rules.” Harry and Hermione’s time in the tent just the two of them might have fuelled more than his recently discovered love of books. They spent a huge amount of time discussing the justice system, the ministry, and the sh*tty decisions adults had been making around them their whole lives.

Death chuckled again and added to the board.

- overturn the government

“I have just one more and then I think that sounds like a good list to start with darling.” Death drawled.

Death finished the final point with a flourish.

- do what makes you happy

—————

Harry opened his eyes to darkness and the distant sound of banging.

“What the f*ck?” He croaked, throat dry before he violently startled. “What the f*ck?” Grasping his throat, was that his voice?!

Harry glared around him at the space that he now recognised as his cupboard, and looked down at his now tiny body. Jesus Christ. Merlin’s bloody f*cking trousers. He was ten again. Ten and squeaky. He cleared his throat.

“Hello?” Yeah, f*ck that. That could not be his voice.

He was interrupted from his private freak out by another banging noise on his door this time and the familiar screeching of his never-missed aunt. “Boy! Stop talking to yourself and get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday.”

Harry groaned. For god’s sake, he was not living through this f*cking day again. He had over a month until his letter arrived and he was not planning on waiting around.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..."

He pulled on the first clothes that came to hand and headed to the kitchen, piled with a familiar mound of brightly wrapped presents. He ducked a swot with the frying pan from Petunia and made his way to stand guardian over the bacon, adding rashers and adjusting the heat of the pan with a muscle memory ingrained so deep that he did it without thought.

Not for the first time he wondered what the Dursleys did when he wasn’t there to do all the chores for them. The garden had certainly suffered in his last lifetime.

He kept an eye on Aunt Petunia and as soon as she headed upstairs to wake up her precious Duddikins he slipped over to her purse in the hallway. The heavy footsteps in the upstairs bathroom indicated that he didn’t have long before Vernon would be making his first appearance in Harry’s new life and Harry had already decided he didn’t want to wait around for that.

He quickly pulled his aunt’s wallet from her purse and scooped out the cash in it, tucking the wallet back in the purse and stuffing the muggle money into his front pocket. He headed straight for the front door just as he heard Vernon's first heavy step into the hallway upstairs.

He closed the door quietly behind him and paused for a breathless moment to see if his exit had been noticed, but there was only the thump thump of his uncle on the stairs and the distant sound of Dudley waking up.

He left the driveway at a brisk walk but by the time he’d walked past the twitching curtains at number 3, he was already at a full sprint. He rattled through the familiar roads of Little Whinging not slowing until he reached the nearest bus stop.

He pulled to a stop, panting, just in time to jump on the half-hourly service to Sunningdale. From there to Waterloo. From Waterloo to Charing Cross. And then he would be at the Leaky Cauldron. 1 month early and a very different Harry Potter.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Harry stared up at the crooked white building in front of him, hands placed firmly on his tiny-Jesus-was-I-really-this-small hips. He was just going to storm right in there and-

f*ck.

What was he even doing here?

Harry looked around and realised he had placed himself quite emphatically in the way of several wixen who were now trying to to edge around the weirdly forceful urchin blocking their way into the bank. Harry could feel his cheeks redden and he hurried to the side, leaving him in close proximity to one of the goblin guards who was now giving him a familiar sneering glare.

Funny, it had taken him breaking into Gringotts in his last life in order to work up to that level of derision. He glanced down at what he was wearing and wasn’t exactly surprised.

The latest of his Dudley cast-offs were a dress on him. He’d had to haphazardly tuck the shirt into the equally large shorts which unfortunately exposed the rope he was currently using as a belt.

He’d promised he was going to be less of an oblivious idiot this time around. Storming up to Gringotts without a plan was exactly the kind of terrible approach he would have decided on last time.

He had to go in there, he couldn’t face going back to the Dursleys. He had some money left from this morning’s hit and run but he wasn’t going to manage to get much further without access to more funds, wizardy funds to be specific. He shuffled off to the side and let the bustle of witches and wizards around him hide him from the still-sneering guard.

Right. So what did he want to get out of this visit? Access to his vault was the obvious priority but beyond that, he would also like to know how much money he was working with. The mounds of gold he remembered from his first year were very impressive but presumably, there was some form of accounting done? If not he would have to hand count because if there was one thing he wanted more of this time through it was information.

Maybe he could finally get his hands on his vault key? It had gotten lost in the war, passing through too many hands that weren’t Harry’s. He had been surviving post-battle on the bag of gold he’d taken out in his 6th year. The goblins had been an absolute pain about replacing the key and allowing him access without it. He hadn’t broken into Gringotts in this timeline so hopefully they didn’t actively loathe him yet but equally, he wasn’t exactly putting his best foot forward here to get the goblins on his side.

He knew what he needed from them but he was no closer to knowing how to get it.

What did he know about goblins?

Well, he knew they really hated people who broke into their bank.

They weren’t a fan of wixen, to be honest.

Wixen seemed to treat them either as vermin or, failing that, dangerous creatures. Even Mrs Weasley whose son worked for Gringotts treated goblins with a level of caution usually aimed at a monster threatening to attack and eat your children. That wasn’t even touching on the whole goblin rebellion thing.

Harry wasn’t exactly surprised that goblins hated Wizards.

Presumably, goblins actually liked gold? Or at least enjoyed banking? Eyeing the imposing marble entrance Harry considered the idea that goblins might just like the power gold gave them. Whatever motivated wixen to leave a hostile magical race with a history of violent rebellion in charge of their banking system was completely beyond Harry.

Griphook had certainly cared about the sword of Gryffindor so goblin-made artefacts were likely to be a bit of a push-button topic. Harry vaguely remembered Bill saying something about their concept of ownership differing.

Glaring at grubby orphans? Was that something goblins did for fun? That guard certainly seemed to enjoy it.

Harry quickly flipped back through the remaining muggle money in his pocket. 15 quid. Well, let’s start with the things he can actually fix.

Harry quickly made his way back through to muggle London and from there he soon slipped into a charity shop. He quickly picked out an outfit; a plain white tee for 50p, a pair of jeans that almost fit him for £2, a pair of worn but clean trainers for another £3—a black backpack for a fiver.

The woman behind the counter smiled at him when she rang him up but it didn’t reach her eyes, she flicked a glance over his clothes and was drawing some conclusions that Harry didn’t want to encourage.

Harry just tried to smile back as he gathered his purchases in both arms and made his way to the back of the small shop.

He gazed at himself in the mirror in the small changing room.

He was so small.

With adult eyes looking at his eleven-year-old body he couldn’t understand how people in his last life had missed it. His arms were stick thin, he was pale and even now he was dressed properly it was easy to see protruding ribs, sharp collarbones and gaunt cheeks.

The still fading handprint from an adult hand on his upper arm. He’d been too slow getting back in the cupboard and Vernon had decided to ‘help’ him. One of many bruises and injuries he’d received from his loving relatives over the years.

His clothes didn’t fit, his glasses were broken.

How did they miss it?

For a moment he hesitated over the bin with his hand-me-downs. Frowning down at the loose clothes he desperately wanted to throw them away, get rid of them in the way he hadn’t been brave enough to in his last life.

To leave his cupboard behind, however symbolically.

No. He wasn’t going to let them miss it this time, he was going to move on, move up, whatever. But first, he needed to make sure nobody missed it. He tucked the clothes into the backpack.

—————

Harry strode into Gringotts with all the fake confidence he’d managed to scrape together after the war, eyes held steady, even steps, head held high. He glanced over the desks available and when he spotted Griphook carefully placed himself in a different queue.

He waited patiently, remaining upright, alert and as confident as an eleven-year-old with fidgeting issues could look. When it was his turn he waited for the goblin behind the desk to acknowledge him, which goblin did with the usual sneer. “Yes?”

Harry nodded his head, imitating the small bow he’d seen Bill Weasley use when speaking to goblins, and kept his voice even and firm. “Master Goblin, I was hoping to gain access to my vault but I am missing my key.”

“Lost it did you?” Derision was dripping from every word and Harry barely stopped himself from responding with his own sneer. Never mind that that was exactly what he’d done to his vault key in his last life. This goblin didn’t know that.

“I never had it in order to lose it,” Harry stated firmly, “I am not sure who has held it since my parent’s deaths but neither me nor my guardians have had access to it.” At least he was reasonably sure, there was no way the Dursleys would have left a massive pile of gold alone, even if it was ‘freakish’.

The goblin rasped his teeth and stared down at Harry from his massively elevated seat. Not that that would have been difficult to look down on Harry even without the elevated seat, but Harry was smaller than a lot of goblins at this point. “What is your name wizard?”

“Harry Potter,” Harry stated firmly, confident that the general bustle of a busy bank would hide him from any interested ears.

The goblin’s ear pricked up slightly and he clicked his teeth, this time he looked amused. “Are you now?”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t be the first to try and claim that name and access those vaults.”

Harry tried to hide his surprise, both at the idea that fraudulent Harry Potters were running around and the mention of vaults?

“What do you need from me to prove it?”

The goblin narrowed his eyes at him gazing at him for a couple of moments before he gestured to a goblin at one of the smaller counting desks who quickly shuffled over to them. “Take Mr Potter to Bloodaxe and let him know that we need identity confirmation or disposal orders.”

That wasn’t ominous at all.

Harry didn’t have much choice, ominous or not he needed vault access if he was going to achieve anything. He trailed after the new goblin, most of his confidence dissipating in the face of a winding corridor and an increasingly chipper goblin leading him.

A cheerful goblin felt like a threat in this context.

If Harry was being honest, he couldn’t think of any context where a cheerful goblin wasn’t a harbinger of some kind of doom.

Maybe a wizard funeral? Where the doom had already happened?

Harry was brought back to the present when his escort came to an abrupt halt in front of a set of ornate stone doors, the goblin tapped a complicated rhythm on the door and ducked into the room when there was an answering rasp.

Harry was too busy picturing a full guard of goblins skipping down the aisle at his funeral to even try to pay any attention to anything going past the now closed door.

A couple of minutes later the door opened and he was ushered into an ornate office. The escort pushed him towards a single chair facing a large desk, there might have been more to the room but Harry couldn’t focus on anything but the figure sitting behind the desk.

Piles of paperwork neatly stacked into trays. A still smoking husk of a cigar perched in a crystal dish. And sitting at the desk staring right back at him was the largest goblin Harry had ever seen.

His skin was darker than most of the goblins Harry had encountered in the past, and Harry was sure that if the goblin was standing Harry would be looking up at him. He had an impressive set of black metal earrings hanging from each pointed ear and a grisly scar running across one eye.

Harry stared openly back at the goblin for a moment before his eyes were caught by something else. The glimmering light from the witchlight hovering above the desk caught on something metallic and Harry looked past the still staring goblin. Hanging from the centre of the wall behind the goblin was a massive axe.

The haft of the weapon was as thick as Harry’s thigh and the weapon was at least as tall as he was. He barely noticed his escort leaving, too busy staring at the dark stain on the blade.

“That is such a cool axe,” Harry stated, his tone reverent. Any thoughts of half-remembered protocol from past conversations with Bill Weasley left him, he was suddenly an eleven-year-old with no verbal filter. “Is that why you’re called Bloodaxe?”

The massive goblin in front of Harry clicked his teeth a couple of times in what Harry was starting to assume was the goblin way of laughing. “Indeed Mr Potter. The axe is from my younger days as part of the horde.”

“The horde.” Harry mouthed to himself. That sounded epic in the most terrifying of ways.

“Of course these days I don’t have much use for my skills with an axe.” The goblin leaned forward onto his forearms. “Running the London branch of Gringotts requires a different set of skills.”

Harry straightened as much as he could, difficult when his feet didn’t reach the ground. Right. So top goblin then.

Merlin, he was not prepared for this.

When in doubt turn up the politeness. It was the British way.

“Thank you for making time for me sir.”

That seemed to prompt another click of the goblin’s teeth and Bloodaxe smirked at him. “I’m sure you are little wizard.” The goblin leaned back in his seat, pushing some of the papers in front of him into a neat pile and tucking them into a tray. “Now, what can Gringotts do for the Boy Who Lived?”

Harry tried to suppress his cringe at the title, fiddling with his fingers. “Ah, I would like to access my vault?” Harry wished that had come out as less of a question. “I believe I need to prove my identity.”

“Indeed.” Bloodaxe stared at him for a long moment before he suddenly grinned, a sharp flash of teeth that might be the least happy smile Harry had ever seen. Bloodaxe pulled a small knife out of his belt and Harry couldn’t stop the thrill of fear that ran through him. “You have no wand yet, no key, I’m afraid the only other test is blood.” Bloodaxe did not look sad that this was the only option. The goblin smiled again.

Harry was right, happy goblins seemed to be directly linked to unpleasant things. For him anyway.

Come back to life Harry, just try to be happy Harry, get stabbed by this goblin Harry. Fun.

Harry sighed and offered his hand to Bloodaxe. “In that case, I offer my blood.”

The goblin looked down at Harry’s hand in confusion for a moment before narrowing his eyes at Harry. “You wish for me to blood you?”

“Er.” Be confident Harry. “Yes?” Dammit.

Bloodaxe’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t hesitate.

Far quicker than his bulk suggested Bloodaxe darted forward and nicked Harry’s palm with the small knife. Dexterous fingers produced a small vial of clear liquid that the goblin then pressed to Harry’s hand to catch the blood. “Not many wizards would be comfortable letting a goblin this close with a knife,” Bloodaxe commented, his voice rumbling through Harry’s chest now the goblin was hovering closer.

Harry’s eyes tracked the blood as it dripped into the vial, he knew too well how much evil could be done with even a little bit of his blood. Mind focused on the blood he answered absentmindedly. “Yeah, well, most wizards are idiots.”

The teeth clicking was definitely laughter. “I have certainly always found that to be true.” Bloodaxe leaned back, healing Harry’s wound with a quick flip of his fingers. He pulled out a piece of parchment and poured the potion, which was now slightly glowing green, over it.

After a couple of minutes, Bloodaxe snorted. “Well then, I am glad I don’t have to kill you, little wizard. Nice to meet you, Mr Potter.”

Harry repressed the sigh of relief that desperately wanted to gust out of his lungs. Part of him wanted to ask how many pretend Harry Potters the goblins had quietly gotten rid of over the years. What sounded like Hermione’s voice in the back of his mind was begging him to find some tact.

“Now on to the important question Mr Potter, why have you been ignoring our letters?”

Harry stared at the goblin blankly. “Letters?”

—————

Harry gawked at the pile of letters in front of him. Bloodaxe had just finished going through his accounts, but his mind was buzzing with too many questions and he was barely taking it in.

He was meant to receive quarterly reports to update him on his investments. Quarterly. And that wasn’t even all of these letters. Some of them were reports on individual investments, updates on patents and meeting requests. 10 years of bank correspondence, and his last life he hadn’t received a single letter from Gringotts in 17 years.

No wonder they were pissed at him, they had probably been pissed at him even before the whole dragon fiasco.

Luckily they didn’t need his approval to make ‘small’ changes because otherwise over the last 10 years, his accounts would have seriously suffered.

As it was these goblins, in this life, were very annoyed. Or at least this goblin was annoyed.

He was getting less annoyed with Harry and more annoyed at wixen in general by the second.

“We just assumed you were being another idiotic wizard who doesn’t understand his fiscal responsibility to his account manager.”

“I’m ten years old.”

“Yes well, your guardians should have been taking care of it in your stead.”

“These are sent by owl?”

“Of course.”

“Then I can promise they’ve never received them either.” When Bloodaxe looked at him blankly Harry continued, “They’re muggles.”

This set Bloodaxe off on another round of growling and cursing of stupid, financially disastrous wizards.

Harry went back to goggling at his most recent account summary. It hadn’t been a slip of the tongue earlier, he had vaults. As in multiple.

“Why do I have a Black trust vault?” Harry interrupted Bloodaxe’s latest rant about interest rates and the market index. Harry was confused, nothing should have changed yet, how had he missed this in his past life?

Bloodaxe was writing something with quick angry jabs, he paused to read it over before he placed it in a small lidded box. “That would be because you are Sirius Black’s Heir and whilst Arcturus Black still holds the Lordship his heir is in Azkaban for life. So as Black’s heir, you are the current heir to the Black estate for as long as Sirius Black remains incarcerated.”

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it.

What?

Arcturus Black was still alive? He was Sirius’ heir?

A small chirping sound came from the box on Bloodaxe’s desk and when the goblin opened the lid he pulled out a couple of sheaves of paper and started muttering to himself.

Where was this f*cking information last time around?

At least Harry now had physical proof that he would never have to work if he didn’t want to. Certainly, he had enough for his immediate aims.

“It lists property here?”

Bloodaxe rolled his eyes, at something he was reading and pulled another piece of parchment out to compose another angry note. “Those are just the investment properties. Commercial buildings mostly. For a full listing on your property ownership, you will have to check in with the deed office at the ministry.” He glanced up at Harry and sneered. “We are your bank, not your concierge.”

Harry nodded in agreement, the thought of a goblin concierge filled him with a foreboding horror. “Yes sir, thank you for explaining this to me.”

Bloodaxe clicked his teeth and shoved another pile of papers over, “Here are all the wills that have bequeathed assets to you over the years.” Bloodaxe smirked at him, “As you are underage Gringotts has undertaken to screen for inappropriate elements to any potential contact.”

Harry glanced over the top sheet which was almost entirely blacked out. The only type that remained undisturbed was a short sentence, “-hereby bequeaths the sum of 2,000 galleons to Harry Potter along with the request that he-“.

He was starting to be very glad he hadn’t received any mail in his last life if any amount of it was going to be like this.

He shuffled through the pile noting that he now apparently owned a cottage in Wales, a flat in Montreal and an ominously labelled shack somewhere in Slovakia. Along with way too many chocolate frog card collections.

When he reached the bottom of the pile he froze.

Holding it in trembling fingers he lifted the oldest document closer and glanced up to see pity on Bloodaxe’s face. It looked like it hurt the goblin and Harry looked away quickly. Hands still shaking he tightened his grip on the piece of parchment in front of him.

Harry’s eyes watered and he blinked rapidly. He was holding his parent’s will, it was a lot of legalese and Harry’s eye roamed uncomprehendingly over the neat typeface.

He would read it properly later. Later because there was something even more important contained in the folded document. It was a letter.

In neat cursive, my dearest Harrison.

Harry extracted the letter and clumsily unfolded it until he was left clutching two pieces of parchment. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but still, it was something he had never had.

He unfolded the first page, it was from his mum.

Dearest Harrison,

If you’re reading this letter I am so sorry my love. I am so sorry we left you, Harry. I hope you know, I hope that Alice or Sirius have told you; If there had been any way, any choice, any path we could have taken - anything that would have let us stay with you, we would have taken it, love. Nothing would stop me from staying with you if I could darling.

I love you so much, my dearest Harrison. I want so badly to be there, to see you grow up, because I know you are going to be amazing Harry. You’re the best of both of us my darling boy, and wherever you end up, whatever you do know that we are so proud of you.

Whatever happened to me and your Dad just know that all we ever wanted was for you to have a chance to live. If I am to distil all the lessons I wanted to be there to teach you over your life into one letter, well, the summary would be: Be yourself, be the best you can be and, above all, be happy.

I hope your road is smooth love, but if you find yourself facing bumps you can’t take and you need someone with a bit more cunning than the group of Gryffindors we’ve left you with. Send a message to Severus Snape. Tell him I never stopped missing him and tell him I need him now to help my son.

The best thing that ever happened to me was becoming your mum.

All the love in the world,

Mum

Harry sobbed, a weak broken sound, and pressed his hand tightly over his mouth as his shoulders continued to shake. Bloodaxe quietly busied himself with something at his desk, giving Harry the illusion of space to let the tears run freely down his face.

The second letter was in a messy scrawl that reminded Harry heavily of his own handwriting, a stark contrast to his mum’s neat cursive. It was suspiciously smudged with crossed out spelling mistakes and areas that were heavily underlined.

Prongslet,

I hope you never read this. And if you do I hope Padfoot is there holding your hand. If he isn’t give him a slap and tell him it’s from me.

We love you so much Prongslet, I am so sorry I’m not there to teach you how to ride a broom, or play poker, or whatever else it is that fathers teach their sons. I am sorry I’m not there to give you terrible relationship advice or help you with your homework until you make the sensible decision to go straight to your mother who is far cleverer than I will ever be.

I am sorry I’m not there for you to rebel against in your teen years. If you’re anything like your mother your temper is going to be terrifying, I am so sorry that I am not going to be there to see it. If you’re anything like me you’re never going to know when to shut up (don’t worry, that’s one thing that does get better with age or so I’ve been told).

Lilypad is telling me to fill this letter with life lessons but I’ll leave that to people who know far more about life than I ever will, people who will be in a far better position to give you advice. Talk to Remus, he’s always good for a piece of advice or two. Just, whatever you do, don’t listen to Padfoot. His advice is always terrible.

Your mum is the best thing that ever happened to me. She dragged me kicking and screaming into being a real person or at least into being a much better person. So if I have one piece of advice to give it’s to surround yourself with people who make you better.

I love you so much, Harry. I am so proud to be your dad. I hope you grow up so loved, knowing that we love you so much. I hope you end up happy Harry, because no matter what happens in the future you and your mum have made me so happy.

Love you, kid,

Dad

He knew his parents loved him. They had died for him. They had told him so in his brief glimpses through the veil. This felt tangible.

Maybe it was because this was his mum’s handwriting, maybe it was because this was written to him. Maybe it was because he could see where his dad’s tears had smudged the page, maybe it was because it sounded like him.

Be happy, be happy, be happy.

It echoed like a drumbeat in his chest.

—————

When Harry had finally finished having his second breakdown of the day, he cleared his throat and tried to convince himself that apologising was only going to make this situation even stranger. Bloodaxe seemed to feel none of the same awkwardness, shuffling papers on his desk and sending off a few more notes through his mysterious lidded box.

“Right well, looks like that concludes our past business with you, Mr Potter, just make sure you take this correspondence for your records.” Bloodaxe seemed to be confused when Harry produced his muggle backpack but nodded when Harry started piling his overdue paperwork into it. “Make sure you go through it and make a note of any changes you wish to make, I am your account manager from this point onwards so direct any questions to me.”

Harry nodded, confused about how he’d ended up with the head of the branch as an account manager, still attempting to corral the messy pile of paperwork into his bag.

Bloodaxe eyed the mess Harry was making of it with another sneer but continued as if there had been no interruption. “Now we only need to decide how we are going to proceed.” Bloodaxe looked over him, his gaze narrow and assessing. Harry was suddenly hyperaware that he was a tiny ten-year-old orphan with red-rimmed eyes and second-hand clothes standing in the office of the head of the bank. He thought it had gone relatively well so far, barring all the crying, but he could recognise a test when he saw it and he really wasn’t sure he’d pass. “Mr Potter, are you aware of who your guardian in the wizarding world is?”

Harry blinked, not the question he was expecting. From what he had gathered so far there was a fairly large arrow pointing at one man in particular but he wasn’t sure if it would be reasonable for a ten-year-old to draw that conclusion.

How much could it hurt for Bloodaxe to consider him a particularly intelligent ten-year-old?

And ultimately he wanted to know what Bloodaxe was going to say next.

“Albus Dumbledore left me with my muggle relatives,” Harry spoke cautiously, eyeing Bloodaxe who was still examining him from across the desk. “I assume that if I have a magical guardian then it’s likely to be him.”

Bloodaxe rasped his teeth together. “A magical guardian is meant to be in control of all of an underage wizard’s financial, legal and political responsibilities until that wizard is of age.”

Harry couldn’t stop the sneer that twisted his lips at the thought of Dumbledore, or anyone really, having that much control over him.

Bloodaxe clicked his teeth, “Yes, I didn’t think you’d like the sound of that.” Bloodaxe picked up a small piece of folded paper that had arrived through the box a couple of minutes ago and glanced through it, scribbling a few things on it before sliding it across the desk to Harry. “These are some services that Gringotts offers to all its customers regardless of their age, no need to involve a guardian.”

Harry looked down to see a sort of brochure, except Bloodaxe had gone through and circled certain entries, he looked back up at the goblin with an eyebrow raised.

“Apologies for the marked-up copy, it’s the only one I have left and I know you’re in a hurry to get on with your day. No time to get you a fresh copy.” Bloodaxe’s eyes glinted and Harry smirked back at him before looking back down at the paper.

“Master Bloodaxe, sir, I would like to engage Gringotts to recall all previously assigned keys to any of my vaults and do a full audit of my accounts.”

“Very good Mr Potter.”

“Master Bloodaxe I would also like to commission a new vault key and a moneybag connected to the Potter trust vault.”

Bloodaxe was almost smiling now. As unnerving as that was. The goblin had plenty to be smiling about, he was going to be making a lot of money out of Harry if the price list he’d just been handed was accurate.

“Master Bloodaxe, I would also like to commission a communication box for all future communication from Gringotts and your mail screening service for any of my future mail from other recipients.”

“We will redirect the mail ward around your person immediately and screen all future incoming mail. We can also investigate the location of and screen past mail if you are willing to backdate the contract.”

“That sounds perfect Master Bloodaxe.”

“Will that be all Mr Potter?”

Harry grinned up at Bloodaxe. “Could you give me a recommendation for a lawyer?”

Bloodaxe laughed this time and the sound was chilling. “Oh yes, I can do that.”

Harry was going to need a solicitor if he was going to get ahead of Dumbledore on this. He has a year to make sure he never goes back to the Dursleys again and the timer starts now.

—————

Harry didn’t know how long he spent in limbo staring at the four little bullet points, neatly outlined by Death in his unreasonably fancy handwriting but it wasn’t long enough. He was still curled up on a spectral sofa next to the embodiment of death, with an endless cup of tea in his hands.

Could he do this?

Could he go back?

Could he ignore everything else and focus on being happy?

“Death?”

“Yes, dear?”

Harry paused, not sure how to frame his concern. When he finally spoke his voice was quiet. “I don’t think they’ll let me be happy.” He frowned down at the teacup cradled in his hands. “As long as Voldemort exists he is going to keep coming after me,” Harry looked back up at Death who was wearing his sympathetic face again. “And as long as Voldemort exists Dumbledore is going to keep throwing me at him.”

“You’re not wrong, the old goat is particularly focused on that prophecy.”

“And then there’s the whole Horcrux thing. If I go back I’ll have a bit of him back in my scar.” Harry shivered. “I’ll have to die again, Dumbledore will make sure of it.”

Harry didn’t have many delusions left about what he had been to his old headmaster. Dumbledore had probably loved him or, at least, loved him as much as he could.

But Harry wasn’t an idiot, he could look back and see the way he was manoeuvred. A chess piece, a valuable chess piece but still a chess piece. The sacrifice play.

He did what he had to to end the war, to end the pointless deaths and to end the endlessly miserable journey he seemed to be stuck on. Harry had committed suicide at seventeen and if he was put in the same position again he would make the same choice every time. It had been the only option left open to him and he knew exactly who put him there.

You didn’t force that choice on someone you truly loved. Lamb raised for slaughter after all.

“10 dark and difficult years,” Harry muttered. “That’s what Dumbledore said to me about my time with the Dursleys. Like it was just 10 years. You know I tried to tell him in first year?”

Death nodded.

“I figured there must be some grand protection being offered by the blood wards, after all, it wasn’t like Hogwarts could even manage to protect me from the dark dickhe*d, the guy strolled in to f*ck up my life like clockwork. But he never got to me at the Dursleys.” Harry snorted. “I figured it must be worth it because at least it meant I would survive.”

Harry’s voice broke and he blinked quickly against the tears that were threatening. He had cried enough today already.

“Because it sure as sh*t didn’t protect me from them. Didn’t stop them from starving me. Didn’t stop them from doing anything they wanted to me. Didn’t even stop the Dementors.” Harry looked desperately up at his new friend. “Surely all that sacrifice, my childhood, my summers, my f*cking health would be enough to mean that I could live afterwards. But apparently, that was never on the cards for me.”

Death uncurled one of Harry’s hands from the tea and took it in his own. Playing fingers lightly over Harry’s knuckles he tugged lightly until Harry was back to leaning against him.

“Dumbledore was a great man, Harry.” Harry felt his heart drop but Death continued, hands wrapped firmly around Harry’s shaking fingers. “He was rarely a good one.”

“What does that mean?”

“A good man doesn’t send an 11-year-old up against a monster.”

Harry gaped at him.

“A good man doesn’t let an entire student body turn on a single student over and over again, doesn’t let a basilisk roam his halls for an entire year, doesn’t expose a student body to dementors or rely on two 13-year-olds to save a man from execution.”

“He didn’t make those things happen.” Harry protested.

“Oh, so it’s normal for the protections of one of the most powerful magical objects in the world to be successfully navigated by three first years with too much time on their hands?”

Harry pressed his lips together, Hermione and him had come to the same conclusion.

“You know that Dumbledore could have called a trial for Sirius at any time?”

“What?” Harry shooked his head, “No Dumbledore didn’t know-“

“He found out at the end of your 3rd year and was Chief Warlock until the middle of your fifth year.”

“Pettigrew-“

“Didn’t need to be in custody for Sirius to be afforded a trial.” Death eyed Harry, who was now sitting bolt upright in his seat. “If Sirius was free he would have taken custody of you. You would have never gone back to the Dursleys again.”

Harry felt his vision blur but this information was like a sledgehammer to his foundations and the house was falling. “Blood wards.”

“Blood wards.” Death agreed. “Did you know the wards of Hogwarts prevent all creatures of a certain amount of sentience from crossing without express permission from the Headmaster? After all, it took considerable effort from Mr Malfoy to give Death Eaters access in your sixth year.”

Harry could see the pieces slotting into place. The Troll. The Dementors.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Harry.” Harry laughed but it came out weak and bitter. “Dumbledore wasn’t some kind of malicious all-knowing deity, he didn’t know Sirius was innocent before your third year, he didn’t know about Barty Crouch Jr until he kidnapped you, he didn’t know you were a Horcrux until your fifth year.” Death stopped himself with a sharp gesture of frustration. “He was a great man in the way that all men are great, he achieved great things, and he defeated someone who would have killed his way through the wizarding and muggle population of Europe.”

“He gave me all the tools I needed to end a war,” Harry mumbled.

“He did.”

The silence felt thick.

“He would have done it all over again and made the same decisions.”

“It is easy to justify a lot of sacrifice in the name of the Greater Good,” Death murmured. “A lot of other people’s sacrifices.”

Harry let himself process that. Let’s himself sit in the dissolving foundations of his belief in Dumbledore. “Why’d he do it?” he eventually asked.

Death sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“An important story?”

“Perhaps.”

—————

After leaving Gringotts, Harry packed his new communication box, A4-sized with a large G embossed on the front in gold, into his backpack. The new box just about fit alongside the massive pile of papers that Bloodaxe had thankfully shrunk for him. The new moneybag was charmed to be anti-theft, and some of the enchantments Bloodaxe described filled Harry with genuine fear for anyone stupid enough to try and steal from it. Since Harry only had pockets in his jeans, he was planning to keep the moneybag tucked in his backpack with the rest of his worldly possessions until he found some better clothes or, even better, a belt.

Harry briefly considered heading straight over to the solicitor’s office Bloodaxe had given him the address for but if he was being completely honest with himself he wasn’t sure he had it in him to cry again today. He was realistic about his current mental state, it could be generously described as fragile.

So instead it was time for one of the most highly recommended therapies in the world.

It was time to do some bloody shopping.

He had no Hagrid there to talk him out of purchases this time around, no Ron to worry about appeasing, no death eaters breathing down his neck.

He was finally going to explore Diagon Alley. And all the other alleys, streets and roads that made up Wixen London. He was having the very Hermione-like urge to seek out some books for reference.

Priority number 1 was a wand so he made his way to Ollivander’s, far less terrified of the wide-eyed madman now he knew what to expect. He sat through the same batsh*t insane speech about greatness and marvelled that anyone let this man near children.

This time he was careful to purchase two wand holsters, one for his wrist and another calf holster. He waved off Ollivander’s clear concern with a cheerful, “Can never be too prepared sir! Don’t want to risk losing it!”

He left the shop with a skip in his step, the familiar feel of his holly wand was doing wonders to his mood.

Now where to next?

The Quidditch supplies shop was hovering enticingly in his periphery but Harry knew he’d spend hours in there if he went there now and there were some more urgent purchases he needed to make.

A passing witch sneered at him.

Yeah, he should probably get some robes. Especially as he was planning on going further into the alley. Not everyone was a bigot but most wixen still wore robes every day and he didn’t want to draw any extra attention if he could avoid it.

He set off down Diagon and quickly found himself queuing up to be measured in Madam Malkin’s, he was relieved when he couldn’t spot a familiar head of blonde hair. He hadn’t decided what to do about Malfoy yet and he didn’t want to live through that first conversation again, he wasn’t sure he’d make it through without hexing the bigoted little bastard.

Before long Harry found himself up on a familiar stool and being fussed over by the familiar, purple-clad figure of Madam Malkin.

“Hogwarts, dear?” She fussed at his t-shirt, tugging at the sleeves until they laid flat. “Muggleborn?”

Harry stared at her blankly but Madam Malkin didn’t seem to notice, she was too busy poking at his jeans. “What a strange material for trousers,” She muttered.

“I don’t need my uniform yet,” Harry answered slowly, “Just some casual robes.”

Madam Malkin hummed, tugging so hard on Harry’s front pocket that he almost fell off the stool. The witch sniffed at him as he righted himself and bent to start examining his trainers.

Maybe Harry should come back later.

She pulled on one of his laces and appeared to be examining the plastic aglet on the end.

“Could you measure me, please?” Harry asked loud enough to shock Malkin out of her current fixation.

She sniffed loudly, glaring down at his laces. “Of course dear, Hogwarts was it?”

Half an hour later he had three new sets of casual robes, the general impression that Madam Malkin might be just as weird as Ollivander and a long black cloak that he bought entirely so he could have a peek down Knockturn. Weird cloaked short person was less likely to draw attention than an obvious child. That and it would hopefully help him avoid any hags. They didn’t actually eat children, most of the time, but they did like the taste of their tears and Harry was deeply unwilling to cry on any strange women.

First off though, he needed some storage because his backpack was full to bursting. He had some plans to extend his backpack later, the charms and runes Hermione had used on her beaded bag were still clear enough in his memory for him to make an attempt but it would require some study. Hermione had started teaching him Ancient Runes while on the camping trip from hell, mostly as a distraction after Ron left. Harry would need to have a couple of practice runs before he was confident sketching a runic array as complicated as a space-bending one.

He was less noticeable now he was wearing robes but he was still a small child shopping alone so he did his best to remain inconspicuous as he made his way back past Gringotts. Bloodaxe had suggested somewhere on Vertic Alley for bag and trunks and following his directions Harry quickly found himself somewhere completely new to him.

The ‘alley’ was more of a boulevard, with a central strip of trees and greenery running between large shopfronts. Benches were dotted along the space and in the distance, Harry could see a large green area that must be some kind of park.

He was feeling vaguely mortified that he’d thought Diagon Alley was the only part of wizarding London, he had lived in this world for 7 years and he clearly knew very little about it.

He walked through to the front door of Pickering’s Pockets and Pouches and was immediately greeted with the site of a man bent, waist-deep into what looked like a breadbox. The shop was clean and open in a way that few wizarding shops ever were in Harry’s clearly very limited experience. It was light and airy, with small displays of different bags, boxes and trunks, all clearly labelled with prices and lists of available enchantments.

The muttering, from the man Harry presumed, was the proprietor, increased in volume before there was a ripping sound and a shout of victory. The man finally emerged from the box, looking slightly rumpled and dusted himself off. The box shivered slightly before whizzing back over to an open spot in one display.

“Right!” The man exclaimed, pressing down on his slightly wild blonde hair. “Right!”

He bent at the hips and stretched his back, pulling back only when there was an audible click. He was wearing a set of open-fronted, grey robes which, now he was out of the box, were straightening out and settling neatly over an open-collared, white shirt and set of slacks.

He spotted Harry and immediately moved over to him, an apologetic smile already firmly on his face. “Sorry about that young sir! My last customer managed to rip straight through a rune array when trying to ‘investigate’ a demo product.” The man’s face showed nothing but Harry could still hear the quote marks hovering around that explanation. “I am Percy Pickering, welcome to Pickering’s Pockets and Pouches, for all your space-saving needs. Are you looking for anything in particular today?” The quick patter of his welcome was undercut by a friendly smile.

“Erm.” Harry gazed around the shop. “A trunk? I think?”

The man glanced down at Harry’s backpack. “For Hogwarts?”

“Ah, more general use I think.” Harry glanced around at the sheer variety of options on display. “What is the main difference between a trunk and one of those?” Harry pointed at a duffle bag that sat next to a golf bag and what looked like a wicker picnic basket in a display that read “Muggle Friendly! Contains muggle safe mode for potential bag checks!”

“Well, we have plenty of bags for every occasion,” the man gestured at the displays, “The main driver behind choosing to go for a trunk rather than something smaller is easy access without needing to use a summoning spell or entering the space.” Mr Pickering moved over to one of the trunks in a nearby display and tapped the side with his wand before opening the top. Harry could only see a handle which Mr Pickering pulled to reveal a full bookcase which extended when he pushed on one of the shelves. “With a trunk you can pull whole sections out which is much more difficult to do with a small receptacle.” He packed the bookcase away with another quick swish of his wand, tapping the side of the trunk again to open another section - this time potions ingredient storage which Harry could see was split between ambient and cold storage.

Harry was trying not to gape, there was something about seeing a huge piece of furniture fold out of a trunk that was only a foot deep that made the capabilities of wixen space sink in more than all of Hermione’s lectures combined.

The guy wasn’t finished though. “With our small options, you are usually limited to summoning items and even with our auto-sorting enchantments it doesn’t guarantee items will be in the right places so temperature control and warding can be difficult.” He tapped a handbag which switched from its ‘muggle mode’ to a glimpse of a well lit space with thousands of bookcase-like slots for items, when Mr Pickering dropped a nearby book into the space it quickly whizzed over to a specific shelf before Mr Pickering summoned it back. “As you can see, very useful still but it can be limiting when items have specific storage requirements.” Mr Pickering slipped off his robe and dropped it into the space, this time the robe was stuffed onto a different shelf but there was clearly nowhere for it to hang.

Harry looked around the space with a sharper eye, quickly dismissing the small bags. He might be interested in featherlight and a small expansion charm on a book bag but he couldn’t see himself relying on that the way he, Ron and Hermione had relied on the beaded bag.

Not when there were so many options.

Mr Pickering pulled his robes and glanced over at Harry, a quick glance up and down and Harry knew what the next questions was going to be. “Those are our standard options, as you can see from our prices wixen space can be quite expensive due to the number of materials and the complicated magic needed to make it stable.” Mr Pickering glanced over to where Harry could see a display of second-hand bags. “I am sure we can find something to fit your budget.” He smiled down at Harry, his eyes kind, “Let me know what you need and what you can spend and I promise I’ll get you the best deal I can.”

The kindness made Harry’s decision for him. “Thank you, Mr Pickering.” Harry offered his hand and when the kind man took it he smiled up at him. “I’m Harry Potter.”

The man gaped at him for a couple of seconds before glancing up at Harry’s forehead. He tore his eyes away quickly and brought his hand up to cover his mouth.

Harry was briefly worried he’d broken him. Maybe he should hold back on the introducing himself thing?

Then Mr Pickering laughed. A brief, loud burst before the hand was once again over his mouth. “Well then.” Mr Pickering said breathlessly but still smiling, “I’d better show you some of our up-market options then!”

Harry grinned back at him and followed the man into a smaller alcove where his best stock was kept. Mr Pickering had been holding out on him because Harry quickly realised he had been thinking way too small.

He’d been hoping for one of the multiple compartment trunks from earlier, maybe with some extra spaces for clothes, his future broom and secure storage for some of the weird stuff he was inevitably going to pick up as soon as he got to Knockturn.

But why would he do that when he could get a house.

A literal, f*cking house.

Mr Pickering was clearly taking a lot of joy out of Harry’s awe.

The first option was a large ornate trunk, the hardware was gold and when Mr Pickering flipped the lid a full set of stairs disappeared downwards. Harry was expecting it to be fancy, he was not expecting a mansion. Mr Pickering rattled off features which evidently included a pool, 12 bedrooms and an orchard. If Harry had actually been the 10-year-old boy he looked like he would have given anything to have this. As it was Harry just found it overwhelming.

The second option was far less intimidating, a simple two-bedroom flat in a smart-looking briefcase with a ladder down. It had a full kitchen and bathroom. It was nice, a comfortable space to be in as well as plenty of space to store things.

When they emerged from the briefcase there was a ringing sound from the front of the shop, Mr Pickering paused and looked towards the door. “I’m alone in the shop today so I’ll just need to go check on the front,” He tapped the side of a wooden steamer trunk and the top sprung open. “This one’s special, an antique, used to belong to an-“ Mr Pickering paused, “- Eccentric? An eccentric wizard who used it to go exploring in the muggle world. Very unique, explore all you want, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Harry waved him off and headed over to the trunk, it was solidly made of a smooth, well-treated wood. Black leather embossed with curling vines and leaves encased on either end, the brass fixings standing out with a highly polished shine. The top was slightly curved and bracketed by barrel-like bracers made of filigreed brass.

Peering through the top Harry could see the ladder going down led to a small room with a hardwood floor. Harry moved down into the space curiously taking in the shelves that lined the room. There was a small space for books and a canvas-covered wardrobe, there was a stand that Harry thought might be for walking sticks and umbrellas but could easily be used for a broom.

Harry drifted through the room examining the storage options, it seemed similar to the storage he’d seen in the smaller bags, built for quick access with no fronts on any of the shelves except for the loose canvas over the clothing.

Opposite the ladder at the other end of the room was a shelf with a drawer built in, Harry moved over to it , curious about the only hidden space in the room. As he pulled on the handle of the drawer he felt the handle come loose, pulling away from the drawer.

Twisting it to get a better look at where it might have broken Harry felt the whole shelving unit move, it slid almost a foot backwards before moving to one side. Harry watched agape as the hidden door swung open revealing a living room.

Harry already knew he was getting this one.

It could have nothing else beyond a secret door and sofa and Harry would already be sold on it. However, he could see 3 doorways leading off the living room so he doubted he was about to be disappointed.

It had 3 bedrooms, each with a modest bathroom attached.

A full kitchen and pantry with an attached dining room.

A greenhouse.

A potions lab.

A Mother. f*cking. Library.

It had 2 other empty rooms off the library that would make great storage or a study.

But Harry couldn’t concentrate on that because he was too busy staring out of the floor-to-ceiling window in the massive library. The one that was currently looking out over what looked like the alps.

He was still fixated when Mr Pickering came down to find him ten minutes later.

“Ah yes, this is my favourite part of this particular trunk as well. You can set it to several different preset views, you can even set time of day or weather if you have any particular preferences.” Mr Pickering hummed to himself, “Yes quite the lovely little feature.”

“Mr Pickering.”

“Yes, Mr Potter?”

“I would like to buy it please.”

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Harry walked into the leaky cauldron took one look around at the cramped and dusty space and walked straight back out. Nope. Definitely not.

His initial plan had been to find a room and hide out at the leaky for a few weeks until his letter arrived but one glance around the room had revealed three issues with that plan.

1) He was ten which was bad enough but he looked eight, and Tom the Barkeeper already looked concerned.

2) Everyone in the leaky was an adult, even if he convinced Tom to let him stay he would stick out like a sore thumb.

3) Mad-eye Moody was sitting in the back corner of the pub and Harry was not going to get anything past that man.

Even if he wasn’t recognised Mad-Eye was suspicious of everyone, a weird eight-year-old would be noticed. The guy would probably have a file opened up on him and a permanent eye following him before Harry even made it to a room.

The Leaky wasn’t an option. A hotel out the other side wasn’t an option at the moment either, Mad Eye had been watching the door.

It was only early evening, the sun was still up and there were plenty of people in around the shops of Diagon. He had time to come up with another option, or at least kill time until Moody left.

Now that just left him with time to kill, and Harry had already done most of the shopping he wanted to do in Diagon.

He’d picked up parchment and quills, a couple of posh-looking charmed notebooks and a book on quill writing for muggleborns that he resented missing in his original first year.

He’d stopped off at Flourish and Blotts for his school books, luckily they had first year sets ready by the door so he didn’t have to refer to a Hogwarts letter that he didn’t have yet.

He’d even picked up lunch at Fortescue’s as an excuse to consume a modest mountain of ice cream as well as stock up his cool box. He’d packed away three large boxes of his favourite flavours into his kitchen, humming happily to himself at the thought of how much ice cream he was going to eat as soon as he had a stomach larger than the size of a pea.

He was using what he was already thinking of as his ‘go’ room in his new trunk to temporarily store purchases but every time he needed to head deeper to his new mobile home he’d pop into a loo or a changing room and climb down into the space fully.

It was going to be perfect.

It was a bit empty at the moment but that would change. He was already planning to hit antique shops tomorrow, wixen side first and then muggle for some of the stuff wizards seemed to ignore. Like mattresses that weren’t made of feathers and underwear that wasn’t made of wool or silk. Harry shivered. He’d tried wizard boxers once. Only once.

Harry scuffed his foot against the cobbles, he could go find dinner? Or go see if that park on the other side of Vertic was nice?

He glanced around at the alley, whilst there were still people around there were dramatically fewer children wandering about than there had been as people headed home for dinner. Harry could see some of the shops were already closing up, if Harry stuck around it wouldn’t be too long before he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Harry worried his lip with his teeth, where could he go where he wouldn’t stand out to much? Even a park was unlikely to provide cover and even wixen were likely to notice a random eight-year-old wandering around after six.

Or he could just pretend to not be a child.

One part of Wixen London would still be busy. Harry checked to see if anyone was paying attention to him and quietly ducked into a small alcove, pulling the black cloak from his backpack.

This was probably a terrible idea.

He tapped his new trunk to enlarge it, slipping his backpack into the go room where it gently floated to the ground. Re-shrinking the trunk with a tap of his wand Harry slipped it back into his front pocket.

Wrapping the cloak around himself he tapped his wand again, this time against his leg casting a wordless notice-me-not, relying on the ambient magic in Diagon to hide the underage magic.

This was definitely a terrible idea.

He pulled up the hood and within a couple of seconds, he was walking down Knockturn.

He felt excitement rise in him, the shadowed doorways and looming figures making him feel twelve again. Getting lost in the floo and ending up in Knockturn might not be a pleasant memory but it was an uncomplicated one.

He glances around at the street around him which seems to be made up of 90% shadowy corners which was quite impressive from an architectural perspective. Twelve year old Harry was right to have been freaked out by this. He feels guilty about all the future parental figures he is disappointing, he was acting like a teenager sneaking away to do something behind his parent’s back. But he hadn’t met any of them yet so they really couldn’t hold it against him, he’d always wanted to explore Knockturn.

He couldn’t help the grin on his face. He was always accused of being reckless, maybe it was time he earned it.

Or rather earned it doing something that was a normal teenager levels of reckless, rather than go-after-a-giant-snake-with-a-butter-knife reckless or jump-on-the-dragon reckless.

Y’know. Normal teen things.

Sure, he was technically ten, but the teenaged heart wants what it wants. And right now he wanted to go poke some illegal stuff and buy some weird sh*t.

Malfoy would be so jealous.

—————

Borgin and Burkes was odd. Even going through the door felt illegal, the door handle was a strangely stained material that certainly felt like bone. Harry glanced down. Of course, it was skull-shaped.

Harry and Hermione had once tried to introduce Ron to the concept of Goth.

It hadn’t gone so well.

Ron had stared at Snape for an entire potions lesson until the man looked ready to spit fire and then asked, “Sir, are bats part of your aesthetic?”

Whole month of detentions.

Inside the store was just as creepy as Harry remembered, the looming vanishing cabinet at the back sending a thrill of fear up Harry’s spine.

Someone that Harry assumed was either a Borgin or a Burke spent the whole time he was in the shop slowly cleaning a very clean crystal glass with a very dirty cloth and eyeing Harry speculatively.

Harry poked around for ten minutes without really seeing anything, he was cautious not to touch anything that looked too creepy but still managed to get bitten by a teacup. He had been reaching past it to pull on a label when it glomped on to his forearm, it took a full minute and a mild stunner for Harry to convince it to let him go. The proprietor snorted but continued cleaning ignoring Harry’s glare.

He rubbed his wrist and returned his glare to the cup. Maybe he could buy it and smash it. Or send it to the Dursleys.

He was distracted from his imaginary revenge on Petunia when he caught a glint of metal behind the cup, nudging the nippy bastard to one side Harry found a short wedge of polished wood with a rounded mental end. It was tucked partially under a piece of fabric made from what looked like woven hair and wedged into a crack on the shelf. Harry carefully covered his hands with his cloak as he slowly worked it out of its hiding place.

Now freed Harry held it up into the low light, it was the handle for some kind of small knife. There was a sturdy leather wrap around the crossguard and the hilt looked like it was made polished mahogany, the guard was short but a small tug and it extended, almost disappearing back into the handle when he nudged it closed.

Protruding from the tang was a small button.

Harry had never been able to resist buttons and was lucky that the wizarding world on the whole didn’t seem to use them much, it had gotten him in so much trouble at primary school.

He immediately pressed the button and was amazed when a short, silver potions blade slid out from the handle. Harry tested it lightly against his finger, it was wickedly sharp. He pressed the button again. The knife disappeared only to be replaced by a saw the length of his hand, the crossguard rapidly expanding into a protective shield over his hand. Harry was confused by for half a second until the teeth started moving down the blade on its own.

A chainsaw. Or, at least, the wizarding equivalent.

With quick taps, Harry cycled through different tools, a larger knife, a screwdriver, a small chisel, a nail file, a full-sized magnifying glass, something that looked suspiciously like a lock pick and a corkscrew. Harry was sure there was more. But Harry was equally sure he didn’t need to see any more, he already knew he was going to be buying the weird wizard Swiss army knife.

Harry started to head towards the counter but stopped when something tugged on his sleeve, he looked down at what had caught him. He sighed.

He shook his sleeve slightly to see if the stubborn tea cup would let go but unfortunately, it seemed determined.

“If I buy you will you stop biting me?” The teacup adjusted its grip to dig more firmly into Harry’s robes. Harry sighed and muttered to himself. “Fine. I am apparently being bullied by ceramics now. What fun.”

Borgin/Burke was definitely laughing at him and Harry was glad his hood up because it meant he could pout in peace. f*cking teacups. The little bugger was going straight in the trunk.

It was almost dusk by the time Harry made it back onto Knockturn, he didn’t make it much further into the alley before he noticed that two black clad figures had melted out of one of the shadowy alcoves to follow him. A single clawed hand and the shine of sharp white teeth was all Harry needed to realise these were hags.

He walked a bit further, taking turns into a couple of smaller streets. No luck. The Hags were homing in on him. He looked ahead, trying to track a path that might shake them, they were approaching a main thoroughfare. Harry watched another hooded figure slowed to a stop on the main street, the figure paused before turning to stare directly at Harry.

He wasn’t sure how he was being picked out so quickly but he wasn’t going to stop and ask questions. The street they were approaching was the closest Knockturn seemed to have to a wide, open space. The street Harry was currently darting down had the opposite problem, tight quarters and nowhere for him to protect his back. Neither were a good place to try and fight.

He could work with terrible terrain, the more pressing issue was wherever he went would be visible from the main thoroughfare and a black cloak wasn’t going to hide his identity for long if he had to duel.

He glanced around the shopfronts near him and could see light coming from one window. Ignoring the three figures now converging on his location he darted to the door and entered the shop.

He didn’t get a good look at the name, but once he was inside he found himself gazing at a veritable cornucopia of potions ingredients. He closed the door behind him, presumably the denizens of Knockturn didn’t made a habit of hunting in shops but if they did he would at least be able to limit the number of people who saw him use magic.

The low ceiling made the shop feel smaller than it was, bushels of dry or drying leaves hung from the ceiling and carefully labelled jars filled with ingredients lined the walls and aisles.

One glance around confirmed that it was incredibly well priced.

Another glance confirmed that some of these ingredients were very illegal.

Maybe if he stocked up on decent potions ingredients that would be enough to endear Harry to Snape? Harry snorted, not likely. Although if the guy was open to bribery it would certainly explain Malfoy’s potions grade.

The shop counter was empty but a bell rang as he entered, he was sure the owner would be out soon. In the meantime, Harry wanted to check out all the weird jarred creatures that lined one wall, maybe he could pick up one for his potions lab.

It was similar enough to Snape’s aesthetic that Harry would be surprised if this wasn’t one of Snape’s suppliers of weird jarred things. If the dungeon bat did buy them here he clearly took care to remove all the labels. Trust Snape to get rid of anything that had the possibility of being educational.

Snape’s had used them to maximise the creep factor. Intimidation via pickled entities, an obscure art. Shockingly effective against Longbottoms.

Harry was immediately engrossed, there were so many strange creatures. Something - Harry glanced down at the label - a Wolpertinger was floating in a large jar, it appeared to be a rabbit? With wings? And horns?

When someone cleared their throat behind him he almost jumped almost a foot into the air. “Hello, sir” croaked a hoarse-sounding voice. “Welcome to the Moonbloom Botanica.”

Harry turned to find the previously empty area behind the counter filled with the slightly hunched figure of an old woman. She was dressed entirely in black with a knitted shawl wrapped loosely around her shoulders, her hair fell in white waves crowning her with a glow. Her face was wrinkled with laugh lines and her eyes were sparkling with mirth as she leaned over the counter to look over at him. Harry’s first impression was of a friendly grandma, she looked happy to see him which felt like a novel experience in Knockturn.

“What brings such a fine gentleman to my humble establishment?” A creaky smile spread over her face, revealing the now too familiar sight of pointed teeth. Harry glanced down at her hands and found claw-like fingers folded politely on the table in front of her. Definitely a Hag.

Harry was trying to rapidly run through what he remembered about hags from his DADA lessons in the 3rd year but nothing was coming to mind. He was pretty sure Lupin had said they didn’t eat kids but those were really pointy teeth for a grandma.

Shifting his weight lightly backwards so his back was pressed to a wall, Harry was reasonably sure he was out of easy grabbing distance. Harry cleared his throat, “Erm potions ingredients?”

The Hag stared at him for a couple of moments before she barked a laugh. “Yes, I assumed so laddie. Any in particular or are we just browsing?” She drew out the word browsing like it was a dirty word, her lip curling in the process to reveal even more sharp teeth.

Harry’s mind went blank as he panicked, he didn’t want to play his hand so soon and he would have to if he needed to defend himself here.

Whatever happened next, he needed to put off any decisions until his brain came back online, and he definitely didn’t want to be browsing if that was going to lead to more teeth.

“Well it would be great if you could help me.” Harry found himself trying to smile charmingly ever though his face was still hidden by his cloak. “I’m looking for, er, well,” The hag looked like she was going to laugh at him again so he just started listing ingredients. Any ingredients. Rattling off quantities as he went, whatever felt right. “-10 snake fangs, 2 measures of Flitterby Moth, a vial of dried aconite-“

The hag’s face was rapidly widening into a broad grin, Harry glanced around the store, trying to take in as much as he could from under his hood. Eyeing the distance to the door.

“-1 length of wiggentree bark, 4 vials of essence of dittany-“

Always worth stocking up on dittany. Merlin, Harry was already running out of steam.

“- 5 bouncing bulbs, a pint of moondew and 2 pints of Flobberworm Mucus.”

The hag clapped her hands slightly and grinned at him, Harry was left breathless and trying not to flinch at the show of, oh those were really sharp, teeth.

“Well done laddie, the whole first year potions list in one breath.” Harry froze. “Quite the achievement.”

Harry was glad his hood was up, at least the shadow hid his face, the hag gave him a look up and down, lips twisted in amusem*nt. “The first thing to know about Hags Mr Potter is that we can see in the dark.”

Well, sh*t.

“The second thing is, we don’t eat children. Too gristly and way too many questions asked by the ministry.” Harry nodded rapidly trying to communicate just how gristly he was with just his eyes. The hag leaned forward, taking a deep breath in. ”They do smell wonderful though.”

The Hag laughed at Harry’s shiver and leaned back. “Don’t worry, I’m mostly joking. Nice to meet you, Mr Potter, I’m Lettie and I promise not to eat you.” She crossed her finger cheerfully over her heart and smiled, closed-mouthed this time, easily slipping back into her cheerful grandma persona. A spark of magic down his back sent Harry straightening and he suddenly felt completely certain that casual promise had been binding. “Even though you look delicious.” She winked and Harry couldn’t help but laugh, the relief making his limbs go loose.

Well, he had said he wanted to explore Knockturn.

He tugged down his hood and moved closer, peering up at her in the dim light of the shop. “Nice to meet you too Lettie, please call me Harry.”

Lettie offered her hand which Harry tentatively shook. Lettie smiled at him again and then glanced towards the door, mischief lighting in her eyes. She leaned a bit closer and stage whispered, “Now dear, do you actually need potions ingredients or are you just trying to avoid my sisters?”

Harry glanced outside and could see three cloaked figures still hovering awkwardly around the entrance. “Can the answer be both?” He whispered back, holding back a smile when Lettie gasped dramatically.

“Really, how rude!” She exclaimed.

“Quite,” Harry agreed before he set his face into an imitation of sadness, “I am just a poor boy risking my life for affordable potion ingredients.”

Lettie laughed and headed to the door, poking her head out she glared at the three cloaked figures. “Stop bothering my customers ladies, ask nicely for what you want or go away.”

One of the cloaked women growled and snarled at Lettie before storming away further into the alley. Lettie snorted, glancing back at Harry with an eye roll. “The younger ones are sometimes so feral.”

The other two moved to the door and poked their heads through the door and examining the shop before they stepped in, nodding their thanks to Harry’s new favourite hag. They were both younger than Lettie, one on the left looked to be in her mid-thirties with dark hair hanging limply around her face. She had a several warts dotted across her face like constellations and even though she was gnawing on one lip the sight of her sharp teeth didn’t look threatening. She just looked nervous.

The second hag seemed to be in her early fifties although Harry realised he had no idea how hags aged. She had more prominently hag-like features, a hooked nose, her hands were skeletal and her skin was pallid with a greenish hue. Her smile triggered an instinctual amount of terror but was otherwise friendly. Like a basking shark. Or one of those massive sloths with the claws.

Her eyes were kind even if her smile made Harry want to flee.

“Hello, small child.” The older one chirped. “Could you possibly spare a bit of hair?”

The younger one hissed at her “Mother, you can’t just ask like that. You’ll creep him out!”

“Pfft, he’s a child in Knockturn, he’s clearly a bit weird already.” The mother answered at full volume.

“Mum. He’s right there.” The younger hag gestured to Harry with both hands, theatrical whispering included for free. “He’ll hear you.”

Harry nodded in agreement with her assessment. “Yeah, I reckon he might.” He suggested mildly.

The hag squeaked when he spoke and disappeared to hide behind her mother.

Harry decided he loved hags. This was more fun than he’d had in ages.

“What will you do with it?” Harry asked, he was unwilling to get himself into trouble with polyjuice and was pretty sure someone could do more than just imitate him if they had his hair.

The older hag swayed slighly towards him and took a deep breath in before she sighed with happiness. “Just add it to a bit of soup, it would make a wonderful seasoning.”

That hadn’t been the response he was expecting. He glanced over at Lettie who was watching the interaction with an amused quirk to her lips.

Harry stared at the hopeful face in front of him and could quite bring himself to say no. Sure, it was weird as f*ck to think about any part of his body being used as seasoning but stranger things had happened. This was the first time someone was actually asking him first rather than just grabbing or taking and a big part of him wanted to reward the effort.

“Can you promise to me in a magically binding way that you will not use, or allow anyone else to use, any hair I give you in a way that will impact me negatively?” Harry ventured.

The younger one peeked out from behind her mother. “Really?” She squeaked. “You’d let us have some?”

Harry made eye contact with Lettie who was now smiling at him. He still felt goosebumps and shivered violently but the fear response was at least diminishing slightly with exposure. “I don’t see the harm if you promise to only use it as-“ he paused, “-food?”

He didn’t have a chance to react before he was engulfed in an enthusiastic hug. “Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The hug was odd, he’d never been hugged by someone with an ambient body temperature that could be best described as ‘chilly’ before. He didn’t have long to get used to it as the younger hag sprung back from as if burned. “Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to jump on you like that.” She wailed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Harry looked up at the frightened eyes of the hag and he couldn’t help it. He snorted.

Lettie chuckled behind him and suddenly Harry found himself laughing, the hag just looked so confused by this response, her face sending Harry off into another round of giggles. It soon descended into the high-pitched sort of hysterical laugh where breathing was difficult. Every time he felt like he was finally going to stop he only had to look at Lettie’s smirk before he was set off again.

Oh god.

Lettie was looking more delighted by the second, he only managed to bring himself back to the semblance of sanity by closing his eyes and refusing to look. He managed to get a couple of breaths in and had wrestled himself back down to an occasional giggle when he finally felt his breath even out. He finally opened his eyes only to send himself careening backwards when he realised how close the older hag had gotten to him.

Peering at his face with something that looked like awe Harry was confused to see that she had dropped into a crouch and cupped her hands in front of her. Her daughter was leaning over her shoulder glancing rapidly between her mother’s palms and Harry’s face.

“Sorry” Harry gasped, “Sorry, haven’t laughed like that in ages.”

Lettie was also looking at the older hag’s hands with her mouth open.

Harry moved forwards again cautiously to peer at what she had cupped in her hands only to see a small pool of water. He touched his face and his fingers came away damp. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, there was something he didn’t understand going on here. “Are those my tears?”

That seemed to shake Lettie out of her fixation on the thimbleful of liquid. She nodded before wordlessly handing the daughter a vial from a drawer at the counter. “Get what you can in that.” Lettie muttered to the other hag and the younger hag immediately crouched next to her mother, carefully siphoning the pool of tears from her mother’s hands into the vial.

Lettie turned back to Harry, levelling him with a heavy gaze. Assessing. “The tears of children are precious to hags.” Lettie voice was firm, with a lingering note of reverence. “Tears of laughter are to be treasured above all things.”

Harry still felt confused but didn’t want to disturb what was clearly an important moment to these women. The daughter finished gathering and rose, offering the vial to Harry who automatically took it from her hands. He glanced around the room, the door to the street was still slightly open but there were no other figures hovering nearby.

He twisted his arm to release his wand and with a wordless siphoning charm he pulled the remaining wetness from his face, channelling it delicately into the vial in his hand.

When he looked back to the daughter he smiled at her, the weirdness of the last minute notwithstanding, he still felt that bubbly joy in his chest - the bone deep relief of laughter. “Thank you for making me laugh.” Harry smiled her and offered her the vial. “It sounds like you’ll get more joy out of this than I will.”

“What?” The mother gasped.

The daughter looked confused. “You’ll let me hold them?”

Harry looked over at Lettie who seemed to take pity on his confusion. “Are you offering these tears to Melba of your own free will?”

“Erm,” Harry looked at the hags, “I, err, yes? The previous requirements stand.” Harry waved his hand, “No harm to me from this gift, by you or others. If you’re still happy to swear that then I am happy for you to have them?” Harry couldn’t do anything with his own tears, happy or not, these guys seemed nice enough.

That was enough for Lettie, she moved with the authority of a general, corralling the three of them. Their hands were pressed together, they were coached on the words of their vow and within minutes Harry was being hugged by two very overwhelmed hags. Melba was clutching the vial of tears to her chest and the mother, Carina, was looking equally happy with her small pouch of hair.

Harry was still feeling mostly confused but he had a fresh hair cut and the hags had each pressed a small stone into his hands. “Thank you dear one, this has truly been a special day.” Carina started to tear up, and Harry wasn’t sure he was going to be able to deal with many more tears. He was still a teenaged boy and whilst Hermione had eventually adjusted up her assessment of his emotional range from teaspoon to dinner plate, he was still firmly stuck in flatware.

Luckily Lettie seemed to take pity on him and she usher the pair out of the shop despite their continued thanks, closing the door firmly behind them.

Lettie snorted, as she shuffled back behind the counter, “You’re full of surprises Harry Potter.” She shook her head and muttered something about Wixen drama. She tapped a piece of parchment on her desk with a single claw, scribbles began for on the page before she turned back to Harry. “Now, now little wixen, were you serious about buying some potions ingredients or just terrified of the terrible twosome?”

Twenty minutes later Harry had a well stocked potions lab for more than just his first year, a very strange rabbit in a jar and a promise from Lettie that she would accept his owl orders, this was a apparently a big deal. Shops in Knockturn didn’t tend to do delivery.

“Now then Mr Harry Potter, keep me in mind for your next haircut and don’t be a stranger.” Lettie shuffled Harry out her shop. “Best you make your way out of the alley before it gets full dark, the vampires are far less polite than us hags.”

—————

The next morning Harry shuffled out of a dodgy bed and breakfast he’d found a short walk from St Martins. His first night in his new Trunk haven had been wonderful, one of the window seats in the library made a good bed for the night and it was wonderful waking up to the gentle sounds of waves and bright sunlight spilling over the ocean. This view had been labelled Summertime on the Lizard in the instruction manual Mr Pickering had given him.

Harry had mostly selected it in the hopes of seeing dragons frolicking but was still happy with the craggy rocks and gorgeous cliffs of what might be Cornwall.

Maybe in this timeline he would be able to visit the sea for an actual holiday. Replace the memory of his first view of the sea with something more fun and less full of rotting inferi and a dying Dumbledore. More fish and chips, sandcastles and ice cream. The occasional cliffside campsite whilst they were on the run hadn’t really helped with the negative association.

He checked a clock in a corner shop as he went by, he wanted to be at the solicitor’s office by the time it opened. He hadn't liked the idea of organising an appointment over owl post. He didn’t have a permanent address at the moment and Harry didn’t want to have to wait for a letter to go through his new mail processing service at Gringotts. He was sure the goblins would be quick but he was too keen to get on with it. If they were busy this morning he would just come back.

Sievic Alley was tucked off Vertic, it was similarly tree-lined but much smaller so the trees formed a canopy of dappled green above the neat, well-maintained cobbled street. Townhouses stretch down both sides, each with a series of plaques outside listing businesses.

Harry is back in his best Dudley-chic and has been resolutely ignoring the looks of every wixen he passes. He looked out of place in Diagon, here he looks illegal.

Still Harry marches on, counting down the house numbers in his head until he stops outside number 14. The plaques next to the door read Wand & Ledger Accountancy Services, Runic Realms Architecture, Bewitched Brushstrokes and finally, Ad Astra Associates.

He stares up at the large black door, only 5 steps up from street level and it feels infinitely out of reach. He’d made it this far through a combination of not thinking about it and pure bloody-minded Gryffindor.

He had an opportunity here. One he hadn’t had last time, one so many kids didn’t get. He had a chance to make people listen. He had money and political clout and the memories this time to make sure he wasn’t ignored.

He tugged at Dudley’s old shirt, shocked by how quickly this had started to feel like a costume. He’d decided at the beginning of this that he wasn’t going to let his embarrassment get in the way of sitting down in front of some adult and making them listen.

If that took wearing ugly clothes then fine. If that took telling people everything then fine. If that took Harry going into this bloody office then fine.

He took a deep breath and almost ran up the stairs, face to face with the brass knocker on the centre of the door.

Reaching up Harry grasped the knocker and firmly knocked, the sound was loud and echoing, making the space behind the door sound cavernous. He stood back, feet shuffling awkwardly on the top step.

Hopefully, whoever ran Ad Astra was going to be around at 9am on a Monday. The goblins had recommended them and he didn’t have an alternative, it wasn’t like he knew anyone who practised law the first time around.

“Ad Astra Associates, how can I help you?” A tinny voice came through a speaker embedded in the wall next to the plaques.

“Hi! Erm, Bloodaxe sent me? I need a lawyer for a family… situation?” Harry’s voice had gone high and warbling. He knew he needed to do this, knew he need to talk about this but he was suddenly really not feeling ready for it.

The pause the other end was long and Harry found himself fixated on all the things that could go wrong. He could get sent back to the Dursleys. The wrong people could find out.

What if they didn’t believe him? Dumbledore hadn’t believed him, why would anyone else?

His thoughts were running in anxious circles.

A buzzing sound broke his concentration and his eyes went to the door. “Come on up, top floor.”

Harry pushed on the door and it swung open, lights in the entryway flickering on as he passed the threshold. The entry way was panelled in highly polished wood, a bouquet of brightly coloured flowers sat on a side board. It was minimally furnished but pretty, the panelling made so some kind of wood with a dappling affect.

Maybe it was trying to lure him into a false sense of security, keep Harry distracted from the horror that was a wixen lift. It seemed to be the only way to go up and Harry was already feeling preemptively nauseous.

Harry headed up to the lift doors and cringed when they opened with a loud clatter. Stepping inside he pulled the lever for the 4th floor and braced himself against a wall in case this was anything like the lifts at the ministry.

He felt stupid 2 seconds later when the lift gently rose, then he just felt annoyed. If lifts like this one existed in the wixen world, why were the ministry lifts so extraordinarily terrible. They had to be doing some of this sh*t on purpose.

Bloody wizards.

His frustration carried him through the lift ride but as soon as the lift reached the top floor Harry’s brief distraction was gone, leaving him staring at the opening doors with trepidation.

Harry craned his head as the doors opened and caught a glimpse of a comfortable looking waiting room with two doors on the far wall. A light tinkling bell rang through the room as the lift doors opened fully and Harry stepped tentatively through into the room. “I’ll be right through!” A voice called from the other room, “Please make yourself comfortable.”

Harry relaxed when the voice was female and friendly, he’d been trying to picture what kind of solicitor a goblin like Bloodaxe might be willing to recommend and the images his imagination had been conjuring were terrifying.

Four armchairs were scattered around the room, sleek and upholstered with expensive material, they reminded Harry of the furniture from the drawing room in Grimmauld Place but in far better repair.

A large desk dominated one side of the room, neat stacks of paperwork in trays and large red appointment book open in the centre. There was a large window on the right where an eagle owl was perched and preening. A spare perch on the other side of the window had a large jar of owl treats poised next to it, the rest of the room was empty but Harry could hear some movement the other side of one of the doors leading off from the room.

Harry settled on one of the chairs, poised awkwardly on the edge so he could keep his feet on the ground. A tea service appeared on the side table next to him, Harry looked around the room for a house elf with no luck so he just called out a quiet thank you before helping himself to a cup of tea and a biscuit.

He was glad he had something to do with his hands. His stomach was rolling so he didn’t pick up another biscuit but poured himself another cup of tea.

He should try out occlumency again, it was apparently meant to help with emotion regulation and he certainly felt like he needed it. Then maybe he could be a cold, unfeeling bastard like Snape rather than an anxious ball of nerves.

An anxious ball of nerves who had just spilled tea in his lap. Harry stared down in horror at the growing wet patch and - in further proof that Harry has the worst timing in the world - someone cleared their throat.

He closed his eyes for a second, exhausted already, before he turned to apologise to the high-powered, goblin-recommended lawyer he had already embarrassed himself in front of.

Harry looked up into a familiar face and gaped.

Andromeda Tonks.

Harry only just managed to stop himself from exclaiming out loud, and as it was he jerked so violently that he spilt even more tea over himself. He looked mournfully down at his now empty cup.

“Oh dear,” Andromeda gasped, “I am so sorry for scaring you young man, I thought you heard me come in.” She swished her wand with a light flick and the tea disappeared from his clothes leaving him mostly stain free and dry. Now the shock was wearing off the embarrassment was making a come back.

“I’m so-sorry,” Harry stammered. “Really sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Andromeda waved her wand over the tea set and it rose to hover next to her. “No harm was done, dear.” Andromeda glanced around the room before frowning. “Is your guardian in the lavatory?”

Harry tried to sit up straight, not that it would make much of a difference to how she saw him. “Er, no they’re not.”

“Are they meeting you here?”

“No.”

Andromeda looked down on him for a few seconds frowning before both eyebrows rose. “You’re here on your own.”

Harry hesitated, that didn’t sound like a question. He nodded.

Andromeda continued to stare at him, grey eyes looking him up and down and clearly drawing some initial conclusions. Harry couldn’t stop the blush that rose to his cheeks. “They aren’t the best-“ Harry cut himself off and pursed his lips, glaring down at the floor.

He couldn’t do this half way. He couldn’t minimise or dance around it if he was going to get any of this to stick. He had trusted Andromeda in his last life.

She never joined the order as far as he was aware but she did everything she could to support her daughter, Tonks talked about her mum a lot. Her bloody minded determination that had her walking out of the Black family to marry Ted. The same determination she had put into raising Teddy. Family was important to her but she wasn’t afraid to walk away from a sh*tty one. And anyone who had Bellatrix as a sister had some seriously sh*tty family.

Harry could feel tears prickling behind his eyes at the reminder of Teddy, the godson who he’d never see grow up. Harry blinked back the surge of grief. Just by being here he might be making the change that wiped little Teddy out of existence.

But also might be making the change that gave Teddy back his parents.

Harry forced out the words from behind a tense jaw. “They abuse me.” If he was going to risk never meeting Teddy he wasn’t going to do this halfway. The words felt alien in his tongue, a harsh word he had never used before to describe his childhood. “They abuse me, I need a lawyer and Bloodaxe said you might be able to help.”

Andromeda didn’t say anything for a moment and Harry couldn’t bring himself to look up at her. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and Harry flinched, rearing away from the surprise contact in a way he hadn’t for years. Exposure to Hermione’s random hugs and Ron’s friendly shoulder taps had minimised that instinct to back away.

For a moment he wanted to smash things, tear the walls down, level the block. Saying that word wasn’t meant to make him feel worse. What if it wasn’t bad enough? What if-

Andromeda’s voice cut in before he could panic any further. “Would you like to follow me into my office? We can talk about what sent you here and discuss what will need to happen for me to take you on as a client.” She paused for moment. “In the wixen world,” She glanced at him quickly, “We call them Jurors.”

Oh.

No wonder Bloodaxe had smirked at him when he said lawyer.

The clip of heels as she moved several paces away and waited, and the matter of fact tone, was enough to get Harry moving again. He loosen his hands from where he’d clenched his fists into his jeans and smoothed them down with shaking hands.

Wiping briskly at his eyes, Harry stood up to follow Andromeda into a small but comfortable office. “My name is Andromeda Tonks,” she nodded in greeting at Harry but didn’t try to touch him again. Harry didn’t know if he was grateful or regretful.

“I have been working as a Juror for the last 15 years. I focus on criminal cases whilst my colleague Adelaide Selwyn works predominantly in corporate law.” Andromeda gestured to another door which has a neat golden label, Adelaide Selwyn, Partner, followed by a jumble of letters that Harry assumed were important. “She is with a client this morning and our receptionist is on leave this week so apologies for the wait.”

Andromeda seemed to be determined to ignore that he was a child who had just spilt tea on himself and then had a minor breakdown in her waiting room. Harry felt absurdly grateful. She led his over to her own door, a similar jumble of letter clustered under the title Senior Partner. “If you hire Ad Astra you will have access to both of us, we cover most areas of magical law between the two of us and have a network of experts we can consult for any particularly specialist requirements.”

Andromeda gestured to one of the seats opposite her desk and settled into the second one, summoning a lap desk that was already loaded with parchment and ink. Harry settled into the seat next to her, flinching again when the tea set came to rest next to him, he was going no where near that this time.

“I just need to take a couple of details down first and then we can talk about the full extent of the case.” She dipped her quill, tapping off the excess with a grace that Harry had never managed. “What is your name?”

Hard one right off the bat. Harry hesitated for a moment too long, and Andromeda hummed. There was non judgement on her face but Harry cringed anyway. “We can come back to that one.”

Harry sighed with relief and then blushed when Andromeda raised an eyebrow. Thankfully she just continued. “How old are you?”

“I’m ten. Eleven in a month.”

“Can you give me any information about your current guardians?”

“My aunt and uncle. Petunia and Vernon Dursley. They’re muggles, they live at No 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. In Surrey.”

Harry focused on Andromeda’s quill as it moved in smooth strokes, no sounds of scratching the quill just seemed to glide over the page.

“When did you go to live them?”

“I was 15 months old.”

She didn’t ask how his parents died, a lot of people were made orphans in 1981.

“Are they your only relatives?”

“There’s also my cousin Dudley.”

“No one magical?”

“I don’t think so.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know much about my parents. I always thought they died in a car crash.”

There was a pause at that but soon the sound was back, smooth strokes of a quill running easily over rough parchment.

“How do your uncle and aunt treat you?”

Harry could feel the press of her eyes on him but couldn’t look up.

“They don’t like me.” Smooth strokes, he rubs his hands on his jeans. “They didn’t like my dad, they said he was a drunkard who crashed the car that killed my whor* of a mother.” The familiar words burned his mouth, boiling out of him like bile. “They don’t like me.”

“Do you get on with your cousin?”

Harry shook his head, relieved with the topic change. “Not really, he doesn’t like me.” He hesitated, for a moment. “He likes-“ Harry rubbed at his face. “My cousin and his friends like to beat me up, chase me around and stuff.”

“Is this when you’re at school?”

“Everywhere really,” He shrugged. “I don’t have any friends, some kids tired but nobody stands up to Dudley for long.” Looking back on it now that might have been the worst thing the Dursley’s had ever done to him. As he’d learned later on in life you can bear a lot of terrible sh*t if you have good friends. Maybe friends would have made his childhood bearable.

“Have you aunt and uncle ever stepped in to stop your cousin?”

Harry snorted and shook his head again. “My uncle encourages it, my aunt just doesn’t do anything to stop it.” He pictures Aunt Petunia’s face indifferent, with pursed lips and sour expression, hovering in the background of some of Harry’s worst childhood memories. Just watching. “They think it will make me behave better, be less of a freak.”

Sometimes he was angrier at Aunt Petunia then he was at any of the other people on the long list of people who had hurt him. She was his mother’s sister, she was meant to love him.

“What do you mean when you say freak?” Andromeda’s voice wavered on the last word.

He could do this he could tell this story. He’d told Hermione. He’d talked about it to Death. He could talk to Andromeda. He could talk to Andromeda.

“I’m a freak, weird unnatural things happen around me all the time and they hate that. Hate anything unnatural.” He looked back at Andromeda’s pen that had paused halfway between the page and her inkwell, the ink was dripping. “I didn’t know I was magic.” He shrugged when Andromeda inhaled sharply. “They did though, they knew. My aunt grew up with my mum, even wrote Dumbledore a letter when she was younger asking if she could come to Hogwarts.”

The silence stretched. “Whenever anything happens, anything that could be magic. They punish me.” Harry blinked rapidly. “I was so confused, I didn’t know why strange things kept happening to me, had no idea I was actually making things happen.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t the only reason they hated me but it was a big one.”

Andromeda’s voice came out like a croak, Harry couldn’t look at her, she cleared her throat. “What else did they not like?” Harry appreciated her sticking to a matter of fact tone. Sympathy would just hurt more.

“They don’t like it when I ask questions or when I’m around too much to remind them that I exist, or if I do something better than Dudley.” Harry rubs a hand down one arm, smoothing his fingers over a small mark on his arm from where he’d burned himself on the stove a couple of weeks previously. “They don’t like it when I mess up the cooking or don’t finished my other chores. Dudley makes extra messes for me to clean up and blames me for things so they don’t like me then either.”

“What happens then?” Andromeda asks, her voice so quiet it’s almost inaudible.

“They put me in my cupboard.” Harry squeezes his hands together, grinding on the knuckles until they hurt. That small rush of pain opening his throat enough for him to continue. “That’s where I sleep but when I’ve done something bad they lock me in.” Harry bites down on his lips, frustrated tears boiling up and poring over. “They don’t feed me, sometimes they lock me in there for weeks.”

He could hear Andromeda’s breathing, too deep and even to be a natural breathing pattern and he can feel his own breath speed up. “My uncle hurts me sometimes, he doesn’t hit me but he squeezes too hard or yanks me around and shakes me.”

It feels like it’s pouring out of him. A torrent he can’t stop.

“I didn’t know my name until I went to school. I thought my name was Freak or Boy.”

“Aunt Petunia hit me with a frying pan once, she said she didn’t mean to but I think she only didn’t do it again because I got better at cooking and dodging.”

“Dudley shut my arm in a door when I was six and it really hurt but Uncle Vernon said that freaks didn’t need to go to the doctor.”

“Aunt Petunia cut off all my hair and then when it grew back overnight she locked me in the cupboard for a week.”

Harry voice was hoarse and when he looked down he could see tears splashing down onto the carpeted floor.

His only thought was what a waste.

The room was finally quiet.

Harry sat back and pretended he didn’t exist.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

“I know that Dumbledore manipulated me,” Harry stated, his jaw set into a tight line. “He manipulated a lot of people.”

Death remained silent.

“He threw test after test at me, he withheld information from me, and he ignored a lot of sh*t happening to me that I would’ve really liked for him not to ignore.” Harry’s fists were wrapped tightly around each other, grip punishing. “But he did it for the greater good, he spent his whole life-fighting dark magic and he did his best to give me the tools he thought I’d need to defeat Voldemort.” Death hummed lightly and Harry’s eyes laser focused on him. “He. Did. What. He. Had. To.”

Death settled closer in on the couch with him and Harry didn’t have to have to be a seer to know that he wasn’t going to enjoy what Death said next. “He did what he thought he had to.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Death hummed. “Do you think people can make good decisions on bad information?”

Harry glanced over at Death who was lounging next to him, face tilted back on the couch and staring into the blank void above them. After a moment Harry answered. “No.”

“Dumbledore was making decisions based on bad information.”

Harry felt himself bristle and for a moment all he wanted to do was push Death off the couch. Death seemed to understand that he was inspiring that impulse and he shifted away from Harry with a smirk. “Now, now Harry, no need to resort to extreme measures.”

Harry raised his eyebrow at the being. “Oh really?”

Death opened his mouth to respond and Harry used his momentary distraction to push him off the couch.

Death landed on the white floor in a crumpled heap, glaring up at Harry with a pout. “So cruel Darling.”

Harry laughed, Death just stretched and made himself comfortable on the floor. One flick of the entity’s fingers and he was already back to looking completely unrumpled. Harry glared, Death was somehow making the floor look like an attractive seat.

Harry stretched out over the sofa, pulling his feet up to rest on one arm and resting his head on the other. He whistled to himself trying to project comfort with every inch of his body. Death just snorted before conjuring a pillow, it was plush with feathers and lined with black velvet. Of course it was, Death had a very defined aesthetic. Harry didn’t wait for Death to make himself more comfortable, he plucked the pillow straight out of Death’s hand and tucked it under his own head.

“Thanks, Death!” He chirped chirpily.

Death groaned theatrically, hand pressed against his forehead. “Oh Comfort, how thou art forsaken of me?”

Harry just stuck out his tongue. Death was an immortal entity who lived outside of time, Harry was a seventeen-year-old who had apparently been lied to his whole life. Harry was allowed to be a little bit immature.

Death just smiled when Harry started looking smug and the personification of Death just curled himself around to lean sideways against the sofa, resting his head lightly on Harry’s stomach, sending a comforting pulse of warmth through the teen.

Harry sighed. “You’re going to tell me whether I want you to or not, aren’t you?”

Harry felt Death’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “I think it will help.”

“Help what?”

“I want you to be able to make an informed decision.”

“On whether or not I like Dumbledore?”

“On whether or not you can let yourself trust Dumbledore again.”

Harry stared up at the endless void of white. “I want to trust him.” He whispered.

“I know you do.”

“If he isn’t trustworthy then everything I did-“ Harry curled onto his side, staring at the side of Death’s head, “Everything he did-“ Harry drifted into silence.

Death shrugged but pressed his head further back into Harry’s side, the firm pressure anchoring him in the way that Hermione’s hugs usually did. Harry wasn’t alone, he was alive, he could do this.

“Dumbledore’s actions aren’t your fault.”

“But I-“

“No.” Death interrupted harshly. “No. None of this is your fault. You’re seventeen. You were pushed into your role in this war when you were 15 months old. This isn’t your fault.” Harry pressed his face into the cushion, unable to meet Death’s eyes and the being sighed. “Harry, darling, none of this is blame. I believe that if you’re to do this all over again you should be going in with all the information I can give you.”

“Do you have a plan for me?”

Death shrugged, “I have options and opinions on those options but I mean it, love, whatever makes you happy.”

Harry considered that for a bit. Just spent time listening to the thoughts racing through his head, considering each one before he pushed it to one side. Eventually, he sighed, “Fine.”

Death rolled his head towards Harry so he could make eye contact. “Tell me to stop and I will.” He waited until Harry nodded before he turned back to face the ghostly station and when he spoke his voice felt deeper, more important. “When Dumbledore was younger he saw darkness in someone he loved and that darkness grew into a monster.”

“Grindelwald.”

“Yes.” Death sighed. “The first person Dumbledore ever loved romantically, the boy he planned his life with and told his secrets. The boy he trusted more than everyone else, the first boy he thought really understood him.” Death gestured and figures appeared above them, made of dark smoke that rolled and roiled. Three figures. Three wands.

Bright white beams of spellwork playing back and forth between them. Harry wanted to close his eyes when the fourth figure entered the fray, this figure was chaotic and less solid - the smoke that formed her dissipating into wisps that faded into nothing in her wake. One figure fell, another figure fled and two were left to watch over the fallen as they turned to empty air.

“Dumbledore discovered darkness and loved it, revelled in it and then it resulted in the greatest tragedy of his life.” Death paused and pulled Harry’s hand loose from where it was curled against his chest. “And from that point onwards any darkness was his enemy.”

“Champion of the light etc. etc.” Harry waved a dismissive hand, “Defeater of Dark Lords.”

Death glared at Harry until he stopped gesturing and then took Harry’s hand back in his. Humming a strange haunting tune under his breath. “Did you know that dark magic is regularly practised in Europe? Parts of Asia and most of Africa too.” Death commented, voice light, unconcerned, “The rest of the world remembers something Britain and North America have forgotten.”

Harry gazed up at Death who was still playing with Harry’s hand but focusing somewhere in the middle distance. “What’s that?”

“Magic isn’t moral.”

“What?”

“Magic doesn’t have morals.” Death focused back on Harry’s face, “Like me, there is no morality to death, good and bad, light and dark, everyone dies. Magic is the same, it isn’t inherently good or bad until it is used.”

That felt remarkably like the arguments Harry had heard from the American gun lobby. “Magic doesn’t kill people, people kill people?”

Death rolled his eyes and Harry smiled at him smugly, he was already rubbing off on the smug bastard. “Essentially. I do prefer my way of saying it.” Death’s lower lip pushed out. “It’s far more elegant.”

“So dark magic isn’t evil?” Harry nudged Death to continue, keen to distract him from the impending sulk even if it meant pulling the rug out from under Harry’s understanding of magic. “Dumbledore always said it corrupted people?”

“Dark magic is not evil. It can certainly be used for evil,” Death stated firmly, “but so can light magic. Wingardium leviosa can be used to kill just as successfully as Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse, whilst it has caused much suffering, was originally invented to give a painless death to terminal patients.” Death shrugged when Harry gaped at him. “The way magic is used is what makes it evil. Some wizards are more drawn to dark magic than light but that doesn’t make them evil.”

“So some wixen are just born dark?”

“Yes.”

That didn’t match anything he’d been told. “Dumbledore said it was your choices that made you light or dark.” Death laughed and Harry felt his cheeks heating. “If it isn’t your choices that-“ Harry could feel insecurities bubbling up and tried to force them down. “How do you know if you’re a dark wizard?” He blurted.

Death sent him an amused look. “You’re not a dark wizard Harry.”

Harry tried not to sigh with relief, he knew Death was literally in the middle of telling him that dark didn’t mean what he thought it did - but it was still something he had been concerned about for a long time. It was nice not to have his deepest fears confirmed. For once.

“Dumbledore, however, was as dark as they come.”

“What?” Harry gaped at the entity.

“Dumbledore had an affinity with dark magic.”

“That can’t be true.”

Death shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Dumbledore could cast a patronus.”

“So could Dolores Umbridge.”

Harry’s face twisted. Suddenly he felt like he could be all on board the ‘light doesn’t mean good’ train.

Death was looking at Harry like he knew everything he was thinking. He probably did, Harry had never been good at hiding his feelings.

“So dark wizards can cast light magic?”

“And vice versa, Accio is a dark spell and although you have a light magical core you became quite proficient at it.”

Harry gaped at him. “Accio is dark?!”

“It is a spell based on want, when you summon an object to you the spell is fueled by your need of the object. It’s one of the reasons summoning objects is often the first piece of accidental magic a magical child performs. Young children are defined by wants and needs in a way that most adults are not.”

“I had a lot of trouble with that spell.”

Death peered up at him. “You had a lot of trouble with letting yourself want anything.”

Urgh.

Harry flicked him. “Stop poking at my trauma.”

“It’s just so hard to avoid.” Death drawled, twitching out of the way of Harry’s next poke. “Light magic is powered by emotions, something you have never had problems summoning even if control of those emotions can be a little spotty.”

Harry pasted a sickly smile on his face. “Want me to demonstrate some of that lack of control?” He put his hand on the pillow and stroked it in what he hoped was a threatening way.

“Neutral Magic,” Death announced, avoiding any eye contact with Harry. “The vast majority of magic is neutral. Based on pure will or intent, neutral spells are precise - the incantations and wand movements are more important in neutral magic than they are in Light and Dark magic. Precision matters and a clear mind.”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek and kept stroking the pillow, the material soothing and smooth under his fingers.

“So casting a patronus doesn’t make you a light wizard?”

“No more than casting Accio makes you a dark one.”

“Then-“ Harry cut himself off, what? How could Dumbledore be a dark wizard? “Dumbledore hated dark magic.”

“Dark magic corrupted one person in Dumbledore’s life, one very important person.”

“So Dark magic does corrupt people?” Harry was grasping, for anything he had been told on this subject to be true. He could feel it rising in him, the need to get defensive of all the ‘facts’ he knew about dark magic. Desperate need for something to still be true.

“Power can corrupt.” Death murmured “And for some dark and light wizards that power can come too easily.” Death pressed his cheek into Harry’s side, the point of contact a welcome distraction from his frantic thoughts. “Dark magic being power by driving need or want can lend itself to use by ambitious wixen but there is nothing inherently corrupting about the magic itself.”

“It’s addictive to get what you want,” Harry spoke quietly.

They both settled into an uneasy silence, Death still tracing shapes and patterns into Harry’s hand.

“Why did Dumbledore blame magic?” Harry asked, screwing up his face, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Death’s tone was gentle when he responded. “Dumbledore saw dark magic as a method of gaining the power he and Grindlewald needed to change the world. They both did. Dumbledore had been seeking power in small ways his whole life but now he had a partner, an aim, a cause to fight for. The temptation to seek power, the temptation to pursue their goals no matter the cost, all for the sake of the ‘greater good’. And instead of recognising that as the lure that every powerful person must resist, he fixated on dark magic, sure that it was responsible for putting the temptation there.”

Harry slumped back on the sofa and stared up at the white abyss above him. “So Dumbledore was wrong about dark magic?”

“He was wrong about a lot of things Harry.” Harry sent Death a disbelieving look and the being just stared back. “He was wrong about you.”

“He was wrong about me?”

“Of course he was!” Death released his hand to pat Harry cheerfully on the cheek, finally rising from his seat on the floor to shuffle Harry over until they sat side by side again. Harry grumbled when his knees were shoved unceremoniously into his chest but moved over nonetheless. “When Dumbledore saw you being angry at your situation or feeling sympathy for a young Tom Riddle or speaking to snakes…” Death glanced at him eyes sparkling with humour. “He thought it was evidence that Voldemort was influencing you, pulling you towards evil.” Death rolled his eyes again. “As if anyone sensible could look at you and see evil-“

“But-“ When Harry started to interrupt Death firmly placed his hand over Harry’s mouth, Harry glared but Death just smirked back at him.

“The first two are just you being human, you were expressing valid emotions. You were an abused teenager going through puberty and a level of pressure that most adults couldn’t deal with.” Harry flinched at the matter-of-fact outline but was prevented from answering when Death’s hand tightened on his face. “And Tom Riddle was sympathetic, he had a tough life that in many ways paralleled your own. Terrible childhoods were something Dumbledore has never had much empathy for, having never experienced it himself.”

Harry glared down at Death's hand and considered licking it.

“Ah, ah, Harry let me finish.” Harry opened his mouth and hovered his tongue threateningly. Death did not seem intimidated. “The final one, the parseltongue, was a result of the Horcrux Voldemort gave you but it wasn’t an indication of evil. It’s not a common skill but it isn’t a singular one either, there are usually four or five parselmouths kicking around in India at any one time and Australia has a surprising number considering the small wixen population there.”

There was a lot to unpack there. Harry decided to try and delay that particular breakdown til later. To distract from all the thoughts he didn’t want to linger on, Harry licked Death’s hand. The being only lightly grimaced before wiping off his hand on Harry’s jeans.

Harry didn’t even bother to glare, the guy was clearly shameless.

Death luckily didn’t try and push that line of discussion any further, moving swiftly on to his next point with a small flourish, cup of tea arriving steaming back into his hand. “If there is one thing Dumbledore always had in spades it was the conviction that he was right. The conviction he was right, along with enough intelligence and raw power to back it up and too few people to question him.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “You make him sound like some kind of dictator.”

Death chuckled lightly. “In another life, Dumbledore would have made an incredible cult leader and in some ways, he did build a cult of worship around himself.” When Harry looked ready to interject Death flapped his hands at him. Harry was shocked enough by the graceless move to remain silent. “Unintentionally, and with all the best intentions in the world, but when a clever man is left to follow his own convictions with the genuine approval and encouragement of everyone around him- well. It becomes easy to label those who disagree as evil, ignorant or stupid.”

Harry considered this completely different take on a man he had spent a solid portion of the last seven years trying to work out. “He-“ Harry frowned. “Dumbledore would never-“

Death wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Listen here sweetcheeks,” Harry made a startled noise and Death grimaced, “Yes, that was weird for me too darling. I’ll avoid that one in the future.” He pursed his lips, frowning. “In any case - listen here, darling, I want you to be happy.” Death paused and looked conflicted for a moment. “Dumbledore was a general, to him you are a weapon and if you let yourself work with him again-“ Death cut himself off, voice rising before he breathed heavily in through his mouth, releasing the breath sharply and looking back at Harry. “I don’t believe that Dumbledore will ever let you be happy.”

Harry felt a rough mix of betrayal and disappointment. He knew Dumbledore cared. He knew that in some way at least Dumbledore loved him. The cynical part of Harry had been growing since Dumbledore’s death and rampaging since Harry’s forced suicide. The cynical part of Harry wondered how much you could really love someone and still be willing to sacrifice them. One thing he absolutely knew was true, had known was true since the fourth year, Harry’s happiness had never been a priority.

“If I can ask you to do anything love, it’s to consider what’s important to you. Dumbledore made his choices, about dark magic, about what he thought evil was and he lived his life by those choices.” Death pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, a move that left Harry deeply confused and Death chuckling. “All I ask is that you find out more information, look at things through your own eyes and make decisions based on what you think will make you happiest.”

Harry groaned. “You make it sound simple.”

Death shrugged, “Humans make things so complicated.”

—————

Andromeda had excused herself when Harry spoke himself to exhaustion, coming back twenty minutes later with red eyes and a fresh pot of tea.

They sat in silence for another couple of minutes, slowly sipping their tea and occasionally catching the other’s eye. Harry had another biscuit.

“There are some steps we’ll need to take in order to secure an immediate release from your current guardians.”

Harry nodded.

“We should contact a healer, I can contact the ministry today to start a file with the Family Office. Your current guardians are muggles so we will need to file evidence with the muggle police system as well.” Harry choked on his next sip but didn’t say anything to correct her. “Any magical child-“ Andromeda cut herself off and frowned down at her tea. “Any child deserves to have a home they feel safe in.”

Harry just focused on his tea, the silence seemed to be helping Andromeda to think over the next steps, and Harry didn’t know what to say in any case. Her next words came out in a rapid, ramble. The dictaquill she’d produced from her bag midway through their previous conversation started scribbling notes onto a new piece of parchment.

“The first step is to get you to a healer, then we can look at getting magical evidence entered into the muggle system, after that, we should outline some options for temporary custody and contact the ministry to let them know that urgent action needs to be taken on behalf of a child.” Andromeda looked fierce, bright grey eyes lighting her face with just a hint of the madness that was so typical of her younger sister. “We can start preparing a case for the family office and do some initial discovery on how your abuse has been left uncovered for this long. I have owled my partner and we are willing to take on your case pro-bono, she will be on her way back soon as she wants to talk about-“

Harry could barely keep up with the rapid-fire list of tasks that the eldest Black sister was spitting out. “I don’t need it to be pro bono.” Harry blurted, keen to cut in on the overwhelming torrent of information.

Andromeda cut off immediately when Harry interrupted and patted Harry lightly on the hand, he managed not to flinch this time. “Pro-bono just means that you don’t have to pay us, if you’re uncomfortable with that we can look into other funding options there are several charities out there-“

“I don’t need charity!” Harry exclaimed, immediately blushing when Andromeda continued to pat his hand.

“There is no shame-“

“No!” Harry yelled and then immediately clapped his hand over his mouth, staring wide-eyed at the surprised looking Andromeda. “Sorry!” Harry squeaked, “No, I don’t need charity. I have money.”

Andromeda’s eyebrows raised and she couldn’t stop the flick of an eye down to Harry’s clothes. “I would much prefer that you keep-“

“I didn’t have money before.” Harry interrupted and poor, abused orphan or not Harry was going to have to stop interrupting Andromeda soon or he would be murdered, if the glint of growing frustration in her eyes was anything to go by, “I only found out yesterday but I have money at Gringotts, lots of money. I can pay.”

“You only found out yesterday that you have money?” Andromeda asked, confusion showing openly on her face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I only found out yesterday that I have magic so I went to the bank and now I’ve found out I also have money.” Andromeda looked horrified. “It was less surprising than the magic if I’m being honest.”

“How did you find out about magic?”

Harry started to realise how woefully prepared he was to actually answer questions. He had no plan for this.

He needed an explanation that didn’t include his Hogwarts letter because that hadn’t arrived yet.

And he couldn’t point to any allies because he didn’t have any yet.

And he had just spent 2 hours describing all the ways in which his muggle family had not helped him.

“I found some letters from my mum when I was cleaning the attic.”

There we go that was reasonable.

“She was talking about magic and Hogwarts, all this stuff about spells and potions.”

There were letters, Harry had found them just before he vacated 4 Privet Drive last time around. Stuffed in a mouldy box in the attic, letters from his mother to her sister that she loved, put away where nobody could see them.

Andromeda looked baffled. “You found out magic was real from a letter and came straight to London?”

Harry blushed. Not such a brilliant explanation then. “I worked out one of my neighbours was a wizard and he explained some things to me. He gave me directions to the Leaky Cauldron.” Imaginary adult friend was a great plan, love this plan, it would give him all the excuses for knowing things already. Harry was actually feeling a bit smug about it.

“What’s this wizard’s name?”

f*ck. Yep, he definitely should have planned for this. He blurted the first name that came to mind.

“Peverell.” Oh, that was not a good choice.

This was going to go so badly.

“There’s a member of the Peverell family in Surrey?” Andromeda murmured to herself, “Strange.”

His mind flashed back to the list of services offered by the goblins, he was going to have to head back to Gringotts immediately after this if he was going to have any chance of making that name work.

“He hasn’t been there long.” Harry blurted, “I think he was staying with a muggle friend.” Harry needed to get better at lying, or planning, being sh*t at both was no longer an option.

Andromeda just made a note on the parchment in front of her, then looked back up, “First name?”

“Mort.” f*ck, what had possessed him to say that.

“Mort?”

“Yeah,” Harry gestured vaguely, “I think it’s short for Mortimer?” That was a name people actually had right? Unlike f*cking Mort.

“Did he bring you into London today?”

Harry shook his head, “No, I got the train.” Based on Andromeda’s face that was not the right answer.

“On your own?” Andromeda’s lips pursed into a thin line that reminded Harry of McGonagall. He wasn’t going to be able to hide that he’d been wandering around on his own.

For now, he just shrugged.

“Did your new wizard friend tell you to do that?” Andromeda’s tone was icy. “Did he tell you to leave your aunt and uncle’s house?”

“No.” Because of course not, responsible adults didn’t let ten-year-olds wander around London on their own, Harry was starting to understand how few responsible adults he’d ever met. “He told me to wait and he’d take me next weekend.” There, make the imaginary adult sound somewhat responsible. “He said that magical children with non-magical guardians were really common and that someone from the school would be coming to explain things.”

Hopefully, that should be enough to avoid any more questions about how he got here. As well as make it sound like ‘Mort’ assumed he was a muggleborn. And probably wasn’t a Death Eater. Not that Andromeda knew to be worried about that yet.

“So he told you about the leaky cauldron?” Andromeda still sounded sceptical but she had, at least, stopped actively glaring.

“Yeah, he told me about Diagon Alley too, and the goblins and then he told me about some of the cool things magic can do.” Harry widened his eyes and prayed on the power of cuteness to get him through. “Did you know that magic can turn a teapot into a kitten? It was the coolest thing I have ever seen.”

Andromeda softened, her eyes turning misty. “Magic can do many wonderful things.” She frowned slightly, “Now I understand why you might hesitate to give out too many personal details but before we go any further I really do need to know your name.”

Harry grimaced and scuffed his feet on the floor. This was going to suck. “Er, well.” Harry glanced at Andromeda from under his lashes, she looked calm and Andromeda had always been very sensible every time he had encountered her previously. “My name is Harry Potter.”

She dropped her teacup.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m Harry Potter.” He waved slightly. “Sorry?”

Andromeda looked down at the stack of notes in front of her and then looked at the shattered cup of tea. “Excuse me a moment, I will just go replace that.”

And then she left the room.

Harry was most of the way through the plate of biscuits when she came back.

“Apologies for the wait Mr Potter.”

“No problem Mrs Tonks.”

“Call me Andromeda please.”

“Then I’m Harry.”

“Harry, right.” Andromeda shuffled her notes. “Harry Potter.” She flicked back through her notes and blanched. “So when you found out about magic yesterday did anyone mention to you the circ*mstances around your parent's deaths?”

Harry felt bad about this, he really did. But there was absolutely no way he could reasonably explain learning about who he was in the magical world without a lot of on-the-spot planning.

And Harry reckoned he had done enough on-the-spot planning today to last him a good while. Enough on-the-spot planning that he was probably going to have to ask Gringotts to help him set up a pseudonym and that was inevitably going to be complicated.

Harry was just going to have to hope this was forgivable.

He looked up at Andromeda with the widest eyes he could muster. “I’m sorry ma’am, what do you mean? My parents died in a car crash.”

—————

An hour later Harry escaped with the excuse of a Gringotts appointment, relief didn’t even describe what he was feeling. Euphoria maybe. Leaving Andromeda’s office felt like walking on air, gravity turned down low.

It turns out that it didn’t matter that he knew all this stuff already. Hearing about his parent’s deaths was traumatic no matter how lightly the blow was given.

Both he and Andromeda had been in tears by the end. Harry was reasonably sure that the only reason he was being allowed to walk to Gringotts on his own was that Andromeda needed some time to recover.

She had seemed slightly shell-shocked to realise just how much Harry had been kept in the dark. Harry had used her distraction as an opportunity to head out, muttering a promise to be back after lunch.

Harry darted back out the door, setting off at a brisk pace towards Vertic Alley. Spotting a small gap between two of the townhouses Harry dipped into to access his trunk, quickly pulling on a casual robe over his Dursley monstrosities.

He made his way towards Gringotts as quickly as he could, ducking between hurrying wixen and using his height to his advantage to rapidly move through the crowds. Monday lunchtime was far busier than Sunday afternoon and the wixen moving back and forth across the alley seemed to all be on some kind of errand.

Harry nodded to the security goblins this time and got a nod back from one of them, the other one just glared but Harry figured he was making some ground.

Hopefully, Bloodaxe would have some time for him today, if not he would make an appointment and spend the hours of freedom he had before Andromeda caught up with him shopping.

He had a feeling his current freedom would be short-lived so he needed to prioritise getting some of the less-than-legal supplies he might need for the next few months.

Harry queued up again, waiting patiently in line behind a wizard that Harry thought might be trying to insult the goblins in every way possible before leaving the bank.

“Look I understand you half-breeds need to feel important but I don’t understand how you can justify keeping gold from an upstanding member of the wizarding community.” The Wizard seemed to be completely oblivious to the attention he was drawing and Harry edged away from the red-faced wixen when the Gringotts guards came close enough to loom. “I demand-“

“You demand that we close your accounts and see you out of these halls?” The strident voice cracked across the room, sending a few of the other wizards in the space scuttling towards the sides. “A request we are quite happy to grant Mr Bagman, providing you pay the fines levied against you.”

Harry finally recognised the spluttering wizard in front of him as Ludo Bagman and watched in fascination as the man visibly quailed.

Bloodaxe strode forward, eating up the distance between him and the yellow and black-clad wizard who was looking increasingly unsure. Unfortunately, Bagman glanced behind him and seemed to rally at the sight of other wixen, even if they were obviously distancing themselves.

“Listen here, goblin, I said nothing of the sort! I am merely arguing that the trumped-up fines against my account are nothing more than this stupid bank’s-“

Harry rolled his eyes when the wizard physically recoiled from Bloodaxe when the goblin got closer, stuttering into silence. Bagman was clearly sizing up the unusually large goblin and coming to the conclusion everyone in the bank had already reached; He had no chance.

Bagman gaped at Bloodaxe and Harry could hear the goblins around him quietly clicking their teeth, Harry was hard-pressed not to join them.

“Now sir, if you are finished making a scene in my bank. I would request that you to sign what you need to in order to accept the fines.” Bloodaxe raised a single terrifying eyebrow, “Unless you do plan on closing your account today? If you wish to do so I am sure Sharptooth here will be able to help you.”

A particularly vicious-looking goblin separated himself from the wall and grinned threateningly at Bagman who visibly swallowed and stared openly at the vicious dagger strapped to Sharptooth’s waist.

Bloodaxe waited a moment for the terrified wizard to gibber out something that could be interpreted as assent before his eyes swept over the rest of the chamber.

Harry waved.

Bloodaxe clicked his teeth and moved closer. He was more intimidating now he was out from behind his desk, Harry tried not to visibly stiffen but based on Bloodaxe's smirk he didn't manage it. “Back again little wizard! What can I help you with today?”

Harry smiled back and gave a slight bow. He figured being polite, particularly after such a public dressing down would only help double down on Bloodaxe’s point with Bagman. “I was hoping to request a new service of you Master Bloodaxe, I was about to enquire at the desk to see if you had any appointments available.”

Bloodaxe raised his eyebrow at the bow but returned it with a short nod, Harry imagined the picture of a small, well-dressed wizard child bowing politely to a goblin would be a new one for a lot of the wixen in this hall.

“As it is little wizard I am free now, follow me.”

Harry nodded politely to Sharpaxe and ignored Ludo Bagman as he followed Bloodaxe out of the hall and into the maze of bewildering corridors he remembered from the day before.

“You’re back so soon Mr Potter,” Bloodaxe commented, his voice was mild but his eyes were sharp. “I did not expect you to make it through your backdated correspondence for another few weeks and I know you would not come back to me with questions until you had exhausted your own resources.”

Harry blushed and tried to look like a competent person, or at least as competent as a ten-year-old could look. “Ah no Master Goblin, I do not want to waste your time with questions. At this time. Or any other time. Yep.”

Bloodaxe clicked his teeth and glanced over at Harry. “Good to hear it small one.”

Harry thought that was a bit rich, he was only an inch or so smaller than Bloodaxe but pointing that out wouldn’t be doing himself any favours. “I was hoping to ask about some of the other services on the form you gave me.”

That lit an acquisitional light in Bloodaxe’s eyes and the goblin suddenly looked far more welcoming. “Ah, in that case, be welcome to my office little wizard.”

Bloodaxe gestured Harry through into a familiar room, and Harry hovered over the visitor’s chair as Bloodaxe settled himself behind his desk. As soon as Bloodaxe looked up Harry blurted, “Master Goblin I was hoping to enquire about your document creation services.”

The silence was lingering and Harry slowly lowered himself into the seat.

“Have you lost your documents, little wizard?”

Harry boggled for a moment. “Er, am I meant to have documents?”

“Not many, and most of them contained in the documentation you received yesterday,” Bloodaxe sneered, “Which begs the question of why you need this service?”

This was going to be a risk. A risk based on some assumptions Harry was making about goblins and their willingness to do certain things if the price was right. Bloodaxe had made it pretty clear in their last meeting that he was willing to work with Harry in return for gold. And Harry had a lot of gold.

“It is for a friend.” Harry ventured. “A very close friend who you might say is incredibly similar to me, some people might even call him the same person.”

Bloodaxe quirked an eyebrow, mouth already set in a smirk.

“He is older, much older, and has offered to help me out by representing me in places where a child my age might struggle.” Harry was walking a really thin line here.

“A good friend then little wizard, a close friend.”

“Yes, very close.”

“And your friend needs documents?”

Harry nodded earnestly, unsettled when that caused Bloodaxe to grin. “He unfortunately lost them and he’s had no luck at the ministry getting them replaced.”

Bloodaxe’s grin widened. “Yes, the British Ministry is quite inept.”

Harry nodded in fervent agreement.

“And they really don’t look as closely as they should at their records.”

Bloodaxe examined one sharp claw.

“Of course, this friend of yours must have been home-schooled and has probably spent the last couple of decades travelling.”

“Er, yes. Yes, he has.”

“Very normal, and of course now he wants to return to British shores he will need to open a vault with us or do you plan on assigning him one of the Potter vaults? Alongside the main vault and the trust vault you also have several vaults from obsolete families under your management.” Bloodaxe’s glance here definitely indicated that this was something Bloodaxe believed Harry should know. “Such as the Stinchcombe, Birdwhistle and Peverell vaults.”

Harry gaped at him for a moment. “Right, right” he repeated faintly. “The Peverell Vault I think.”

“A generous gift indeed.” Bloodaxe raised both eyebrows. “What is the name of your friend?”

“Mortimer,” Harry answered, voice finally coming back to him. “Mortimer Peverell.”

—————

Negotiating with goblins was exhausting. The bastards enjoyed it. Harry had never seen a group of beings so excited to haggle, when they finally settled on a price Bloodaxe actually looked disappointed.

He clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Nothing like a good set of negotiations to properly get you set up for the day, thanks for coming by little wizard. Make sure you come by again once you’re up to date on your accounts, I have a couple of investments I think you might be very interested in.”

If it hadn’t already been clear from his time in the bank yesterday, the last forty-five minutes would have confirmed it. The goblins didn’t think Harry being ten was important or relevant to his relationship with his bank manager, at all.

Harry was discovering that goblins didn’t really have a concept for coming of age, Harry had come into the bank as a customer. Therefore, he was declaring himself capable of making decisions, entering contracts and dealing with investments.

And Gringotts was part of the goblin nation, so the ministry’s weird wixen laws about ages didn’t apply.

Harry didn’t know whether he should be thankful or terrified.

Harry bowed again and this time Bloodaxe’s nod in return was a little deeper. Harry was still pretty sure the goblin did not particularly like him but he was possibly rating higher than most wizards so Harry was going to hold on to that for as long as possible.

Harry headed out of the bank, nodding to the still cheerful-looking Sharptooth and darting around the still cautious-looking wixen in the bank. Even if they hadn’t heard about Ludo Bagman’s adventures that morning one happy goblin was enough of a warning for any sensible wizard.

Harry pulled on his black cloak as he went, using an argument outside one of the potion shops as a distraction to hide him slipping into Knockturn. This time he layered a scent-blocking charm alongside his notice-me-not and he was relieved when he didn’t seem to pick up any followers.

This time he made his way further into the maze of alleyways that made up Knockturn, waving awkwardly at Lettie who was poking at the lacklustre display outside of her shop. Lettie just snorted and waved him off. “Nice try laddie, next time try something to hide the overall adorableness. It comes off you in waves little one.”

Harry pouted.

“Yes, just like that.”

Harry grinned at her under the cloak and twisted his wand to obscure his face with black fog, a charm he’d learned specifically to mess with Ron. He’d mostly used it to hide Ron’s book bag from him in the mornings when he was sleepy-eyed and blurry. It had become a game between Seamus, Dean and Harry to see how long they could go before Ron woke himself up.

Now, based on Lettie’s impressed eyebrow it was working to obscure his face.

“I’ll work on that, thanks Lettie,” Harry called out cheerfully, several heads turning to look their way.

“Maybe work on a voice changing charm at the same time,” Lettie muttered with an eye roll.

Harry blushed but at least now nobody could see that.

He made his way to a bookshop tucked away not far from Lettie’s and nodded in the direction of the bookseller who was slumped behind the counter at the back, the man was unsettlingly pale and barely shifted to acknowledge the presence of a customer.

Harry tried to keep an eye on him as he explored the shop but he was quickly engrossed in the shelves, amassing a pile of levitating books that soon surpassed his current height.

There were books on rituals, curses and blood magic, some of the books sent a violent shiver of magic through his hands and he tucked those directly under his arm.

By the time he made it around the shop his pile of floating books was threatening to revolt so he was happy to pay quickly and direct them straight into his trunk. He floated the ‘zingy’ books as he was mentally describing them onto a separate shelf to go through another time. The owner didn’t seem to be fazed and he blinked slowly down at the handful of coins Harry had thrust at him.

“Hav’a good evenin’ ma’am”, was muttered vaguely in his direction as he left. No concerns about being remembered there then.

He quickly ran through another three bookshops, the owners of each barely sparing him and his purchases a glance.

Heading back into the street and glancing down at his beat-up digital watch Harry roughly calculated that he probably had another half an hour before Andromeda would be expecting him.

Plenty of time for a stop by Eeylops Owl Emporium.

After going through all the effort of setting up documentation for one Mort Peverell it would be a shame if Harry let that go to waste. He needed an owl that couldn’t be traced back to him because it would be pretty suspicious if Mort Peverell used Hogwarts owls.

Anyway, Harry wanted to check on a friend.

The shop was dark and crowded with what little light entered through the dusty windows reflecting off blinking eyes from the shadows. Low hoots reverberated through the store and Harry soon found himself staring around with a wary fascination as his eyes got used to the light levels and he started to be able to make out the rounded feathery forms of owls shuffling on their perches, or snoozing in cages hung around the room.

Harry looked around curiously, but the owner had stepped out somewhere so he was left to hover and feel uncomfortably watched by dozens of bright, glowing eyes.

Before Harry could become uncomfortable enough to leave a screech echoed through the shop followed by a flurry of flapping wings and muffled swearing from the back. The door behind the counter opened with a bang that sent most of the birds flinching off their perches, the air was suddenly full of ruffled feathers and squawking.

Harry was tempted to leave as the noise became overwhelming, but before he could move towards the door two blurry forms descended on him with speed. He found himself grasped by both shoulders and he tamped down on his first instinct to flinch and he threw out a protective arm to stop his attacker.

Harry was left confused when the weight on his shoulders didn’t abate but he could see, or feel, any incoming attack. Turning to look at one shoulder he was met with shining, yellow eyes, set in the face of the most beautiful snowy owl he had ever seen. Would ever see.

“Hedwig,” Harry breathed, staring up into the startling eyes of his first friend. “You found me.”

Hedwig hooted softly before reaching up to tidy his hair with her beak. A second hoot, a firmer one this time, that clearly expressed her opinion that he’d let himself go since she last saw him.

Harry couldn’t help the tears.

Hedwig. She was here, whole, and alive.

He ran his finger through the downy feathers of her breast, a familiar coo rising to his lips. “Such a beautiful girl.”

She tossed her head and Harry found himself laughing. “I know, I know. The most beautiful.”

A second hoot brought his attention back to his other shoulder where a much heavier weight was resting. When Harry turned to look he wasn’t quite sure how his tiny body was managing to hold up such a massive bird.

The largest eagle owl Harry had ever seen was perched, imperiously on his shoulder. His feathers were dappled, thick bands of black and brown running through light orange, almost white feathers. The imposing ear tufts that marked him as an eagle owl framed shockingly orange eyes that almost seemed to glow at Harry in the low light.

Now he had summoned Harry’s attention the owl took a moment to hoot loudly in Harry’s face before settling down further onto Harry’s shoulder. Clearly there to stay.

Hardly daring to tear his eye from the owl, who appeared to now be pretending that he had always been there, Harry muttered to Hedwig. “Is this a friend of yours?”

Hedwig just cooed at him before going back to making Harry’s hair the kind of mess only an owl could be satisfied by.

“Ruddy owls,” a grumpy voice muttered from the depths of the back rooms, “Why couldn’t mam be obsessed with some normal animal? Crups! I could deal with crups, cute little buggers. Or rabbits, something that’ll stay where’ya put it.”

The door behind the counter was shoved further open and a pile of boxes made their way into the room, the man carrying the boxes leaning heavily against the doorframe with his face entirely blocked from view.

“Oh no, Toby,” the man’s voice went high-pitched and posh. “We couldn’t possibly stock anything but owls for they are the noblest of creatures.” The man snorted and returned to his own voice. “Noble my arse, f*ckin’ owls are the stupidest, bird-brained waste of good grain I’ve seen in my life. I’d prefer a f*ckin’ Kneazle.”

The man let the boxes drop to the floor and sighed deeply as he started to rip open the tops and unpack a shipment of what looked like owl treats onto the counter.

Harry stared at him for a couple of moments, unsure if he was being deliberately ignored or if the man genuinely hadn’t seen him. Harry glanced at the owls currently occupying his shoulders and supposed he could currently be dismissed as a strange perch.

Harry cleared his throat and the man jumped almost a foot in the air swearing a blue streak that sent the owls off, flapping and hooting again.

For several seconds chaos reigned in the shop, feathers floated through the air. The mad flapping of so many wings sent several things flying and rolling off the desk, including a large box of receipts which soon joined the feathers being whipped around in the air.

“Enough!” yelled the man, “Please dear MERLIN, I BEG Y’STOP.”

The anguished cry of a shop assistant driven to madness brought the chaos to a screeching halt as the owls of the shop seemed to take pity on him. They settled with minimal hooting back on their perches and only a small Screech Owl kept going, his last loud call cut off by his perchmate who silenced him by knocking him off said perch with a wing.

“Oh, thank Morgana,” the man muttered settling his head in his hands as relative silence finally reigned.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do, he didn’t want to instigate another riot but the man had clearly forgotten his presence again.

He moved quietly through the shop, making sure his feet scuffed on the floor so he wasn’t completely silent and came to stand in front of the counter.

After another couple of seconds, Harry decided to try again, softly. “Erm, excuse me, sir.”

The man violently twitched but thankfully didn’t disturb any of the birds who had gone back to low hooting and blinking eyes. The man raised his head and all Harry could honestly say about the man was that he looked tired.

His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and the bags under his eyes looked permanent. He stared down at Harry with confusion. “You want t’buy an owl?”

“Yes please sir.”

“Why?” The man spat.

“Erm,” Harry and Hedwig shared a look before he looked back at the man. “I like them?” When the man looked like he might be about to explode Harry quickly added, “Dead useful for post too of course.”

The man visibly slumped. “It’s always about the bleedin’ post,” the man muttered under his breath before reddened eyes came back up to stare fixedly at Harry. “Are yer sure yer want an owl?”

Harry glanced at the other owl on his other shoulder who seemed to be rolling its eyes. Right, because that was something owls did. “Er, yes, definitely sir.” He hesitated for a moment. “Why don’t you like owls, sir?”

The man narrowed his eyes at Harry suspiciously for a moment, before seemingly deciding that it wasn’t a trick question. Harry was a bit baffled as to what could qualify as a trick question in this respect. The man leaned over the desk, glancing at the owls flanking Harry’s shoulders he leaned in further, bringing his face very close to Harry’s.

“Y’know they’re nocturnal, yeah?” The man whispered.

Harry hesitated before nodding.

“This shop is open during the day.” The man stated, staring deep into Harry’s eyes. “The owls know this. They know.”

Harry nodded. “Ah.” He said.

A slightly frenetic gleam entered the man’s eyes and glanced frantically between Hedwig and the eagle owl. “Are yer gonna take some of them away?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, staring into the owl-man’s eyes felt hypnotic in a really uncomfortable way. “Yes. I would like to take these two owls away.”

“Two?!” The man almost sobbed, “Yer takin’ two?”

Harry pulled twenty galleons out of his bag and laid them on the counter. “Yes sir,” he murmured and started to back away from the counter. “Two owls.”

“Oh bless yeh.” The man’s eyes filled with tears

Harry reached the door and blindly felt for the handle.

“Bless ye.” The man whispered as Harry slipped out of the door.

Harry closed the door softly behind him and stepped back into the street. “I think we’ll head over to Magical Menagerie for your food and stuff Hedwig, he’s had a rough day.”