DISCLAIMER: Anything remotely recognizable or somehow similar to those epic masterpieces my cousin swears by (namely, the works of J.K. Rowling), belong solely to that esteemed authoress. Obviously, if you recognize anything else in here it's A: something I stole from you or your kin (unlikely, but humanly conceivable), B: from the dream you had last night (highly unlikely, although possible on the planes of cosmic chance), or C: a cliche (too likely for my taste and, unfortunately, very very probable).
Chapter 1
The Letter That Started It All
The small, cramped bedroom was messy, messier than it had ever been before. Chocolate Frog wrappers, crumpled school robes, a set of Transfiguration textbooks, mismatched socks, and several editions of the Daily Prophet littered the floor along with a tarnished cauldron, a bag of Owl Treats, a pair of well-worn trainers, and a couple balding quills.
The fifteen-year-old wizard who inhabited the disorderly room stirred slightly, rolling over on the bed that would soon be too small for his 5'11" frame.
Harry Potter woke as an insistent tapping worked its way through his dreams. Opening his eyes, it took him a moment to register where he was; he had revisited the Department of Mysteries in his nightmares. But no, here he was, in the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive, far away from anything strange, mysterious or magical.
Looking around to find where the tapping was coming from, Harry saw his owl, Hedwig, sitting on the frame outside his window with a patient look in her amber eyes.
"Coming, girl," Harry said, rolling out of bed. When the window opened, Hedwig swooped in, dropping a letter on his bed before settling herself in her cage.
"Thanks," Harry said, scrambling over to scoop up the envelope. Hedwig hooted sleepily.
The envelope was sturdy parchment and other than Harry's address, there was nothing more on the outside.
"Should I open it?" Harry asked no one in particular. Even Hedwig didn't answer, seeing as she had already drifted off to sleep.
Harry shrugged and tore open the letter.
It read:
Dear Mr. Harry James Potter:
I offer you my sincerest condolences on behalf of Gringotts Bank concerning the recent loss of your godfather, Mr. Sirius Black.
But, it pleases me to inform you that due to circumstances, there have been several changes made to your personal estate. Please attend a meeting with your advisors at 9 o'clock a.m. on July 2nd, that is, today, at Gringotts.
It is understood that you are under surveillance by the Order of the Phoenix and also are currently abiding in the home of a family whose attitude towards magic is somewhat aggressive. Therefore, to make transportation easier for your, it has been arranged that this letter will activate as a Portkey at precisely 8:57 a.m. and will send you directly to Gringotts.
This is a matter of extreme delicacy and importance, so I would ask you to keep the particulars of this meeting to yourself. If you have any questions, I would be delighted to answer them when we meet.
May you gain much gold and vanquish your enemies.
Regards,
Snapfang
Department of Inheritance
Gringotts Bank
Harry stared at the letter for a moment. He had never before received a letter from Gringotts. He ran a hand through his untidy black hair. For all the nice, neutral words in the letter, Harry distinctly got the impression that he was not being invited to the bank. Rather, Harry was certain this was a summons, and one he should not ignore.
"Well, I guess I'm going to Gringotts," Harry said aloud. He sat for a minute on his bed before glancing at his watch and deciding that he should probably get ready.
As he dressed in hand-me-down jeans much too large for him and a T-shirt, Harry wondered vaguely if Dumbledore would be angry at him for leaving Privet Drive without permission or an escort.
Harry pulled his trainers on and reread the letter, getting especially puzzled when he saw the words "Department of Inheritance" under the signature.
"Inheritance..." Harry said, his voice trailing off, as if he was waiting for someone to tell him more.
Then, he felt a jerk behind his navel.
