Secrets
cupcakes-and-wisdom
Chapter 1
Have you ever wondered, even just for a second, why it is within the human nature to form a society? I have. Societies are manipulative and rude, and, every now and then, they cause a hell lot of unwelcome trouble for a poor unsuspecting individual. In this case, that's me. Harry James Potter, the Chosen One, the-boy-who-lived, the-brat-who-wouldn't-die, call me whatever you want. This is my true story, one that's not messed with by a certain old man. Read on if you're not afraid of the truth.
You see, the way my life is portrayed through the 'Harry Potter' series, is a bunch of lies, from fifth year on. What you, as muggles, read for entertainment or fun, is actually a true story, but warped to fit someone's expectations. In these books, you'll have noticed, I'm sure, the bravery, intelligence, nobility and helpfulness which is Albus Dumbledore. What you won't have seen is the cunningness, manipulation and fraud which is truly Albus Dumbledore. Don't worry about it, I didn't either. At least not until the summer after fourth year.
...
I had been hiding all summer. Hiding from the heat, hiding from my relatives, hiding from the muggle world. All I wanted was to simply apparate back to where I belonged; with Sirius, my godfather. All summer, the only news I had received was the Daily Prophet, delivered to me daily by a tawny owl who would nip at my fingers while awaiting his payment of 6 knuts.
The Daily Prophet is a tabloid. No, it's not a gossipy bunch of pointless articles which contain idiocies such as who got the latest, trendiest tattoo. It's a true newspaper, containing news, political situations, current problems and much, much more. Now the problem with the prophet is that it's owned. Owned? You ask. Well, everything is owned. Someone has to own the bloody thing. You say, pushing away all proof that this particular newspaper is a tabloid. However, I can then rebuke your argument by explaining the magical world's political situation.
Currently, the Ministry of Magic, the MoM, is the holder of power. MoM is actually a pretty correct acronym. The Ministry denies anything which causes them trouble, and warps any problems so that they're not issues, and so, naturally, they're always correct. They manipulate, model and turn once solid, standing pieces of information into putty at their touch. All in all, they're a bunch of slimy, manipulative gits with a bunch of money and power. So basically, they own the prophet and are throwing out all sorts of rubbish about Dumbledore and I. About how we're insane, about how we're lying weirdo's, etc., etc., etc. I internally snort to myself whenever I read another one of their: 'Potter/Plotter?' articles. Or I laugh. Depends on my mood.
All this to say that my only source of news the whole summer was from a bunch of people in denial who portray me either as a liar, a nutter or a murderer. Which made me pretty angry. (Not the MoM part, I had come to terms with that a long while ago, the getting no news from my friends part.) So, a frequent way to spend time was to lie on my bed and reflect on Stuff. Important Stuff. Which led me to sit at my desk and label a piece of paper Blame. Blame contained several rows; one for the MoM, one for Dumbledore and one for Voldy. And as I went through all my years from birth and dissected every problem I had faced within my 15 years of being alive, I grew angrier and angrier. Because as my life on the paper progressed, more and more little lines of Blame appeared under the Dumbledore column. And I started to doubt. And Blame.
I was certain of two things; one, that my parents had loved me and two, that Voldemort had killed them, leading to me becoming the-brat-who-would-not-die. So, if my parents had loved me, no screw that, since my parents had loved me, why did they organize it for me to be placed under the care of my abusive, idiotic, stupid and violent muggle relatives? And as this train of thought progressed, I wondered if they had intended for me to end up here at all, which then caused me to wonder who had placed me here, which then led me to place another Line of Blame under Dumbledore's column.
Determined to find out the truth, I set to writing a letter to Gringotts after some consideration. I had read somewhere about how Gringotts was not only a bank, but also held wills and such. So I contacted them and asked them whether they had my parents will. They replied shortly via a goblin named Ragnok. He explained that yes, they did, but that they had been instructed to keep it closed until the rightful heir was found. They said that since I had contacted them directly in the premise of finding the will, they had permission to reveal its up-opened contents to me, and we then arranged a meeting for this purpose.
So that's how I found myself, after several hours of roaming the underground and wondering what today was going to reveal, sitting in front of Ragnok, hands clasped and placed on my lap, face void of emotion.
"Sir, you must sign this confirmation that you acknowledge searching for your inheritance yourself by dropping your blood onto the parchment, please."
"Of course"
"Harry James Potter, you are hereby named the one and only true heir to Lord James Potter's title as Lord of the Moste Ancient and Noble House of Potter. "
There was a flash of white light and I blinked in bewilderment.
"I'm sorry, Ragnok, what does that mean?"
"It means, Sir –"
"Oh, please don't call me Sir, you can call me Harry:" I interrupted and a strange look passed over Ragnok's face before he bowed and thanked me.
"Well, it means, Harry, that you now have an honorary place amongst the Wizangamot as heir to one of the original 15 Pure-blood houses. It also means that now you have full possession of the Potter estates, wealth and objects."
"Don't you have to be of age to receive such … privileges?"
"It is true that, under normal circumstances, you must be 17 years old to receive this. However, it is clearly stated in your parents' will that you were meant to receive this position and its benefits as soon as your they passed away. This is extremely worrying, as it proves that someone tampered with the first and foremost laws binding wills, as you have only received this information at your own request."
I pondered on this for a little while. So now I was a Lord, and owned the estates, wealth and possessions of the Potter House. That granted me full independence, which meant I could leave the Durseleys'?
"Uh, Ragnok, does this mean that the normal age restrictions on performing magic, apparition and um, living arrangements are lifted as well?" I asked, crossing my fingers under the table and scrutinizing Ragnok's face for any signs of a yes.
"It appears so." The goblin replied, the tiniest signs of a smile appearing at the twitch of his lips.
"Um, Ragnok, do I need an … um, well, like an agent or something?"
I stuttered, not knowing how I could handle all this on my own. I was, after all, only 15 years old. I internally blushed at how awkward I sounded, and decided that I had to improve on talking to people, so I shifted in my seat and met his eyes.
At that question, the goblin's face lit up. "Well, James and Lily were good friends to us goblins, which is unlike many wizards today, as they like to associate us as the equivalent to house elves, some sort of servants. I would like to clarify that we are a different folk entirely to you, and that the goblin nation do not think very highly of many wizards, so it was rare to know people such as James and Lily. Ah, yes, I knew your parents, Harry;" he said as the shock registered on my face, "yes, I did, and they were two of the best wizards I have ever met. I had the honor of being their estate, property and finance manager, and I would be honored to help you as well,"
Ragnok finished, and smiled at the expression on the my face. "Yes please, Sir" came my polite response, and then I proceeded to ask for a full list of what I now possessed.
After two long hours of signing contracts and such, I emerged from the bank feeling older. I was now Lord Potter, and owned 5 residences around the world, which included a manor in the Scottish Highlands, a cottage (but which was now rather wrecked) in Godric's Hollow, a holiday home in the Maldives, another manor in France for the House's business with the French MoM and an apartment in muggle London. I also had a vault that contained all the Potter Heirlooms and another with their full wealth, as well as the trust vault, which I had believed was the extent of my wealth before today.
Ragnok had explained the blood wards that Dumbledore had placed around Privet Drive were now useless as my magic had 'come of age' and therefore, I am no longer traceable or under the protection of these blood wards. I smiled, delighted to be free of the Dursleys. I was now an independent man.
Ragnok had explained that I was allowed to apparate as well, but advised me to take the course and obtain the license so the MoM couldn't find an excuse to put me under lock and key. So I set off to the apparition quarter in Diagon Alley and obtained my license.
Now that I was seriously rich and the heir of one of the oldest pureblood lines ever, I understood that I required proper clothing. I had proudly on my finger the Potter Ring, which underlined my new title. As I walked into Madam Malkins, I ordered many different sets of Dress Robes, all with the Potter crest printed on them. After flashing her my ring, Madam Malkin was subdued and quiet, calling me 'my Lord Potter' which made me laugh and insist she call me Harry. She gave me a reduction which I refused as I had quite enough money to pay for a couple of clothes, thank you very much. That, and, it seemed just pure wrong to have to pay less than someone else simply because of my name.
Once I left the shop, I muttered the activation password to the imbedded portkey on my ring to take me to the Manor in the Highlands. After some consideration and advice from Ragnok, we had made that my primary residence. He had explained how the ring held a portkey which could only be used by myself and which could, with the right activation codes, transport me to the residence of my wish.
So I arrived at the front door to the Manor, and I timidly reached out to the doorknob. To my complete and utter surprise, the door swung open at my touch. When I took my first step into the entrance hall, there were two loud cracks, and then two house elves stood before me. With a small gasp from each of their mouths, they started talking over each other at a rate that was completely confusing to me.
"Lord"
"Harry"
"Potter"
"What an honor, Sir"
"We're your loyal elves, Sir"
"I'm Binky and this is Dinky, Sir"
And then all at once they stopped talking as if they realized that I was standing there, mouth open like a fish, utterly gob smacked. The Potters had two house elves? What had they done whilst I was away and my parents were dead?
As if sensing my confusion, Dinky shyly took my hand and led me to a wide comfortable room, which I assumed was a living room, and sat me down. They then explained that they had been waiting for their heir to come back to them, and that they had been taking care of the 5 properties, and had been alerted the moment he stepped inside, due to the privacy wards which were layered on the estate. I nodded and cringed every time they called my Master, or Sir. So after they had finished explaining, I introduced myself and explained that I had been prevented from reaching my parents' will by Dumbledore, and that I was honored to meet them and that please, they could call me Harry. At this, Dinky started sobbing and muttering that I was too kind, and that I reminded her of James, and dear, dear Lily.
I just sort of stood there awkwardly until Binky smiled and took my hand, and then they both proceeded to give me the official tour of the house until I was completely confused by where the library, kitchen, dining halls, ball rooms, living rooms, living quarters and everything else were in this maze of 5 floors.
Finally they left me in the study, scolding me by saying that I was too skinny, and that they were going to cook up a meal for me. I sat down in the plush arm chair where I wistfully imagined my dad sat before me, and I started writing letters. The first was to Sirius, asking him please to floo to the Potter Residence. Then the same were sent to Hermione and Ron.
Sirius got there first, and we had intense discussions involving a certain white-haired headmaster, and then we came up with a plan, which both Ron and Hermione, who had both arrived shortly after Sirius, agreed to. Late at night, the former two left with promises to visit the next day and leaving Sirius to stay the night in one of the many other bedrooms which were part of the Potter Residence.
Finally, I lay back on my bed, staring at my bedroom ceiling that had been charmed to reveal the night sky above me, and I just took a moment to take in all that had happened that day. And that's how I fell asleep, on my back, with a big smile stretched across my face.
