I do not own Harry Potter
Chapter Two
"Up and at'em," Mr. Weasley's voice echoed through the halls of the Burrow rousing its occupants from the blessed sleep. "Quickly, quickly now. Can't be late."
Harry woke from his pleasant dream with a groan, only to be confronted with Ron's loudest snore of the night. Getting up off the cot that was his bed, he stretched and then walked over to Ron's bed before pulling the covers off him.
"Hey, why the bloody hell'd you do that" Ron slurred, still mostly asleep.
"The World Cup, remember. We're leaving in a few minutes" Harry said as he grabbed his toiletries from his trunk and walked out the bedroom, hoping to beat someone to the bathroom. He made it just in time for Percy to exit the closest one, still half-asleep and all he did was grunt when Harry said good morning.
Turning on the light in the bathroom Harry looked at himself in the mirror before closing the door and making sure it was locked. Hesitantly he reached up to his neck and removed the silver stag chain. The moment the chain was over his head, his features blurred for a brief moment before they changed completely. It had been his morning ritual, remove the chain that kept the transfiguration in place to see how far the changes had come. It had only been three days since he received it from Sirius, yet the face looking back at him in the mirror, his true face, bore no resemblance to James Potter, at all. His eyes were completely blue, shining like sapphires. His hair, once black and untamable was now whiter than Malfoy's and easily treatable.
Gone were the soft cheekbones and pale skin; they had been replaced with more angular features. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut something on, skin turning a light peach tone which looked like it got more sunlight than was normally possible in England. Perhaps the only change he actually liked, was that he no longer needed glasses to see. He had simply woken up one morning and was seeing perfectly. He had smiled at the thought, as he had always hated his glasses, their tendency to steam up or how them falling off could put him out of a game until he found them. Apart from the obvious physical changes and the life of lies he'd been living with, the most pressing was the fact that the bloody lightning bolt scar was still on his forehead, though it was not as visible against his more flushed skin.
His reverie was interrupted by a banging at the door. "Oi, Potter, come on. Some of us have things to do" Ron said pounding on the door. Quickly putting the necklace back on, his features blurred before returning to the almost perfect clone of James Potter he was trying to be. He flushed the toilet, just to make it sound he had been doing something, and opened the door, greeted by a still half asleep Ron who just walked past him. Returning to the bedroom he got his pack ready for the overnight trip to the World Cup. He quickly added in the Potter Family Grimoire to the bottomless enchanted bag and made sure the Potter ring was safely tucked inside the envelope it had come in before stashing it underneath his Quidditch clothes. He doubted he would need it for the trip to the World Cup. Closing his trunk, he pointed his wand at the lock and with a muttered incantation and a stream of silver mist, the trunk was locked; unable to be opened by anyone until he returned.
He joined Mr. Weasley and Hermione in the kitchen, just in front of Ginny and several minutes later, Ron. With everybody that wasn't apparating to the grounds present, Mr. Weasley led them out of the house and into the nearby orchard. After numerous encounters with fallen branches, barely highlighted by the rising sun through the trees, they stumbled upon two other people standing at the base of a hill.
"Amos, is that you" Mr. Weasley yelled, getting the attention of the two people.
"Certainly is, Arthur. Running behind schedule are we" Amos yelled back.
"Amos Diggory, everyone. Works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, he does," Arthur replied before yelled back, "not at all, it's still there isn't it?"
"Only for a couple more minutes, best hurry."
Their more relaxed pace turned into a rough jog as they made their way up the hill. As they reached closer to the base of the hill, Harry could see who the men were. One of them, the older one was obviously Amos, Mr. Weasley's friend. The other though was Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff seeker that Harry had lost to the previous year. Mr. Diggory shook Mr. Weasley's hand as they made their way up the hill.
"My, my, Harry Potter," Mr. Diggory said as he shook Harry's hand enthusiastically. "Amos Diggory, how do you do? Cedric's told me about your flying skills, told me you were impressive. Still, though nowhere near my Cedric, not after that game."
"Dad," Cedric said, "I told you what happened. It was hardly his fault."
"Still, Cedric, nothing to be humble about. Not every day a Potter is beaten at something."
Harry felt anger swell up inside him. 'I'd like to see him fend off a swarm of dementors. Maybe that'd show him' Harry thought. Looking down he saw that his hands were shaking from the anger that he was feeling. He tried to get his mind off of saying anything, or doing anything, hostile to Diggory.
Harry's mind flashbacked to the papers he had received from Blightfang with his allied houses on it. Diggory wasn't on it, but he could still sense the hard tone of Mr. Diggory's voice. This wasn't bragging, this was directed straight at him. He briefly wondered which family the Diggory's had signed to, he had a feeling the answer was Dumbledore, they seemed too friendly with the Weasley's to have signed for Malfoy and the only other option was the Blacks. He was brought out of musings by a yell from Ron to hurry up. Looking down at his hand he saw it was no longer shaking with anger. He quickly ran up the hill to catch up with the others. He didn't know what he was expecting, certainly not the old, moldy looking boot that was there.
'That's the portkey' Harry thought as he adjusted his bag, so he could take hold of the boot better, just moments after Cedric had grabbed hold of the boot he felt a pull somewhere in his back, not unlike when he used his ring, and the next moment his vision was full of vibrant colors as he was being whisked to who-knows-where. The next moment he was kneeling on the grass, still holding the boot with everybody else. Looking around he saw that their surroundings has changed. Gone was the hill towering over the wood instead they were on a flat meadow with nothing but green grass on one side, the other though was filled with tents of varying size and colors, stretching as far as the eyes could see.
It was here that the Diggory's parted ways, something that Harry was grateful for. Though he was calmer now than when he first met the elder Diggory, he really didn't want to chance it. They made their way through the bustle of the World Cup until they arrived at a small tent with a sign saying Weasley on it. Harry stepped into the tent, expecting it to be cramped, instead it was so big it felt like it was its own house. Unlike with the Burrow where people had to share rooms, there was none of that here. Harry took the room next to Ron's and across from the twins, with Hermione and Ginny taking the rooms further down the hall.
"Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup, I am your commentator Ludo Bagman," the commentator's voice rang through the golden stadium. "We have two incredible teams for you tonight. First the runners up, they haven't lost a single match, this season and are the local favorite to win. Please welcome the Ireland National Team."
In a sparkle of green and gold the players flew around the pitch several times before the sparkles joined together to form a giant leprechaun who danced around the stadium before exploding into a shower of gold that fell onto the crowd.
"Next the reigning champions please welcome the Bulgarian National Team."
Before anybody on broomsticks flew out though Harry immediately noticed something. Seven figures walked out onto the pitch, each covered in burgundy cloaks obscuring their faces. Something inside him immediately felt a pull to them. He didn't know how to describe it, the closest he could say was it felt like kinship. Moments later the cloaks were thrown off to reveal seven of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. It also caused an enormous uproar throughout the stadium. While there had been cheering before now there were people needing to be restrained as they attempted to get the attention of the women, some even tried to jump over to railings to get to them. Looking around he noticed that only a few men, and almost all the women, were unaffected. Ron was being restrained by Bill with both Mr. Weasley and Charlie holding one of the twins down.
"What's going on" he yelled over the roar of the wolf whistles and attention-grabbing noises.
"Veela," Mr. Weasley yelled over the crowd as he pulled Fred back into his seat, "a little bit of notice would have been appreciated. Their all entranced."
As Bagman tried to restore order to the stadium Harry watched as the veela put their cloaks back on and walked off the pitch. The moment they disappeared from view the entranced men seemed to regain their composure, Ron sat back in his chair with a half-dazed look on his face, smiling idiotically. Harry was about to say something to Ron when burgundy streaks flew into the stadium. While the Irish team had gotten cheers most of the stadium was now firmly chanting "KRUM. KRUM." The scoreboard disappeared for a moment, being replaced with a moving picture of a boy, only a little bit older than Harry. His nose was hideously curved, and his eyebrows were so thick Harry thought they looked like caterpillars. Beside him Ron was spouting off trivia about him in between loudly cheering. Moments later, the game began.
Later that night after an astonishing game where Ireland had won, though Krum had shocked everyone while catching the snitch, Harry had settled down on one of the couches in the Weasley tent going over one of the pages in the Potter grimoire regarding about transfiguration, something he had been hiding from his friends for the past couple of days. Since returning from Potter manor, Harry had meticulously delved into his studies with a vigor that surprised even Hermione. Ron had been upset saying that he was losing another friend to books though Harry had ignored him. Hermione had asked to look at the grimoire and had been upset when the pages had appeared blank. Harry had said it had been a charm to prevent non-Potters from seeing the powerful magic inside, though Harry knew better. He had cast the spell on all his books to prevent people from seeing what he was reading.
The books had been a godsend and had already taught him more in the last week than the professors had in three years. He had used the potions book to understand more about the subject than what Snape taught. He had even rewritten his potions homework, doubling its length as he explained the complications in combining asphodel with dragon's blood. The grimoire however had been the master stroke, with spells in every language from every corner of the planet Harry knew it would be a great tool in the fight against Voldemort.
"The Irish are celebrating pretty hard" Fred said smiling as he downed the last of his butterbeer.
"It's not the Irish," Mr. Weasley said terror evident in his voice. "Get your things we're leaving. Go for the wood where we arrived, wait there for me. Fred, George you're in charge in of Ginny."
The moment they stepped outside the tent they were confronted with a scene more like a battlefield than a campground. The horizon beyond the tents was red with fire and the stench of smoke filled the air. Almost immediately they were swept away from the tent in the river of desperate witches and wizards that were fleeing the cause of the disaster. Looking around Harry was unable to see anybody he recognized through the darkness. He reached into his bag fumbling past his clothes for his wand. Just as he managed to get a grip on it, a large blast of orange and red magic tore through the swarm of people just a few feet in front of him, knocking people over onto the rough path or sending them flying backwards into the air.
As his vision adjusted he saw flashes of green light and heard maniacal cackling. Reaching his chest, he realized that his pack had come loose from the blast. Looking around he saw it laying beside a blonde girl that had been knocked down as well. He saw that the girl was starting to come around from whatever injuries she had sustained. But looking past her, he saw that a dark figure, one wrapped from head to toe in black robes with a silver mask obscuring their face, had turned towards them.
"Well, well, well," the dark figure said, "look who we have here. The boy-who-lived, this is going to be fun. Crucio."
The next thing Harry knew it felt like his body was on fire, like thousands of white hot knives were slowly scrapping away at his nerves. He clenched his teeth, not willing to give this person the benefit of hearing him scream. Through his watery eyes he could see, between himself and the man, just a few feet from his bag, was his wand. The man was slowly closing on him which would mean he would soon be blocked from getting to it. He looked over at the girl who had finally gotten herself up from the ground. She was crouching behind one of the tents as if she was waiting for the man. Harry watched as she brought her hands together and held them close. Through tears Harry could see smoke rise from them and a moment later a bright whitish blue ball of fire erupted between them.
Turning back to the man Harry was surprised when the pain started to fade, despite the man advancing on him, with his wand still trained on him. The pain had faded somewhat though his hands still felt like they were on fire. Looking down he could see that his hands, much like the girls were also smoking. He looked up just in time for the blonde to jump out from behind the tent and hurl the fireball at the man. The moment it hit the man was consumed by the whitish blue flame. Harry pushed himself off the ground, the pain from the cruciatus having disappeared when the man was distracted. He looked at the girl whose eyes were wide open as she stared at him, specifically his hands. Looking down they were still smoking. Harry was about to say something when a loud pop came from the area surrounding him. Looking over he saw that another figure, dressed in identical robes though obviously a woman had appeared as well. She was kneeling over the now unmoving body of the first figure. Then she turned to them.
"You killed him," she roared, "now I'll kill you. Do what the Dark Lord couldn't."
Harry looked over at his wand laying on the ground a few feet from him. If he could reach it before the woman let off a spell he could put her down. His planning was interrupted by the woman muttering a curse he was unfamiliar which let forth a silver, arrow-like, contrail that speed towards them. The moment the spell left her wand, Harry found his hands burning again. Looking down in confusion he saw his hands were no longer bare, but rather wreathed in black flames. The blonde shouted something from behind him and his attention was brought back to the silver spell, it was too close for him to get to his wand. He did the only thing he could think of, he put his hands in front of him. The next thing he knew the air was alive with black flames roaring from his hands, they impacted the woman and sent her through the air where she landed with a sickening thud. Even after she had hit the ground the flames kept spewing forth causing the air to get hot and ripple maliciously. Felling someone looking at him he turned towards the blonde girl whose blue eyes were wide in shock. Slowly she stepped forwards, placing her hand over his.
"Don't you'll get burned" Harry tried to warn her, but as her hand took hold of his, she didn't cry out in pain as he was expecting. Instead she spoke in a calm soothing accent, one diffidently not British.
"You need to keep calm," she said, "you control the fire, it doesn't control you."
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. He did his best to take the anger and fear that was coming forwards and hold it back. He didn't know how long he did this but eventually his hand stopped burning and all he could feel was the warmth of the blonde's hand. Opening his eyes, he saw that the flames had vanished, leaving no evidence they had existed apart from the sizzling of the air and the burning corpses on the ground. Harry looked at the girl, now that there wasn't a psychopathic piece oh shit trying to kill them, he could take in her appearance. She was certainly beautiful, with long pale white hair and startling blue eyes. In fact, it was these eyes that drew him in most. He flashbacked to the previous morning when he had looked at his true self in the mirror of the Burrow. They were exactly the same, from the almond shape to the shade of blue. Her skin was almost the same as his, though a little bit darker and she was just a bit taller too.
"Who are you" she asked, though it had been muttered Harry doubted it should have heard it.
"Harry Potter" he said, holding out his hand welcomingly. She just looked at it for a moment before taking his hand and saying.
"Fleur Delacour."
Before anything else could be said an enormous green light erupted in the black, smoky sky. Looking up they watched as the light formed a menacing looking skull and a giant snake, which reminded Harry of the basilisk coming from Slytherin's statue came out of the mouth before slithering around in the air.
"We need to get out of here" Harry said. He picked up his wand and his pack. Making sure nothing else had fallen out during the blast he put it on and started walking away.
"Hey, you're just going to leave a poor defenseless girl here by herself" Fleur yelled after him.
Turning around he pointed to the charring skeletons and said "you did that. Defenseless isn't a word I'd used to describe you." That said he stepped over a fallen tent as he made his way towards the wood where he had portkeyed in, hoping that the Weasley's hadn't left him here. After several feet he turned around to see if Fleur was still there only to see that she had walked off.
"Harry" someone yelled. Turning towards the voice he saw that it had been Ron and Hermione calling his name.
"Harry James Potter," Hermione started, "don't you ever do that to us again." His brunette friend crashed into him hugging him with such force he thought his ribs would crack.
"Yeah, mate we were worried. Dad's had a few auror pals keep an eye out for you" Ron said as he patted Harry on the shoulder.
"Did anyone else get hurt" Harry asked as they made their way towards where Mr. Weasley was standing.
"Ginny's got a sprained ankle, nothing too serious" Ron replied as Mr. Weasley practically ran towards them.
"Merlin's beard, Harry," Mr. Weasley began, "where were you? We were terrified something had happened to you."
"Sorry," Harry said, "the crowd got attacked and I got separated. Found a deserted tent and stayed in there until the commotion died down."
Harry was amazed he didn't feel ashamed lying to Mr. Weasley. He was even more surprised he didn't even care he had just taken a life and charred the persons skeleton probably beyond all possibility of identification. A week ago, he'd have been horrified, probably breaking down into a cry in the corner and engaging in an astonishing level of self-hate and pity. Now though, there was nothing but calmness and a little exhilaration. Something inside of him didn't care that he had killed one person and watched another burn to death. And he kind of liked it.
The next day, Harry sat on the cot in Ron's bedroom at the Burrow looking down with anger and sadness at the parchment he was holding.
Mr. Potter,
I have recently conducted an audit of the Potter accounts. Since taking control of your estate in the fall of 1981, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has removed more than 300,000 Galleons from your primary account to his own. Due to the fact that these transfers were conducted and approved before any attempt to remove him from that position and emancipate yourself, I'm afraid there's little to be done about getting the money back, only know that it is a fraction of the true wealth of the Potter family.
Many families that owed your family money, either in rent or debt, have not paid a knut since the end of November 1981. Though I suspect Dumbledore having told them not to bother the fact is that because they did not pay, interest has been accruing on their debts for the last thirteen years. I have included a list of the people that owe money to House Potter and have yet to pay, along with how much money they owe and how long they have gone without paying.
I have also included a list of families that have received money from the Potter vaults from November 1981 up until this past August. In total there have been donations equaling at the most 1,836,250 galleons, 492,021 sickles, and 40,263 knuts. I am afraid like the money transferred to the Dumbledore account there is little that can be done to regain this money.
May Your Gold Flourish,
Blightfang- Potter Account Manager
Having looked over the papers included in the list of families that had taken donations from the Potter family vaults. He hadn't recognized a lot of them. McFadden, Smith, Croll. But it had been the name at the bottom of the first page that had gotten his attention the most. Weasley.
He had been sure his heart had stopped beating when he had read that name. According to the parchment since August of 1981 the Weasley family had been getting annual donations of at 1600 galleons. He had known Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for two years now, how had they not spoken to him about this? Did they not know it was his vault the money had been coming from? He was awoken from his thoughts by the sound of the fireplace erupting, the only person that flooed anywhere was Mr. Weasley. Hesitantly picking himself up off the cot he clutched the parchment in his hand he slowly walked down the stairs to the kitchen where he found Mr. Weasley raving about disappearing doorknobs in Milton Keynes.
"Ah, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, "how was your day?"
"Could have been better," Harry started, "I…uh, I need to talk to you about something. Both you and Mrs. Weasley."
"Certainly, Harry what is it" Mrs. Weasley said as she poured her husband a cup of tea.
"The sixteen hundred galleons a year you've been getting."
Mrs. Weasley froze in shock, the hot water cascading over the sides of the cup onto Mr. Weasley's hand being the only thing that got them out of it.
"How did you get our account statements" Mr. Weasley asked his voice trembling. It wasn't in anger, but it sounded like fear. It immediately stuck out to Harry as he replied "I didn't. I got my own."
The look that passed between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley made Harry suspect they knew it was from him. But he needed to be sure.
"Did you know? That it was from my family vault, I mean?"
Mr. Weasley sighed before nodding. "Bill started Hogwarts in 1981, that put a dent in our funds. You-Know-Who wasn't defeated until the end of October, Hogwarts started in September. Many of the departments had their funding cut to supplement the auror corps. We barely had enough for his supplies, not with five other mouths to feed and another on the way. November 5th, I was at work when I was approached by Headmaster Dumbledore. He handed me a Gringott's draft for 1600 galleons. Told me it was for hard work and to use it for my family. So, I did."
"When did you find out it had been from my family?"
"The year after," Mrs. Weasley said, "one night, when Arthur had just gotten home from work, Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix appeared with an envelope. Inside was another draft, 1600 galleons yet again. The next day I took it to Gringott's and tried to refuse it, the war had ended, we had been living well enough with what we had saved up, we didn't need it. I made a comment about the vault number and it being Dumbledore's, the goblin corrected me. He told me the vault number on the draft was from the Potter family vault. I tried to refuse it, did my best to have him reverse the transfer, but it had already been done, Dumbledore had thought ahead. We were told that if we didn't want the money, to donate it. We decided to keep it, save it up for an emergency. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Did you ever plan on telling me?"
There was silence which echoed through the room as a loud no.
"Dumbledore came to my office a couple of years ago, a day before you came to stay with us if I remember correctly. He told me that you were too young to know about any of this, he said he'd tell you when you were ready. I didn't question him, I had no reason to."
Harry stood in that spot going over it in his head. It was back to Dumbledore, interfering in things he had no right to get involved in. He was interrupted when the kitchen door opened and Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins walked inside, covered in dirt and laughing at an unheard joke. They stopped when they noticed the tension in the room between the elder Weasley's and Harry. Unable to even look at them Harry went up the stairs to his room and started packing his things into his trunk.
"Harry, what was that about" Ron said as he walked into his bedroom.
"Your parent kept a secret from me, something they should have told me years ago. They've been receiving years donations of 1600 galleons since 1981. And they were never planning on telling me" Harry said.
"Sixteen hundred, thirteen," Hermione said doing the calculations in her head, "that's over twenty thousand galleons."
"Your angry over money," Ron said. "The Potter's are rich, I thought you knew that."
Harry turned to his best friend and said "so you knew that? You knew I had more to my name than my father's invisibility cloak and you just, what forgot to tell me?"
"Forgot to tell you? I saw the gold in your vault, I know you know how rich you are."
"Yeah, I found out a week ago, Ron. I also found out I could have been free from the Dursley's when I was eleven. Instead I spent an extra four summers there when I never could have gone back."
"I always figured you knew. I just thought you were better than Malfoy, you know, not bragging about it. But a couple of galleons missing, and you turn into a spoiled brat."
"First off, Ron, twenty thousand galleons is more than a couple. Second it has nothing to do with the amount of money. If your parents had asked that I pay them for room and board for staying here, I gladly would have, they took me in when I had nowhere else to go. That's not the point. Your parents saw the rags I wore, they knew the money came from my vault, and yet they did not tell me. That is what I am upset about."
Harry turned back to his trunk and removed the envelope with the Potter ring on, the manor was the only place he could go.
"What are doing, Harry," Hermione asked.
"Packing. I need to leave, I can't stay here."
"Where are you gonna go?"
Harry turned to Hedwig who was sitting in her cage watched the three of them. He opened the cage and said, "fly to Potter Manor, girl. I'll see you when you get there."
Turning back his friends he opened his mouth to say something to them, only to realize the words were frozen on his tongue. Placing a hand on both Hedwig's cage and his trunk he said, "Potter Manor."
In a swirl of vibrant lighting he stood in the dark and dusty foyer of the manor, rather than on the outskirts as he had the first time. The moment he materialized Hedwig's cage and his trunk fell to the floor and he let out a scream that echoed throughout the barren manor. He screamed continuously for several minutes, stopping only to catch his breath before his throat started to get sore. He collapsed to the ground on his hands and knees, sobbing. He had hoped he could trust the Weasley's they had been there for him when they saved him from hell on earth and had taken him in out of the goodness of their hearts, or so he had thought. Wiping the tears from his eyes he reached into his shirt and removed the silver pendant from around his neck. Looking at it, he threw it as hard as he could, sending it sliding across the floor until it disappeared down the spiral staircase. Holding his right hand out in front of him he concentrated on feeling the warmth he had at the World Cup. He focused on his anger and fear, his desire for revenge, and hope that he could trust someone, anyone in his life. Finally heat spread across his hand and when he opened his eyes the black fire was roaring over it, bathing his surroundings in a deep purplish light. As he looked into the black fire he contemplated the last couple of days; the lies, the truths. There were two things he knew to be fact, Harry Potter had been betrayed by those sworn to stand by him and those he had saved. Second whoever he really was, whatever he really was, that was the real him. He may not have been born Harry Potter, but there was one thing for certain. He would make them pay.