Chapter Two: Interlude

'All… all his stuff are still here', remarked Arthur Weasley sadly. 'Look, he didn't even finish his cup of tea. It's as if he would be coming back at any moment.'

'Not all his things, Arthur, not all…' Murmured Dumbledore, examining the closet like bedroom Harry had been forced to live in, a great step up from the cupboard under the stairs Harry had lived in for the first eleven years of his life. 'I believe his invisibility cloak is not here.'

'Well, makes sense', replied Arthur sadly. 'That's how he must have snuck past Fletcher.'

'Indeed…' Dumbledore replied. 'Has the invisibility cloak been found though?'

'I'm not sure', answered Arthur, puzzled. 'Perhaps the death eaters took it with them. Invisibility cloaks are fairly rare, you know.'

'Perhaps…' Was all Dumbledore said.

The two wizards sat there in silence, each contemplating the future of a wizarding world without Harry. They've just arrived to Privet Drive from the scene of the murder. Ministry aurors were still combing it for clues to what had occurred in that alley, though the result could not have been more clearly displayed. Harry was dead, with a conjured dagger right through his heart. From the residual magic in the air, it looked like he had been hit with at least one killing curse as well. Whoever killed Harry sure didn't want to take any chances of being embarrassed by another miraculous survival on Harry's part.

Dumbledore had examined the body himself, and found no trace of deceptive or treacherous magic on it. In fact, it was as if the body was devoid of all magic. Not being an expert on wizard autopsies, Dumbledore wisely left the ministry in charge of the rest.

The two wizards were still struggling with their memories when an owl flew into the window and dropped a letter on Mr. Weasley's head. Opening it only half-heartedly, Arthur was surprised by its message. He quickly handed it over to Dumbledore.

'When do you think he made it?' Asked Mr. Weasley when it looked like Dumbledore had finished reading.

'I do not know. Though I can only imagine it was some time recent, for I have asked to be appraised of all his Gringotts activities', replied Dumbledore, frowning.

'You've been keeping tabs on his banking activities?' questioned Arthur, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

'Well, someone had to', answered Dumbledore sadly. 'Though we often forget, Harry was, after all, just a fifteen years old boy. I did not want him to spend all his money away irresponsibly.'

'But he would not have… He's not like that. Perhaps you give him too little credit', said Arthur with melancholy.

'Indeed, I may have', Dumbledore answered. 'Shall we go to Gringotts?'

'Yes, I suppose we ought', agreed Arthur, putting a locking charm on Harry's room, with all his things safely inside. 'We should send someone to get all these later.'

And with that, the two wizards apparated away, right through the failing anti-apparation wards that Dumbledore had planned to renew that very day.

………………..

'He actually wrote this today?' Asked an incredulous Arthur to the goblin sitting in front of him. He, Dumbledore, Lupin, and, to their surprise, Tonks were all summoned to Gringotts, and shown to this luxurious office, decorated lavishly with gold linings everywhere. The entire sight conferred to the precious metal quite a cheapened look. Arthur supposed that this was perhaps the very effect the goblin sitting in front of him was trying to achieve.

Actually, Dumbledore was not summoned at all, but no one had dared to deny entrance to the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared.

'That is correct, Mr. Weasley', replied the goblin importantly. 'Today, at around noon, in fact. The ministry has already issued a death certificate and the related records. We saw no reason to not inform you right away. Mr. Potter has, after all, left you (here, the goblin cast a glance to all except Dumbledore) all of the money within his own vault.'

'This… This is… I cannot…' started Arthur before being cutoff.

'You said his own vault, are you implying that he has, sorry, he had, shared vaults with other people?' asked Dumbledore, curious.

'That information is confidential, Headmaster Dumbledore', said the goblin politely. Turning to Mr. Weasley, he continued: 'Mr. Potter left you 60 percent of what is left within his vault. He had also set aside 1000 galleons for each of Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley, Ms. Ginevra Molly Weasley, and Ms. Hermione Jane Granger that he entrusted you to pass on to them when you deem they are responsible enough to receive such a sum of money.'

Turning to Remus Lupin, the goblin continued: 'Mr. Potter left you 30 percent of the money still left in his vault at the time of his death, along with all of his earthly possessions.' Remus nodded calmly, knowing something the other three did not.

Turning to Tonks, who was openly crying, for some strange reason, the goblin finished: 'Mr. Potter left you with 10 percent of his vault's contents, along with a certain estate he recently inherited from a certain Mr. Sirius Orion Black.'

Tonks nodded quietly, tears running freely now. She knew Harry had left her the mansion due to her distant relation with the Black family. Though why Harry didn't leave it with Dumbledore instead confused her. Adding to her confusion was that 10 percent of extra money he left her with.

Arthur was silent, lost in his own thoughts. Dumbledore was puzzled by the incredible coincidental timing between the making of Harry's will and his death. He shared his puzzlement with Remus, the only person who seemed sane at the moment. Remus gave Dumbledore a look that the old wizard would have thought to be bordering on condescending.

'Well, he came to make his will, but got killed on his way back. I see no coincidence in this at all.'

A bit later, Dumbledore silently left the three to their paperwork (for the appropriate money and property transfers). He needed to talk to his own contact within Gringotts. Then, he must call for a meeting with all the members of the Order… It was going to be a long night for Albus Dumbledore.

………………..

Harry had just put the finishing touches on the simple wards to his fairly austere new flat. He had correctly gambled on assumption that the ministry was somehow tracking his spell casting using his wand, and by using another wand than his, he had effortlessly sidestepped the restriction on underage wizardry.

It's really kind of obvious, if one takes the time to think about it, thought Harry in a way he learned from Hermione. How else can they track so precisely my spell castings? They were able to know exactly what spells were cast around me at any place and any time! If they can just do that to anyone, then there would be a lot less mysteries to solve, and a much easier time tracking down criminals. They really must have put something on my wand to detect all nearby magic. I wonder if they ever take it off when one comes of age…

Harry had been keeping himself rather busy since 'his untimely death'. After having been found by a hooting Hedwig, who was simply returning from one of her hunts, only minutes following his conversation with Lupin, Harry fearfully realized his giant mistake.

Obviously, he had not planned this whole getting away thing as well as he should have. Thus, the very first thing he did after the whole 'fake my own death' ordeal was to rush back into Diagon Alley, under the cover of his newly acquired gray cloak, fanatically looking and opportunely finding a book on illusions and concealment, and more specifically, the spell to confuse delivery owls, which he had immediately devoted all his energies to master.

Fortunately for Harry, he had received only one other owl during the few dozen minutes it took him to successfully put up the ward on himself; the spell was, to his great luck, very akin to the Confundus charm he knew so well. The owl he had received was from the ministry, telling him the usual about violation of underage wizardry, suspension, expulsion, etc., etc.

Harry had guiltily cast a few Confundus charms on the delivery owl, before sending it back into the sky, hoping whatever ministry official checked on the owls would simply assume that this one was all confused by its intended target's death. Harry also had, reluctantly and to the great protest of Hedwig, tainted her pure white feathers into a dirty brown, knowing she would draw far too much attention in her snow-white plumage.

Harry would be paying for that caution with a week of cold shoulder from his faithful companion.

Having dodged disaster once again, Harry had gone on to sign in to a shady motel that night, knowing that a strong showing of cash would quell any prying questions in those places. He had decided he could find a more permanent place later, which he had done the very next morning, in a building with a fair number of furnished vacancies, located conveniently at a walking distance from the Leaky Cauldron. However, the price was unusually high for the neighborhood his new flat was in: one far less virtuous than his old neighborhood in Surrey; hence the high vacancy.

Harry used the remainder of the day to walk around a few muggle stores, buying all sorts of clothes to disguise himself in. Most of his clothes purchases were, through no explicit intent on Harry's part, of a light color, and he had found a few interesting hats and bandanas to cover his scar with.

Having finished with the simple wards on his new apartment, Harry now turned his attention back to the concealment book he had bought yesterday. Flipping through it, he noticed that most of the spells the book exposed were all related on how to better hide oneself, or how to better pass as someone else. So… This is what I've been reduced to, Harry thought irritably. Hiding away like a thief when I've done nothing wrong. Just like Sirius had…

Shaking his head in bitter disgust, Harry silently wondered, for the very first time, if there isn't something fundamentally wrong with the wizarding world. He had always thought that the adults, in general, knew what they were doing, and must have installed all these laws and regulations for very good reasons, result of countless years of experience. But thinking back now, Harry couldn't help but feel that the ministry of magic acted more like a spoiled child than an organization that was supposed to oversee the welfare of its citizens. He pondered on these thoughts well into the night, falling asleep uncomfortably on his sofa…

………………..

He was feeling so very alone, floating in the darkness, abandoned by his so-called 'family', surrounded by cold mists that he could not recognize. Wait, mists? Darkness? Where was he? With a startling realization, he realized that he was underwater, and the cold mists surrounding him were actually the frigid liquid of the uncharted depths of the world. How did he get here? Had he not been in a forest only awhile back?

Suddenly, the world turned bright orange, and the water around him started to boil. He remembered vaguely to wonder at why he was not feeling any pain from the heat, though had he focused a bit more, he would have wondered about something far more fundamental: how was he breathing under water?

The eerie light dimmed, unable to compete against the sheer volume of the freezing water around it, though it still managed to turn the perpetual night of the abyss into unfamiliar daylight. Creatures of all sorts, born to the everlasting darkness of the depths, fled away from the light, unable to withstand its blinding radiance. He, however, was not afraid. He knew what light was. He approached.

A fissure had been opened at the bottom of the world, pouring the incandescent light of burning flames into the oceanic depths. Still a fair distance away, he miraculously recalled teachings from his tormented childhood. Was this magma from the burning core, about to erupt? As if responding to his thoughts, the fissure burst open.

What was spewing out amazed him.

A pair of demonic figures, glowing with the undead blaze of horror stories, sprung forth, the stench of death and decay foreshadowing them. In their wake, giant, mansion-sized, masses of shimmering light followed…

He woke up with a mental start, the dream about his past vivid in his mind. Slowly, he smiled. A smile that, for once, actually reached his glowing red eyes.

………………..

Harry woke up the next day feeling refreshed and able to take on the weight of the world. Which he, of course, literally had to.

After a quick and well cooked breakfast, Harry decided to start organizing his jumbled thoughts about Voldemort, prophecies, and trainings onto a piece of paper. After awhile, he realized something very frustrating: even if he could miraculously start studying and learning like Hermione, which he obviously couldn't, the best he could hope for before his next encounter with Voldemort would be to master very advanced spells of shield charms and stunners, and other charms and hexes with such trivial functionalities.

What good would those be against Voldemort, thought Harry darkly. Any ministry auror can do all these and more! They would all stand a better chance at defeating the Dark Lord than me. I would need something far more powerful than what I can learn in a textbook. And what's with Dumbledore and not wanting to kill Tom? Is Dumbledore really that afraid of tainting his own conscience? Then who is he to make countless suffer just so he can sleep more soundly at night? And didn't Dumbledore defeat some other dark lord way back? So why can't he do it again?

At this point, Harry was pacing back and forth in his little apartment, starting to get angry once more. He wisely decided to take a walk to calm himself down. Perhaps he'd even try out some of the muggle treats he had only heard while living at the Dursley's.

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