Waking up after dying is as horrible as one would assume. His companion said that after the first time, the effects would be far less severe, but Harry no longer thought that that was much of a consolation anymore. It felt like Harry had been hit by several trains, thrown off the top of a sky scraper, and then force to chug multiple bottles of bleach at once. But hey, at least it seemed that his vision had improved. Literally die and come back to life just for some good o' 20/20.

Harry spent his first day with his new abilities in bed, nursing the worst death-hangover imaginable and summoning food and water when he needed it, which was often. Harry slept, ate, and groaned the day away, not even caring when his relatives kicked his door and snapped at him to start his chores.

On the second day, however, Harry was better than ever and itching with excitement—though he'd never let it show on the outside. He dressed in his best clothes—thank you, wandless magic and immortal being who cared about Harry's wellbeing—pinched a few notes from Petunias purse, and took several different forms of muggle transportation to London before walking the rest of the way to the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry didn't look at any of the witches or wizards within the pub as he calmly made his way straight for the back exit where the brick wall was that would take him to Diagon Alley. He would draw enough attention as it was by being so young and unescorted, he didn't need anyone finding out about his . . . past quite yet. There was a decent notice-me-not charm on him, but that wouldn't stop a full grown wizard if they were determined enough.

Harry followed his companion's explicit instructions and tapped his bare finger against the appropriate bricks and watched with internal fascination as the bricks shifted and moved until Harry stood before an archway that led into a bustling and busy Alley filled with shops and robe-clad wizards and witches. Ever since his birthday, Harry had noticed how his magic was much calmer, yet far quicker to answering his call. His training with Death had made Harry aware of his magical core, so it was strange feeling just how immense an 'insignificant amount' of Deaths magic had felt once added to his own.

Harry didn't dawdle at the entrance, not wanting anyone to see him and wonder why a boy who looks new to the world of magic would come here unescorted. Apparently, muggle-born students were sent their Hogwarts letters in the form of a member of staff arriving at their door to explain to the child and its parents that it was magic. Then the staff member would bring the student to Diagon Alley so that they could get their supplies.

Although Harry wasn't muggle-born, he still wouldn't have had any idea about this place without his companion. Harry briefly wondered how in the world he would have gotten the required supplies had he not already known about this place. Would a member of staff still visit him? Would he have to explain that yes, he already knew, and no, would not need to be escorted to Diagon Alley?

He was instructed swiftly through Diagon Alley and straight to the wizarding bank, Gringotts. Harry kept his focus singular as he walked up to the first unoccupied goblin teller he could find. The bank only had a few people around, but Harry couldn't get a good look at them because of their own notice-me-not spells—not that Harry wanted to see them really.

The goblin he approached, Bogrod, glanced disdainfully at Harry and then went back to what he was going without saying anything. Knowing what he knew about goblins, Harry felt quite amused by the quick dismissal. Goblins didn't like nor trust wizards and tended to treat every one of them with initial resentment. His deathly companion spoke quite fondly of the highly intelligent little creatures, so Harry felt nothing but amusement towards the otherwise rude gesture.

"I'd like to have a look at my vaults, please." Harry said politely after a short bow towards the creature. Bogrod watched him with a raised wickedly long eyebrow before responding.

"Key please." Bogrod's gruff voice was neither kind nor hateful, which Harry considered an improvement.

"I'm afraid I don't have one. I was orphaned at quite a young age and I am unsure of who might hold the key to my vaults now." Harry relayed with the same level of politeness as before. Bogrod didn't look pleased, but it didn't seem that the expression was meant for Harry. At least, not entirely.

Bogrod pulled out a piece of parchment that glinted gold in the warm light, and a pin. He handed Harry the pin and placed the parchment in front of him without saying a single word. Not needing anymore clues than that, Harry pricked his finger and held it over the parchment. When the third drop fell, Bogrod snatched the paper up with long clawed fingers and his eyes moved across the page quickly as if he was reading something, which, perhaps he was. Again, a long hairy eyebrow rose and Bogrod looked up at Harry for a long moment before back down at the parchment.

Harry waited in silence as the goblin read on. Suddenly the goblin froze. Then looked up at Harry with an unreadable expression. Without another word, the Goblin hopped down from his teller station and ran to the other end of the room to where the Head Goblin sat. Harry watched with detached interest at the whispered and frantic exchange between the two goblins. Harry's mind was elsewhere, thinking over his list of supplies he still needed to get before he left and wondering, vaguely, if there was going to be an issue with accessing the money his parents left him. Harry wasn't interested in money or wealth, but he didn't have any money of his own and there were things he simply needed.

Feeling slightly impatient and aware of how much he still needed to do, Harry calmly walked over to where the two goblins still had their heads bowed close to each other and didn't notice Harry until he stopped right in front of the high desk of the Head Goblin. The Head Goblin immediately turned to Harry and flashed a wicked and sharp toothed smile.

"Our sincerest apologies Mr. Potter. It was a surprise to see you coming in here alone, and even more so to see your titles. My employee had make sure that there wasn't a mistake in what he'd read." The goblin explained and the pale little creature seemed to pale even further. Harry didn't let his reactions show as his curiosity ate him up inside.

"I cannot say that I am fully aware of all of my titles or inheritances. I know that I cannot claim lordships, property, or family vaults until I am of age, but I would like to know now what I will actually be inheriting. Would you mind if I take a look?" Harry asked, pointing briefly at the golden parchment still in Bogrod's hand.

"Of course not! You can have a look at that before Bogrod takes you to your trust vault. When you return, I can give you a copy of this inheritance parchment so that you can keep a record of what you have. I can also summon your vault key. Only your magical guardian and you should have that key, and if they have not been using it to assist you financially, then there is no reason for them to have it anymore.

"You will be in charge of your own vaults, Mr. Potter. Should you give the key to someone, therefore initiating a change in magical guardianship, come back here to fill out the official forms. The forms cannot be signed under compulsion or imperio, so you need not worry about safety. If, in the future, you have any questions about your lordships or properties or vaults, please contact me." The Head Goblin's tone was actually . . . pleasant! Not what Harry had been expecting.

Harry took the offered parchment with a polite smile and began reading the black ink that he hadn't seen there before. Harry wasn't surprised by most of it, since his companion had already had a fairly accurate knowledge of these things already. There was the Potter lordship, of course, but also a few others that Harry didn't recognize. According to his friend, the lordships were from lines that had died out without a named heir that were either close friends of the Potters or the Potters were their closest relatives. They were small lordships, but would help if he ever stepped into the world of politics.

What caught Harry off guard, and what had probably ruffled the goblins up, was a title he hadn't ever expected to be on there. At the very bottom of the list of titles, signaling the most recently added title, was 'Master of Death.' Harry quirking an eyebrow was the only external acknowledgement to his shock as he turned his curiosity inward. His friend seemed overly amused by the title.

'Mortals and their ridiculous need to put a title to everything! I suppose if a title were to be put on what you are now, Mater of Death would work, but it sounds strange being that I am 'Death' and I have no master, certainly not you, child.' Death huffed and Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but he refrained, as he was in public. You know what they say about bad habits. . .

Harry handed the parchment back as Bogrod quickly moved down the small steps and came to stand in front of Harry.

"I don't have to say that this is never to be shown or spoken about to anyone. I will trust in what I have been told about Gringotts client confidentiality and will gladly accept that copy when I return." With a nod from the Head Goblin, Harry followed Bogrod deeper into the magical goblin bank.

…

Once all of Harry's affairs with Gringotts were sorted and he walked out with an expansion and feather-light charmed leather pouch of galleons and his vault key, Harry went to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions because he figured that it'd be best to finish with the robes first since he didn't know how long they would take to make. Harry was measured quickly by the flying tape measures and the severe Madam Malkin herself. When he was ushered to sit on a chair, he met another boy his age who seemed to also be getting his school robes.

The pale boy with bone white hair talked about smuggling his broom into Hogwarts, despite the fact that the Hogwarts letter specifically told them not to try to bring one. He rambled on about Quidditch, and Harry listened politely, though he admittedly didn't know much about the sport. When he started talking about the Hogwarts houses, though, and something about knowing he'll probably be in Slytherin, Harry gained interest.

Harry hadn't really thought in depth about which house he hoped to be in, since they all had the same curriculum. It seemed that the houses allotted different social purposes. Slytherin was a good house for those who wanted to climb high in society and have the network to get there. Gryffindor seemed to be the homing beacon for light wizards. Hufflepuff created strong and loyal allies and friends, although it was the house that took in the ones that didn't fit in to any of the houses more than any other, still predominantly light families. Lastly, Ravenclaw was rather neutral as the house based its social structure on wits and personal merits rather than family and bloodlines and wealth. All of them had redeemable qualities, which is exactly what he told the other boy when he asked which house Harry wanted to be sorted into.

"That's . . . actually pretty smart. Even if I have to disagree with you on Gryffindor being a suitable choice. I've seen more bigots come out of that house than Slytherin, that's for sure!" The boy exclaimed with a sneer and Harry couldn't help but laugh at the fuming little blonde next to him.

"I suppose you'd be quite right with that one." The boy's sneer transformed into a mischievous smile when he saw the sparkle of mirth in Harry's eyes. Speaking of Gryffindor, Harry thought about his supposed fame in this world and wondered how many people expected him to follow in the footsteps of his parents. Problem was, Harry didn't even remember his parents, why would he continue their legacy at the expense of his academic life for the next seven years?

"Did you hear? It's been ten years since You-know-who was defeated. Which means that Harry Potter might be coming to Hogwarts this year!" The blonde leaned forward and hissed in a loud whisper, his eyes alight with gossip. Harry was chuckling on the inside as he thought to himself, if only you knew.

"You don't say? What do you think he'll be like?" Harry asked casually, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"My Godfather, Severus Snape, said that he went to school with Potter's parents and apparently his dad had been a right Gryffindor prick! Don't get me wrong, having the defeater of the Dark Lord as a friend would be a huge public image boost, but if he's going to be some reckless and righteous Gryffindor like his father then is there really a point?" The boy scowled just as Madam Malkin came striding back into the room with two bags in her hands. She gave one to the blonde boy and one to Harry as both boys stood up.

Just then, the door opened and a finely dressed man with a regal expression and shoulder length white blond hair with an equally elegant blond woman walked in just behind him. They walked over and began talking to Madam Malkin about something that Harry almost immediately lost interest in. Turning back to the boy he'd just met, Harry could see the resemblance and it wasn't hard to figure out who these people were to the young to-be-Slytherin.

"I'm Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy." The blonde—Draco—said and held out an elegant hand, the fluid movements and pale fingers reminding Harry vaguely of a swans wing. Harry took the offered hand and shook it twice to show amicability, by not familiarity. Wizarding etiquette at its finest. Harry didn't let go of Draco's had right away though and a mischievous smile curled Harry's mouth without showing teeth.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Draco Malfoy. My name is Harry Potter. I hope to be seeing you soon." Harry's tone was nothing but friendly and as soon as his hand slipped out of Draco's, he gave a polite nod and left, having already paid for his robes before getting measured. The look of stunned silence on the poor blonde's face had Harry smiling all the way to Flourish and Blots.

Harry bought the books he needed, feeling giddy as he left the book store and promising himself that he would be back soon enough to pick up more books that he wouldn't need for school, but for his free time. Harry bought the rest of the supplies, leaving the wand for last.

Finding a wand was quite interesting. Albeit a long and tedious process, when Harry finally got his hands on the brother wand of the Dark Lord—a very interesting turn of events—the warm and exhilarating feeling that washed over him was something else. Harry didn't need it to connect to his magic, but the holly and phoenix feather core wand felt like a fine brush in his hand when all he'd been doing for the past few years was finger painting.

…

When Harry returned to 4 Privet Drive that night, he was met with unadulterated rage. Petunia had noticed the cash he'd nicked out of her purse and before he could think to stop it, a white hot strip of pain bloomed across his face from where he'd been slapped. Bony fingers grabbed his chin and dug into the flesh, forcing Harry to look her in the eyes as she bellowed.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Her face was nearing the shade that her husband's took on whenever he was angry. It made her look like a pumpkin that had been left outside for too long. That is, if pumpkins could turn that horrible shade of red. She pulled back and there's another slap, and another, without ever letting go of Harry's chin.

Harry always knew that one day things would escalate, he just hadn't thought about how soon it could be. As Petunia raised her hand to lay another stinging slap on Harry's already red cheek, Harry raised a hand of his own and Petunia froze. It was almost comical, the widening of her eyes when she realized that she couldn't move her body. Harry's magic curled out of him like smoke and the air became almost toxic with magic. Vernon took a step closer, but he too was ensnared by Harry's magic and forced to stay still.

"A month. All I ask for is a month of civility before I leave you all alone, I know that's what you want. Tolerate my presence for one more month and you won't have to see me ever again if I can help it." Harry didn't beg them, but he also didn't force them to comply. He let go of his hold on his relatives and neither immediately attacked him, which was a good sign. Harry's eyes darkened and the pressure in the room returned for a moment. "If you raise a hand to me again, though, I cannot promise I will be so forgiving." Harry warned and the fear in each set of eyes was all the confirmation he needed that his message was received. Harry went straight to the cupboard and slammed the door behind him.

Harry sat on his cot and pulled out his shrunken items from his pockets. Harry un-shrank his books and ignored the burning sting and flushed heat in his cheek as he began to read the course material. He had heard nothing from his companion, and for that he was grateful. Harry never liked talking about his relationship with his relatives. As long as he could pretend that the relationship was normal, as long as he could act like he understood why they treated him as they did, he wouldn't have to confront the issue.

He would, one day, but that day certainly wasn't today.

Not here, not while he still had to live with them.

Perhaps when he had absolute assurance that he would never have to return.