Chapter 10

A/N: I usually don't do these at the start of a chapter but honestly I'm pretty annoyed so I'm going to do this first.

I will only say this once and I do not want to hear anything else on this subject ever again: Yes, Harry has moments where he is sad. Yes, Harry was abused. Yes, he has bad memories and scars and has bad reactions to things as a result, but, BUT, none of this makes him fucking emo. He is not emo. He is not so tragically abused that he can't function. The abuse is not his whole life. He is not drowning in self pity. You want to snark at me for "going too far" and for having him "act and be emo", which isn't a proper adjective cunt waffles, like really? You know what, yes there are hints in the chapters that repeatedly refer to the abuse and his emotions but he's like that because he's FUCKING HUMAN. He's allowed to feel and be depressed at times and flinch when unexpectedly touched. It's what I do! What a lot of people do! Don't you dare harass me for it. You don't like that then don't read this damn story because I'm sorry he's human. But before you leave me a review, criticizing the things I've written, actually read the chapters because this isn't about abuse, that's a part of the story, but it's not the focus point. You'd notice that if you actually slung the words together like an intelligent creature.

Ugh. I'm sorry. I'm really frustrated.

Thanks to everyone else who gave constructive criticism and their opinions and just general compliments. Those compliments really make my day, you have no idea.

On a side note, just to clarify for a reviewer, I will not be labeling Harry as bisexual because in the way I'm going to use that side of fanfictions isn't really about the relationship. It's going to be a bit crazy. Anyone that's focusing on pairing right now all I have to say is don't. That won't be happening in this fic. Not now. Romance isn't until later on, when he's older, and this fic will only be covering first year.

Oh and just because Harry didn't get Hedwig doesn't mean she's not coming in later! I love her too much not to include her haha. He'll be needing her, you'll see ;).

Now, I'm done. Comments over. Please enjoy.

Albus Dumbledore was not amused. No, he wasn't even close. He was actually quite angry.

Ever since Minerva had burst inside his office, shrieking about how Harry Potter's name wasn't written down for Hogwarts, he had been stressed. He had almost immediately contacted the key players of the old Order. While he had Minerva explain the situation to them and kept them calm, he had Apparated directly to the Dursley's household of one Number Four Privet Drive. Imagine his surprised to note that Harry Potter was not where he had left him all those years ago. The boy was not there, not where the blood wards had been crafted. He was gone and according to the Dursley's had been since he was seven and they didn't know where the brat was, that he had just disappeared during a shopping trip. He had searched their surface thoughts and knew they were telling the truth, the boy had been detached from his family during a shopping trip, and when he ranted and waved, asking them why they hadn't reported him missing, that it was almost like they didn't even care, they had snarled at him and said they had wanted nothing to do with the freak in the first place. They weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. No sir. And so Harry Potter was officially missing with no clues as to where the boy could be. Using the muggle's memories, Dumbledore conquered and printed an image of the boy to put on flyers and in the Prophet. They had to find him.

Albus knew what he was putting the Potter heir into when he had left the boy on that cold doorstep with nothing but a blanket and letter. He had known the Dursley's were selfishly vain people with no sense of right and wrong. He had known Harry Potter would grow up unhappy, unloved. He had suspected neglect but he had not expected abuse. Abuse that came to light about a week into the investigation when inspecting the house of finding the green crayon scrawls of Harry's Room in the cupboard under the stairs and blood stains on the dingy floor. He had been surprised and a bit insulted, he should have seen that or at least have known about it. While he felt pity for the young boy, it must have been hard to grow up like that, he didn't necessarily think it a bad thing. In the end this would only leave the boy craving affection and acceptance, one that would flock to Albus when he rescued him and punish the boy's monsters. It was all for the best. For the Greater Good as he and Gellert had often proclaimed. Tragic, but helpful to him nonetheless.

When he returned to the Order he had immediately begun delegating tasks. Severus had been sent out to listen in for any mutterings from the darker side of the wizarding world to see if any of them knew something or were directly involved themselves. Arthur and Molly were to search for the boy out in the open. Alastor was sent off with a few of the more reckless and self obsessed aurors to use their resources to hunt the boy down. They were to find trails and follow them. Basically, for the most part, they all went Potter Searching. The whole wizarding world was out there searching for a little boy with black hair and green eyes and a lightning bolt scar. There was no way they wouldn't find him.

It had been at an inconvenient time though. Hogwarts was just around the corner, he and the other teachers were in the middle of preparing for the upcoming school year and this essentially tied their hands and took up their time that could be sent searching. He delegated some of the more key professors responsibilities onto those that could take them but it didn't cover everything. They were wasting a lot of time. Not only this though but it was also the fact that the world had been preparing for the day young Harry would return for many years now. They were drooling with anticipation and this was halting it, making them rowdy and loud and just a general annoyance to him. It was not helping matters whatsoever. This was the boy that their children had been raised to rever. The boy that stood as a beakon of hope to all who remembered the Dark Ages. The boy that little girls fawned over with innocent crushed and little boys pretended to be in their make believe games. The boy that everyone saw as a symbol for the end. He was more than just a survivor to these people, more than just a child that had somehow ended the Dark Lord's reign. This boy marked the end. It was the event in which he survived that showed there was hope. He had reminded people that there was still a chance, had filled their hearts up once again. People began to fight again, began to protect everything they had from the remaining Death Eaters, because this boy had reminded them that they could.

Harry Potter was more than just the Boy-Who-Lived to these people and for Albus to have technically lost the boy was a huge scorch mark in his reputation. It was not looking good.

With a sigh he returned to the papers before him, reading reports from the Order and the lesson plans of his teacher's at the same time.

Where are you, Harry Potter?

If there was one thing Louis loved more than anything it was waffles. They were a simply food, one many families ate around the breakfast table in the mornings. He had cooked it countless times for the Dursley's and whenever Pe- She had been in a particularly good mood, he had been allowed to have any extras (or to make one for himself if they had all been eaten, which was often the case considering the two Dursley men). When they had discarded him in France and he had been brought to the orphanage, he had found out early on that they would most likely never serve waffles there. It was a delicatesy and what they would spend on waffles could buy even more of say oatmeal or loafs of bread. They needed quantity, having to feed many mouths, not quality and so he would spend many mornings with his eyes shut, pretending that the lumps in his mouth were waffles and not the soggy oatmeal before him. He learned to savor rarities.

That morning though, on his second day in London, Tom had slid a white, glass plate over towards him at the bar. Three waffles were stacked upon each other. Seconds later, a small cup of syrup was placed before him as well as a bowl of strawberries and blueberries and a tall cup of milk. He hadn't had fresh food in a while, Shira's last visit had been over a month ago, and he wasn't quite sure his stomach could handle the rich meal. Nonetheless, he plowed forward. He would live in the moment and savor it while he could. If it came back up later than oh well. He'd have something small for lunch and/or dinner, depending upon the time. His knife slid easily through the soft waffles, clicking against the plate with a sharp, little rapt. They practically melted on his tongue, syrup dripping down his chin a little as it escaped from the fork and onto his lips. His fingers were sticky but he relished in it. This was it. This was what he lived for. Moments where nothing mattered, where the past and the present were erased only to be replaced by a seemingly pointless and unmemorable event. He loved the simplicity. Craved it.

It wouldn't last though. He knew this. The plate would eventually be empty. Time always ran down the hourglass. You couldn't really stop the sand from falling.

After breakfast, Louis traveled into the alley. Sanguini was curled around his wrist, hidden by the baggy sleeve of one of the everyday cloaks he had bought yesterday to blend in. On his shoulder was the tiger kitten, who he still hadn't named in all the excitement, her claws digging through his cloak and plain white tee, straight to his thin shoulder. Blue jeans covered his legs and a pair of old, ratty black Chuck Taylor's donned his feet. The shoes felt weird on his feet for in his haste to leave he had foregone socks. He was really regretting that decision but he didn't want to turn around and go back. He had already walked a bit before noticing. It would just be a waste of time.

His first stop that morning was Gringotts. When Shira had been teaching him pureblood customs and etiquette, they had reviewed the oldest families in Britain, France, Russia, Bulgaria, Germany, and Spain. They had focused mainly on families that could either be a threat or an ally to him, which was mostly composed of Dark and Grey families. He had learned of his family though. Shira had told him at the beginning, before they delved too deeply in for it to be a waste and to provide him a reason for the lesson's in the first place (despite just safety that is), that he had come from four of the oldest and most respected families in the world.

Before they had been known as Potter's, Louis's line had been the third of the Peverell line, which was coincedentally the main line. The Peverell name hadn't been used in quite a long time, the last ones to truly use it had been the three Peverell brother's. Louis had learned that the first brother had been murdered before he could carry the line on, moving the responsibility to the second brother. The second brother, though, had killed himself after the sudden loss of his lover. Before he had died though it had been learned that he had had a bastard son with one of the lower classed maidens early in his young adult life. The third brother had had two children, a son and a daughter, and since they were legitimite, the Peverell heirship was passed to his son and not his brother's. That son though had married a well known family at the time, only to bear a daughter. It was with him that the Peverell name had been lost. The line went through many surnames for many years, having produced many daughters and stillborns, until eventually Katherine Fischer married into the Potter line, where they stayed to this day. Not much else was known about the Peverell family, as they guarded their secrets very closely to his chest. The three brothers were the most famous, rumours claiming them to be the three in the Tale of the Three Brother's. It had not been proven to Louis yet though and so he didn't put any stock in it (though he was curious and silently hoped).

The Potter's had originated in Germany, the first Lord, Elias Potter, having been a simple man who had been great in finance and had saved enough money through his ancestor's businesses to get the Potter's a seat within Germany's government, matking the Potter's as a Noble House. From there they had only gone up. Elias had managed to run not only his grandfather's pub but had been able to develop his parent's dreams into a reality. Elias's father had always wanted to make his own alcohol, to brew it and sell it to his very patrons, and so the first form of firewhiskey had been developed within the heart of Germany and, as it would later be, would eventually stretch into many different forms and across the world. Through Elias, the Potter's had trademark on Firewhiskey and so any brew that held the name was required to give a small percentage of their profits over. Elias's mother on the other hand had loved flowers and so he had joined the many herbology shops, growing and selling both the seeds and grown products of magically enhanced plants and magical flowers and medical herbs. The business had blossomed quite well, festering throughout Germany and into Amsterdam, where they really flourished. It wasn't as big as firewhiskey of course, but it had been enough. By the end of Elias's life, the Potter's had the monetary means to become an Ancient House, which they would become in only a couple of generations. Generations who had continued Elias's work, stretching their businesses to other areas and adding onto the workloads and services with newer plants and different beverages, and even making their own businesses in turn or just simply saving their money from whatever jobs they would hold. Eventually, with all the franchising, the Potter's would leave Germany for England, coming right around the time of an industrial boom in the 1800's. There they had joined the Wizengamot and helped make the Ministry into what it is today and as they say, the rest is history.

Then came the Black's, who he was connected to by his godfather and grandmother. Shira had said the Black family was where he would have received the Metamorphagus gene, which would have been activated by the new blood his mother provided. The Black's, like the Malfoy's and Greengrass's, had originated and France and were a predominately Dark family (the Potter's were Grey). This didn't mean they were evil, as Shira had continued to stress in all her lessons. There is no good and evil, she had said. Our actions were influenced by our emotions and worldview. It was the intent that mattered with magic, nothing else. The Black's were only labeled as Dark because of their strong connection to the Olde Magick's and there blatant disregard to labels. They were an old family, slightly older than the Potter's though not as wealthy, and had gained their status through research. They held a great deal of scholars, which was no surprise since they studied every bit of magic with no bias. They had crafted some basic spells in their day, developed a few potions, created the current chart of basic runes, and discovered a number of magical sites around the world. They helped build upon the foundation of education and they were proud of it.

Shira had said that there was a third family the Potter's were the direct descendants

from and Louis found them to be his favorite. According to the Family Tree's and past observations (which he had seen through pictures and penesieve memories) of family rings and crests, one of the earlier Potter men had married a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw, her many-times-great granddaughter. The Ravenclaw line was a very strong one, producing some of the sharpest minds in wizardkind. They were the brains beind some of the most common but complex potions out there, developed many charms including the Patronus Charm (that was a very late one though), not to mention Hogwarts. To Louis though the most noteable thing was that they had completely revolutionized the medical field of magic. They had created the medical ethics team for St. Mungo's and drafted common medical procedures that were now required to take place. They had enhanced work stations and even developed the spell chain used for amputations and reattatchment.

Knowing that one was the sole heir of four lines and acting like one were two completely different things. He knew that he wouldn't really have to worry about it while going by Louis but at the same time, what he did now would affect his image when the world learned the truth. They would remember some stereotypical muggleborn Louis and laugh at the Potter heir, scoffing at his ability and character. While this could be good, for they would underestimate him, he had no intention of looking like some kind of idiot. He wasn't going to go overboard with it at all, Louis was a poor orphan from the muggle world, but he wasn't going to be a laughing stock either.

And so his first stop was Gringott's where he hoped to speak to the goblins and do an inhereitance test, where he could then gain access to the Potter money. Hopefully his parents had set up a trust vault.

Walking back up the white marble steps and through the granite halls, he felt much like he did when he first walked through. The bank was lavish and beautiful, screaming of wealth and skill. Louis knew that the goblin's did all of their own construction and warding, not trusting wizard's to take care of any of their affairs. To be able to have a structure like Gringott's, and many of them all over the world at that, spoke a great deal about them.

He approasched the Head Goblin at the end of the line and cleared his throat, making sure to not do it too loudly. No sense in becoming an annoyance.

The goblin peered down at him, scanning his face for only a second before he saw recognition pass over it's face.

"Mr. Thompson, what can we be doing for you today? Not here to collect more money, I hope. It would be quite unwise." A sharp grin stretched across his face at these words, no doubt finding amusement in the shortcoming's of men, men who seemed to have the bad habits of spending a lot on nothing. Louis fought back a smirk.

"Not exactly, sir Aodh. I am here to ask for an inheritance test be done. If I am to be so bold, allow me to say that it will indeed be worth your time."

Aodh, who had straightened his spine upon hearing his name leave Louis's lips, narrowed his eyes at the boy, looking at him with concentration and a hint of curiosity, though Louis detected some suspicion in there as well.

The goblin nodded. "Very well then. Lele! Take Mr. Thompson to Alden."

A goblin that was taller than the others, though still short, approached the front desk and gave a curt "yes, sir!" before motioning for Louis to come around.

Louis followed Lele through a side door that had been hidden by a black curtain and down another hall, though this one glistened with jewels and clear stone. His reflection peered up at him from beneath his feet and he waved hi to it, watching as it mimicked him with it's own shaky fingers and sweaty palm.

He was lead into a decently sized office, painted in rich colors and decorated with a few swords and a painting of splashed colors. In the middle of the room there was a heavy, oak desk that had many stacks of folders and papers on it, all neatly arranged. Quills and muggle fountain pens were placed in a corner, either in or next to bottles of ink. Behind the desk, counting some gold coins and placing them into a small brown bag while making little notes, was an older goblin, who had a short beard and long, neat hair that was tied behind his head. A minute after they entered the goblin looked up, not at all surprised to see them. Louis suspected that the goblin had known as soon as they came that they were there, despite how silent the approach was as no noise had been made by either of them or the door, and had just made them wait. Louis didn't. The goblin was clearly busy. Time was money after all.

"Leave us." The goblin, who Louis assumed was Alden, said to the other goblin. His tone was smooth and velvety, rich with age and soft spoken enough to suggest wisdom. "Please sit Mister . . . ?"
"You may know me as Louis Thompson for now, Sir Alden, sir." Louis said as he crossed the floor and placed himself into one of the forest green chairs that rested before the oak desk and the goblin. The goblin who merely hummed and folded his hands together, palms flat.

"Very well. What can I do for you today?"

"I would like to take an inheritance test first, if you please." Louis said, making sure to keep his tone polite and firm at the same time. The goblins were a warrior nation and valued strength. It would not do to be a meek little boy here. He needed their respect and so he made sure to not only bow to their ways but to give it to them in return.

Alden made a noise of acknowledgement before reaching down and opening a drawer of his desk. He brought out a stone bowl that was rough around the edges and a cold grey color. He also brought out a bundle of some sort that was made of a folded cloth of royal blue. Moving the folds and flattening it out, Louis saw a gleaming knife with a black and gold hilt. The blade was tinted dark red on soft silver. They were placed between the two of them, the knife closer to him than the bowl. He did not reach for it.

"This will cost you two galleons, Mr. Thompson." The goblin said neutrally, hands once again folded atop his desk. Louis reached into his cloak and pulled out his money bag, handing over the requested fee, before returning it to the inside (and charmed) pocket.

Alden pushed the bowl, and by default the knife, forward with a single finger as he explained. "This test will show us not only your bloodlines and any heirships you may be eligible for, but also any magical gifts you possess. These gifts can range from a mere affinity to herbology to any creature blood you may have within your system. There will be no surprises coming for you, Mr. Thompson, as they will all be revealed here." With that, Louis reached forward and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the knife. His other hand grasped the bowl, pulling it closer to the edge of the desk.

"You must slice open your palm and allow the blood to fall into the bowl. A bit of blood is required to get a full reading." Louis nodded and raised his hand over the bowl, not wanting to waste any blood or spill it onto the nice carpet below them. It was the only carpet he had seen in the whole bank and it looked really nice, like a fresh blanket of snow. Pressing the blade into his skin, he closed his hand around the blade, knowing the pressure would help not only rush the bloodflow but also prevent him from seeing it. Ignoring the slight pinch, he pressed down harder and began to drag it towards him. He did not stop when he saw a pool begin to seep past his fingertips or rise up the blade, not until he reached the end of his fingers that rested at the base of his hand. Squeezing it shut before releasing it, he watched as a great deal of crimson rushed and fell onto the stone bowl, easily filling it halfay. Once the blood flow slowed down and came to a relative halt, the bowl was almost full (he may have pressed down a bit too hard, Louis thought sheepishly) and Aden motioned for his hand, which he healed with a quick, muttered phrase. Handing over the bowl and dagger, he settled back in his chair and waited.

Alden muttered another phrase, not in latin or the goblin's own language but something older that sounded vaguely familiar, and the dagger was void of any blood. He rewrapped it in the blue cloth before placing it back in his desk, returning with a rolled up, long piece of parchment, which he flattened out between them.

His clawed hands wrapped gently around the stone bowl as he spoke. "With this blood, the magic in the parchment will be able to analyze the magic within. It will evaluate your blood and strip it bare to it's most basic elements, ultimately allowing it to read for any inheritances. It finds you at your most primal form. Obviously it's a very complicated process, much more than I'm detailing, but we don't have time for any science lessons. Now," Here, Alden lifted the bowl and tilted it slightly forward and Louis watched as the blood inched slowly to its edge before releasing a few drops of crimson that plopped down with a splat onto the paper. It took a second but soon the rest of the bowl was spilling forward with a rush and he watched, mesmerized, as the blood clotted together and formed a pool of deep red. It waited motionless, waiting for it's kin, and as the seconds ticked by in silence, Louis waited for something to happen.

Before his eyes, the blood twisted and curved in on itself, forming shapes and lines that held no meaning to him. It was warped and loopy, making letters but no words and in no stream of pattern. The blood seemed to be playing and dancing, and he realized with a start that this was the magic reading him, examining. Almost a minute after that though, the strands of red connected back into a single entity before slowly, excruciatingly so, spreading out and forming a single letter in neat, thin cursive. More and more strands of crimson were released, forming letters in bloody cursive, making words, forming names, and revealing secrets. He couldn't read it all but he caught a few names, presumably his ancestors, as a family tree was formed, a tree that covered quite a bit of generations, filling up almost the whole page. The only part of the parchment it didn't cover was the area beneath where the first drops had been released. Louis presumed that the placement had been done on purpose, that information was to be written there once found, once the tree was finished. It seemed he was correct for once the blood had reached the top of the parchment, it paused for a moment before strands were released from the original pool once more and began forming neat letters beneath it this time.

When it was finished, Alden muttered another phrase and turned to the bowl, which he repeated the same phrase he had used with the dagger, and it was cleaned of any remaining bits of blood. He returned this bowl to his desk drawer and then turned back to the long piece of parchment, now covered in dark red cursive and no blots of red. He lifted it up, taking any sight of what was on it from Louis, and presumably began to read what was on it. Louis watched the goblin's face, knowing at least some (if not all) of what he would find there. No emotions were expressed there, no flicks of surprise in his eyes or twitches of astonishment from his thin lips. Absolutely nothing. He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, even though he had been expecting this. Shira had told him all about the goblins after all, and she was quite knowledgeable being a centuries old vampire. Still. He wanted to surprise one, like really surprise one with something beyond politeness because that was just sad. He wanted a good surprise.

After a couple of minutes, the goblin placed the parchment back on his desk and placed a raised hand, with just the fingers touching, down onto the parchment and turned it so that it was facing Louis.

"Well, you are certainly something else, Mr. Thompson," Alden began, folding his hands back in front of him, an amused, thin grin stretching out to reveal sharp teeth, "or should I say Mr. Harry Potter?"

A/N: I was going to do all of the second shopping trip, but I want to hand this over to you guys and here seems like a good place to stop.

Sorry for the wait. I got an idea for another story and started working on the mechanics of it. It's a Harry Potter and Avengers Crossover if any of you are interested. It's not out yet but if you're curious it's going to be Black Widow focused. Basically I'm having a Black Widow program in the magical world. I'm excited for it.

Anyway . . .

Please review!