Chapter 3

The Leaky Cauldron, in Harry's humble opinion, was the perfect introduction to Diagon Alley. It was in equal parts familiar old english rural pub and eccentric menagerie of magical personality. For Harry though, after his introduction to Night Bus travel across London, it was the most welcome sight he could imagine. It had been a long night.

Mercifully there had been barely anyone around and he was able to get a room for himself and Dobby. Dobby had happily set about unpacking his trunk once again and cleaning the large dusty room, with its worn rugs, large blacked fireplace and brown windows. Harry's only thoughts though were for the mercies of the large four poster bed.

The next morning came too quickly and Harry was very tempted to demand Dobby to close the curtains. It wasn't till he saw the state of the room, spotless once again, and the little elf sleeping soundly on the french provincial sofa, Hedwig perched above him on its wooden back, that Harry instantly changed his mind. It was probably good to get a start on the day anyway.

So instead he got up quietly and pulled the blanket up over the elf, leaving him to his rest. Harry made a mental note that he needed to tell Dobby that he didn't need to get everything done in one night.

"Hello again Tom!" Harry greeted the affable innkeep, who seemed somehow capable of remembering all his patrons. Tom was a large rotund old man, likely almost in his hundreds if Harry had to guess, though he was never really sure with wizards. He was cleaning a glass lazily in some strange cliche of a barman, and unironically pulling off.

"Young Harry Potter! I do say, welcome back. I was mighty surprised to see your name on the lists this morning. How ya bin?" The Leaky Cauldron's proprietor greeted in return, with his slightly northern drawl.

"Well thank you Tom. Just out to the Alley this morning, could I get some breakfast first though? What's good today?"

"Bit early still I'm fraid, only got some porridge for ya."

"That will do thanks Tom!"

"Pleasure as always Misser Potter!"

The porridge was admittedly a bit bland but the toast and jam that accompanied it hit the spot so Harry decided to get a move on to beat the crowd. Dobby probably needed the rest anyway.

Diagon Alley without a crowd was a strange place. Harry had only been here at peak school shopping times. The early morning bustle of people coming into work, opening shops and a few early risers, something wizards were not noted examples for, gave the alley a strange normalcy for all its colourful ramshackle eccentricity.

Harry noted a few shops that he would like to look in later in the day, notably the Second-Hand Bookshop to see if they had any more obscure titles, Wiseacres Wizarding Equipment, as he had not paid enough attention when he went with Hagrid, and some clothing stores. But first he needed money.

The dominant white marble of Gringotts stood prominently at the end of the alley, a monolith to the goblin's monopoly over wizarding finance in Britain. They were just opening the doors and only one other witch was mulling about, so Harry was happy to note he wouldn't be waiting in line.

The goblins were already hard at work at the desks that spanned the length of the great marble entrance hall, stamping papers from teetering piles larger than them and confirming with each other in their guttural language. In one corner it almost looked like a fight was about to break out over who would be sitting at a desk. Some humans were also in the mix talking with the goblins, and Harry briefly recalled Ron saying that his brother they were going to visit this summer was in the employ of Gringotts.

There were plenty of free tellers so Harry approached the first one. He seemed slightly shorter than the other goblins, with a pale complexion, crooked long nose and the warts on his forehead, just beneath a head of thin crumpled hair.

"Hello...Hammerhand." Harry greeted, pausing to look at the name plate. "I was hoping to make a withdrawal and ask some questions about my inheritance?" The goblin looked up and slowly took Harry's key from him, looking at it with a certain cynicism. He flipped his large book and turned a few pages, his stubby long nailed finger trailing down the pages before he made a grunt.

"And what Mister…" The creature snidely looked down at his page again, seeming to mock Harry's pause to read his name. "Potter, would you like to question Gringotts about your inheritance?"

"Well, sir, I just wondered, my vault has only gold in it, I would have thought that perhaps there would be paperwork or something else such as a deed to property? My parents died at the same time you see, and I thought well, they must have had more than just gold."

"I...admire your...hopes of affluence, Mister Potter. But Gringotts is a bank." A sneer appeared on the goblins face, making it even more ugly if that was possible. "And as a bank we hold only wizard vaults. For which you pay us a fee. If there is nothing in your vault on properties owned by your family then we are not able to help you with that. If you are in need of property, we can assist you with a loan, once you are of age."

Harry did his best to ignore the tone of the creature, knowing that goblins are cantankerous at the best of times, Hagrid had warned him of this and if Professor Binns had done nothing else in the two years of History of Magic, and he hadn't, he had reenforced this point.

"So if not Gringotts, who might have that information?" Another even more fierce snear cut itself across the goblins' features.

"Your Ministry, I expect."

"I see, well thank you Hammerhand, you have been most helpful." Harry took his key back without waiting for a response and made for the hallway to go down to his vault. Once more ignoring the grumbling at his back.

Just like his previous visits to Gringotts the cart ride was a highlight, the roller coaster ride through the Gringotts cavern bearing an enjoyable similarity to Quidditch. With his galleons replenished Harry decided his next stop would be the Ministry, he wanted to work out what his options were before making any further decisions.

"Back already Misser Potter?" Greeted the friendly inn keeper, still cleaning his glass. Harry briefly wondered if it had some ever-dirty charm on it. Or maybe the man just had a wife around here somewhere who checked to make sure he was busy. Harry then felt briefly bad for knowing so little about the man.

"Umm, yes, looks like I have to visit the Ministry. Do you have a floo here I could use for that?"

"Do indeed." He nodded in reply and gestured to the fireplace near the door out to Charing Cross Road. "Powder in the pot next to it." Harry looked on the big mantle of the fireplace. Along with the various odd wizarding decorative pieces, including a roving miniature elephant, there was a large open pot with a smaller one next it.

"Just 5 knuts lad." Harry nodded and smiled in thanks. After letting Dobby know he was going and he was fine to stay here, Harry stepped into the ashes, hand full of powder and hoping that he didn't repeat his last voyage with floo powder.

"Ministry of Magic!" And he was gone in an explosion of green.


The entrance to the Ministry of Magic was far busier than Diagon Alley had been, and Harry was almost immediately shoved forward out of the fireplace, landing in a spin on his side. The air went right out of him.

"Sorry about that kid." A man said from behind him, picking him up and helping him dust off.

"'S okay, could have happened anyway." Harry gasped, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Right." Replied the wizard. "Well sorry anyhow, always a frantic time this." Harry waved him off, only then noticing the man's overly large milk bottle spectacles. The wizarding world was never normal. "Terrance Mittle, Department of Magical Transportation, Broom Regulatory Control, at your service." The man held out a hand in greeting and Harry shook it.

"Um pleased to meet you, um." Harry always hated this part. "Harry Potter."

The usual reaction was even more pronounced thanks to the glasses, as he squinted obviously at Harry's forehead, pulling an off scrunched up face to do so. The man must have been blind as a bat. It was only then that Harry remembered his scar might actually be barely visible.

"Well I'll be, a pleasure to meet you Mister Potter, pleasure indeed. Just wait till my Nancy hears about this, the boy-who-lived, what a day indeed." His handshake became even more enthusiastic. "I hear you are pretty nifty on a broom Mister Potter, Nimbus 2000 if I am not mistaken?"

"I do okay thank you sir." Harry tried to smile disarmingly and tried to subtly retrieve his hand.

"Well what brings you to the Ministry today Mister Potter?"

"I am hoping to find any records of properties or anything else about my family that I might need to know about." Harry wasn't sure how open he wanted to be with this random stranger, but figured there wasn't much harm, he would be telling someone here what he was looking for.

"Department of Records and Histories I expect. Old Mitchelson is in for quite the surprise today. Make sure you don't give him a start mind, might take his heart meeting you." Terrance started off towards the golden gate Harry could see, going with the bustling crowds.

The entrance to the Ministry of Magic was a huge hall with lacquered wooden floors and a blue ceiling with patterns of moving blue symbols. Each side of the hall was lined with fireplaces but people only seemed to be arriving on the side Harry had come out, though he saw others exiting through the fireplaces on the other side of the hall.

At the end of the hall was a great golden fountain made up of statues of a witch, wizard, centaur, goblin and house-elf. Each spouted water into the pool below, the humans from their wants, centaur from it's bow, the top of the goblins hat and each of the elf's ears. All of the creatures were looking happily up at the wizard and witch. Given Harry had met all of these creatures, only the house-elf's expression appeared even remotely realistic.

There was a guard sitting in a booth by the gates that everyone was passing through and Terrance directed Harry to him. "Edric here will register your wand. The Department of Records and Histories is on the seventh floor, just one up from here, can't miss it, just across the hall from Games and Sports." Terrance looked a bit in two minds, glancing at the gates and then signed. "I suppose I must be off Mister Potter, once again though, a pleasure and a privilege indeed. If you need your broom looking at, you know who to come to."

After another vigorous handshake Harry was finally left alone. He approached the booth, with a slightly lumpy poorly shaven wizard behind it, waving some contraption about. The wizard was wearing crinkled blue robes which almost matched the ceiling. He had a large round nose and small eyes.

"Hello." Harry said, grabbing the man's attention. "I am Harry Potter and I would like to speak with someone at the Department of Records and Histories." The man swung the contraption around to point it at Harry, who took a surprised jump backwards.

"Very well." He said after a few seconds, a whiny quality to his voice, and put the thing down next to him. "Wand please." Harry presented his wand and allowed it to be registered before he was waved in. "Floor seven." And with that he was pulled back into the crowd, crammed into an elevator and up he went.

It wasn't hard to find the Department of Records and Histories, it was hard to find someone in the Department of Records and Histories. He had taken a left into the door named Hall of Records, figuring that this was the best place to start.

The Hall contained a small alcove that was the entrance, which was framed by a desk, preventing access to the rows and rows of bookcases and filing cabinets beyond. The largest book Harry had ever seen sat open on the desk, with two more volumes stacked next to it. There was also an empty wooden office chair behind them. What there was not, was anyone at the desk, or anywhere else Harry could see.

Ever polite, Harry waited for a moment, hoping that someone would show up, perhaps the door held a charm that let somebody know he was here. But after five minutes he was growing impatient.

"Hello?" He called out into the void. "Is anyone there?" There was a thump of a person impacting wood and a curse from right in front of Harry.

"What in the blazes!" Somebody exclaimed, and a shock of white hair appeared from beneath the table. It was followed by an old skinny man with a large nose holding up a pair of half moon spectacles, which were slightly askew. He had a slight hunch to his posture and was wearing old worn black robes. "Who are you!"

"Um Harry Potter sir, I was hoping that you may be able to help me?"

"Help you?" The man pulled himself slowly to his feet. "Help you with...what? Mister Potter." He peered closely at Harry, as if inspecting him, but not with the normal looks at his scar.

"I hoped maybe you would have records on my family, my parents, anything really. But I thought certificates, birth certificates, properties, that sort of thing?"

"Potter aye?" He squinted at Harry again and then started flipping pages in his book. "Potter, Potter, Potter." He mumbled under his breath and then looked at Harry again. "Which Potter exactly?" Harry was surprised by the question. Fame was a weird thing, but he thought that this might be obvious, that he was the last Potter.

"Well, are there any other Potters alive?"

"Yes, I have here." His finger moved around the page till he found what he was looking for. "A Harry Potter."

"Yes, that's me." Harry said, even more confused.

"So it is, well what records were you after?"

"Perhaps any current records relating to me or my parents, maybe even my fathers parents? Do you just have files for each of them?" He consulted his book again for a time and then nodded in confirmation.

"I will be right back." The queer old man informed and walked off into the stacks, a hobble to his steps, and disappeared before Harry could say anything more. This was strange even by wizarding standards. It was also some time before he returned, but he did with four folders floating along behind him in a trail. With a swish of his wand the folders stacked themselves in front of him on the counter, giving Harry a chance to see them.

They were all pale green manilla folders, two rather slim and two much less so, held together with some twine. The top one said 'Lily Potter' in gold embossed script. "These ones are likely of the most significance to you Mr Potter, as you relate to these files in some way or another."

The old man separated the folders so he could see each in turn. Accompanying his mothers file was his fathers, one called 'Fleamont Potter' and the last titled 'Charlus Potter'.

"According to my records the first two are your parents." Harry looked at the man, hoping that he conveyed the obviousness of the mans information. "This one here." He pointed at the Fleamont Potter file. "Is your grandfather, and the other his brother, your Great-Uncle."

"Might I have some time with them? Am I allowed to take them somewhere or copy them?" Harry asked, his hands becoming shaky with nerves. There was so much of his family history right here before him. Why had nobody ever brought him here?

"We can copy them for a fee of course, they are your family records. Might I make a suggestion though?" Harry nodded. "I will give you a copy, but look through them here, first. Most anyone who comes here and leaves without looking I see again, easier to do it all at once." Harry nodded again and smiled.

"Thank you Mister...well sorry I never did get your name."

"Mitchelson. Abignail Mitchelson. At your service." The man supplied, pushing up his spectacles. He levitated a chair up over the counter for Harry to sit at. Then with a smile he crawled back under his desk, obviously determined to return to his nap. "If you need me I will be right here. No need to yell again, nearly killed me last time."

Harry decided to look at his mother's first, as it was the smallest. That probably shouldn't have surprised him, she was born to muggle parents and so had spent far less time in the magical world. The folder was mostly made up of Hogwarts grades and OWL and NEWT results. Harry had always been told that his mother was bright and also talented, particularly in certain subjects. But he had not realised exactly how bright she was. Almost all of her results, with the exception of a few 'exceeds expectations', were 'outstandings'. It was not dissimilar to Hermione's own report cards. It made him instantly feel embarrassed, he really was not living up to them at all.

The only other document in the folder was an application for a charms mastery, complete with a thesis which Harry could not make heads or tail off. Something about suspension charms and delayed activations.

His father's was much more full, including a birth certificate issued by St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on parchment with gold trim, the lettering slightly raised to the touch in the embellished script typical of the wizarding world. James Charlus Potter, 27 March 1960, born to Fleamont Potter and Euphemia Potter. It was nice to know his other grandparent's names.

His father's school results were also in the folder. Thankfully they were not quite as outstanding as his mother's, though there were a few notes of praise provided by McGonagall for his apparent prowess in transfiguration.

Also contained in the folder were a deed and papers to a property in Godric's Hollow in West Country. The place where his parents had died. It seemed like the place had been in the family for generations, going back to the 1400s.

There was also a stack of paper about the property by the Minister, something mentioning the Significant Magical History Conservations Act. It almost read like the Ministry now owned the property.

"Mister Mitchelson?" Harry called, looking over to where the man disappeared to. No response. "Mister Mitchelson?" Harry tried again, a little louder. There was another thump and more cursing.

"I said no more bloody yelling!"

"I'm sorry sir!" Harry apologised, amused by the man's manner, he was rather crotchety. "I was wondering if you could tell me what this means." Harry handed over the stack of papers about the property.

Mitchelson adjusted his half moon spectacles and looked over the papers, grunting and mumbling to himself as he went. "How peculiar." He mumbled, shaking his head. Then he suddenly trundled off back into the stacks. After a few moments a paper airplane flew past his head and out the door. Mitchelson returned a few minutes later with a huge book, similar to the ones on the table, bound in red leather and the words 'Accounts and payments 1981' on the spine, following behind him.

He flipped open the book without saying a word, his eyes sliding across the pages, mumbling to himself again. There was a squeak of the door behind Harry and when he turned he saw a face poking in.

She was a short woman with unkempt pale blonde hair pulled up in a loose bun. He was wearing a cream cardigan and blue plain dress, an unusual sight in the wizarding world without where robes were the norm. She was also cradling a book to her chest.

"You asked me to come Abignail?" She asked, clearly confused. She had a soft, unsure voice.

"Ah Meredith, come in come in, I seem to have found an oversight that will need your attentions. This is Mr Harry Potter. Mr Potter, this is my colleague Meredith Moores, from the Office of Histories and Historical Oddities." The old man beckoned for the lady to enter and introduced Harry. She looked at him in wide eyed recognition, possibly even more enraptured than the usual gawkers. He shifted in discomfort as her eyes narrowed straight onto his forehead.

"Ha-Harry P-p-potter?" She stammered. "Boy-who-lived, here, meeting me?" Then she just sort of trailed off before she opened her book and started scribbling words furiously, ignoring them both completely, except to occasionally look up at Harry again. "Visit the Ministry Hall of Records…" He heard her mumble under her breath.

"You have to forgive Meredith, she's a bit too good at her job you see, far too interested in the past she often misses the present, though I suppose with you those two would intersect." The man excused. "Meredith!"

"AH!" She jumped in surprise. "Hello Abignail, can I help you?" She seemed actually confused about why she was here.

"There is a discrepancy with the requisition of the Potter property at Godric's Hollow."

"A discrepancy?" The small woman asked. "I can assure you all the appropriate charms are in place to preserve it. Nothing out of place. All as though it were yesterday."

"Yes I am sure you were meticulous in your preservations Meredith." The man said, mirth coating his words, he almost seemed to be enjoying the scolding he seemed to be about to give her. "But once again, what you have failed to do is complete your paperwork. Mr Potter has not been compensated for the property."

"The paperwork?" She squeaked and looked like she wanted to retreat, her eyes dashing for the door.

"Yes Meredith. The Ministry cannot simply take the property of a witch or wizard without appropriate recompense. You know that, so you have to ensure that the Potter family is compensated." The lady wilted under the criticism. Harry got the distinct sense that this was not an uncommon event.

"You must excuse Missus Moores, Mister Potter. This is an oversight, not a conspiracy, she gets too caught up on preserving history, and has never managed to catch up with her paperwork. It will be filed and your family will be compensated as is proper."

"That's um fine, can I ask to what amount?" Harry asked, taken aback by suddenly being involved in the conversation. The elderly wizard consulted his books again till he found what he was after.

"At time of requisition, it was determined that ninety two thousand galleons was the appropriate valuation. The damage to the property was not considered as it was determined to be part of historical value."

"Right, ah, thanks." Harry turned to the small woman. "Missus Moores?" The small witch looked up at him with a worried expression. She was probably concerned he was going to berate her too.

"Mister Potter, I cannot apologise enough. It was. Well it's no excuse, but it was a turbulent time." She fiddled with her book and quill, not meeting his eyes.

"It's really okay. But could I ask, my parents belongings, my family's belongings in that house. Am I able to remove any? There must be things of the Potter family there that the Ministry can't just keep." Meredith scrunched up her nose and shook her head at him, some of her hair coming loose.

"We really shouldn't, we must preserve the location as much as possible, for future generations. We do not know what could be integral for determining how your circumstance came about."

"I...understand." Harry frowned in response. It certainly wasn't the most callous of ways his parent's death had been mentioned. But it was academic enough that he didn't like it any more than the others. "However there may be some essential items for my family there, and surely you will not begrudge me those? Perhaps we can work out a way?"

"How might we do that?" She asked scepticism and suspicion thick in her tone.

"Well…" He had to pause as an idea percolated in his mind. "Perhaps you could come with me? If the item seems important you could make a copy or record of it or something?"

"If we do that, I will have to approve every object, and if at a later time it is determined that the item had historical significance you are to bring it to the Ministry as soon as possible for further assessment. If you cannot agree to those terms then we will not go at all." Harry was taken aback by how stern she had suddenly become, almost a miniature McGonagall.

He was also not thrilled with the idea that the Ministry had any say on his family's possessions whatsoever. Who were they to say he couldn't have important objects of his own family, his own parents! On the other hand he assumed that the magic Abignail had mentioned earlier would prevent him from just taking anything, so in this case he would have to bite down on his Gryffindor bullheadedness and see what he could get out of the deal first. If there was something they couldn't agree on though, well, things would have to become more formal.

"Very well Missus Moores, I can agree to that, do you have time to go now? I think I have everything I need here for now."

"Oh um, yes of course Mr Potter, I will just let my Director know." With that she shot off, probably happy to be away from Abignail.

Harry had the man make copies of all the documents. He did with a quick flick of his wand for each folder, another appearing right on top of the original. He also asked for some spare parchment and a quill, which the older man had been happy to give him. With thanks to the old man, Harry sent the folders off with Dobby to store them safely in his trunk and then waited for the small woman to return.

Once she did they returned out to the atrium, and headed for the exit fireplace. "We set up a new flu connection to the property, just say 'Potter Cottage' and I'll follow you through."

Harry nodded and stepped into the fireplace. "Potter Cottage." He intoned and the green flames whisked him away.


Harry shot out of the fireplace and hit the ground with a groan. Scrambling to his feet he hoped that the Ministry worker following him wouldn't see.

The lounge room he crashed into was a cosy open space with deep russet carpets. It was approaching the early afternoon, basking the room in a warm bright light. The decor was on the country, antique wizard side, homely like the Burrow. The warmth of the room was undercut by the scorch marks that littered the room, the furniture having been thrown about and in some cases destroyed.

The couches were overturned and at the far side of the room, beyond an arched open doorway, an entire dining table and chairs were in the right of the fireplace stood a desk and a few tall bookcases. The windows, which were recessed into the walls, had been destroyed, leaving only jagged pieces of glass and metal.

The destruction hit Harry like a truck and he had to force himself to breath. This was where he had lost everything.

He couldn't breathe. The more personal thing began to take special prominence. Pictures of his parents, their friends and family, some slightly askew. Objects that hadn't been put back correctly, signs of a former life now absent. A child's blanket on the ground, blocks thrown to the corner. Signs of love, love for him, stripped away.

He couldn't breathe. His chest hurt. He had to sit down. His father fought here. His father died here. Protecting him.

There was a sound of fire and an explosion of green light. He couldn't breathe. The whole room was green. There was shouting. There was a scream. Green light.

"Mister Potter?"

"Yes, sorry, yes?" He started in surprise, and took a deep breath. He looked over at Meredith Moores, who was looking down at him in concern. "Sorry, yes, it was just a lot."

The small woman smiled at him reassuringly and came and sat down next to him, tucking her legs to the side.

"I am sure it is, you can take all the time you need, Mister Potter. This room and the rest of the lower floor are largely intact, the second floor however, you should know, is more confronting. We have layered stasis and other protective charms across the whole house, of course with normal muggle protection wards. It is all as it was thirteen years ago."

"What is…" Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Why has this all been done? Two people died here, this seems like it is a memorial to their death, not their lives, as it should be." She hummed in thought and understanding as she considered his question.

"I suppose that it is a bit of both, unfortunately the most remarkable of your parents' achievements was in their dying moments." She held up her hand to stop him before he interrupted. "By all reports they were a terrifically talented witch and wizard, I myself have written some of it. But there is a reason you are famous. For a child to be hit with the killing curse, cast by the most feared wizard in more than a generation, perhaps ever, for he was far more cruel than Grindlewalde ever aspired to be. It was unprecedented. To have it rebound and kill that same wizard, that was essentially a miracle. Your parents achieved something truly remarkable in our world, where the remarkable is commonplace."

"I see, nobody ever really explained it that way. We don't have the best history professor."

"Yes, everyone has had the pleasure of Professor Binns' ignominious tutelage. But yes, ultimately this is somewhat a memorial to that achievement. The other reason it has been kept like this is that it was a miracle of magic. Any clues to how to prevent the use of the killing curse needs to be preserved. Which is why I need to approve anything we move or take."

Harry nodded in understanding and looked around, wondering where to start. "I am sorry to have held you up, Missus Moores, we should probably get started."

"Not at all Mister Potter." She replied, getting to her feet and then helping him up also. "If anything this is part of my job. Your return here is part of its history after all. It's most...refreshing, to partake rather than just read about events."

"Not always the most refreshing I can assure you." Harry sighed and tried not to let his anger rise at the woman's comment. She meant well and just hadn't truly considered the implications. What being part of history had cost him. Let alone the events of the past two years. The pain of the basilisk venom still woke him in the night.

He went for the desk first, as one of the few untouched pieces of furniture. It was an ornate old piece of furniture with a number of draws on top and two cupboards on either side as the legs. It was inlaid with a vine design on the cupboards and back board.

The draws were mostly just full of writing utensils like quills, inks and parchment. There were also some old letters but they were mostly short and to the point updates written seemingly in code. He had no idea who Mooney or Padfoot were or what it meant.

In the cupboards there were a few books, including one on runes that Meredith didn't allow him to take, but noted he could likely find a copy easily. Under these books however was another thick tome with a deep red cover. 'The Potter Family Compendium.'

Harry reverently beheld the book and opened to the first entry, one Linfred, 1148 to 1255. The book described a man particularly talented in potions who liked to help provide medical treatment to muggles. He also apparently invented a number of potions such as Skele-gro and Pepper-up. He had married a witch called Sibillus Fawley, who was a lover of magical beasts.

"Missus Moores?" Harry asked, catching her attention.

"Yes Mister Potter?"

"This book I feel very strongly should remain with me and would not be relevant to any historical context of this house." She looked over and Harry could see something in her eyes, greed perhaps. It would not shock him that this would be a book she would be very interested in. But it seemed that English manners won out in the end and she sighed.

"Yes Mister Potter, I agree with your reasoning and will approve your removing it."

Harry smiled in thanks and put the book to the side to continue looking. There wasn't much in the desk nor in the bookcases, except for a set of photo albums that Meredith asked to look through before she could agree for them to go. The kitchen wasn't particularly interesting either. There were a few photos on the walls that apparently had to remain and otherwise was a very normal kitchen.

So Harry held his nerve and moved upstairs. The Ministry worker had been right, the upper floor was in complete chaos. Pictures in frames, plaster, furniture and glass covered the floor. Even though it was rubble Harry tread lightly, not wanting to disturb anything. It felt disrespectful to do so in the quiet destruction.

He came across what had once been the nursery at the front of the house. His nursery. It was probably the most destroyed of all the rooms, with a giant hole in the wall and most of the furniture in splinters. If it hadn't been a miracle that he survived the killing curse, it definitely was one that he also survived the outcome. There wasn't much to see in the room as a result. But he did find a teddy bear under the dust in the corner that was still intact.

It was a basic beige thing, made slightly grey from the dirt. On the bottom was stitched 'From Padfoot' in blue lettering. That name again, must have been one of his parent's friends. A nickname perhaps, though with wizarding names he couldn't count out a real one. He wondered for a moment why he had never heard of him but shrugged it off, he hadn't really heard of any of his parent's friends and there had been a war going on.

He took a moment more in the nursery, the place his mother died and placed a small piece of parchment under some of the rubble, a note to his parents, hiding it well. He then took his leave.

There was also what seemed to be a guest bedroom and bathroom which were both unremarkable.

His parent's bedroom was a deep russet red with a large four poster bed similar to those in the Gryffindor Tower. There was a wooden trunk in front of the bed which held mostly bedding.

The large wardrobe held a number of robes and other more muggle clothing, long out of style. Harry decided to take a jumper of his father's, a dark blue woolen knit, which was far too large for his almost thirteen year old frame. In the vanity he also found a number of pieces of jewelry. Some seemed brand new, like a pair of silver and emerald earrings, while others, like a golden ring with a diamond surrounded by sapphires appeared much older, perhaps heirlooms of one of his family. He decided to take it all, none of this could be too significant to the house's story, but might be of importance to his own family. He bundled it all up in the jumper, regretting not bringing a bag.

"Missus Meredith?" Harry asked, coming down the stairs. The Ministry worker was looking through the bookshelves, perhaps hoping to see something new. She probably had completely missed the book on the Potter's history in a previous visit, which itself was decidedly odd, perhaps a charm. So now perhaps she hoped something else new had appeared with his arrival.

"AH! Hello Mister Potter. Yes Mister Potter?" She had jumped slightly at his call.

"I just have a few more things I would like to take if that's okay? Most of them are from the main bedroom, and one from the nursery." He came over and unravelled the jumper, showing her the items. She hummed a bit at both the jewelry and the bear, but ultimately agreed.

"Have you finished up then Mister Potter? Ready to say your farewells?"

"Um yes, thank you again, for allowing this." Harry hesitated. "I wish I had brought flowers or something." The witch smiled at him and drew her wand.

"Orchideous." With a quick flick and then a poke, a simple bouquet of white flowers appeared out the end of her wand, Harry knew they were camellia's from his weekends spent in Aunt Petunia's garden. Meredith frowned at the flowers as she plucked them off the wand and handed them to him.

"I was never very good at transfiguration. Or any spell work really. They will only last a few days at best. But perhaps another time you could drop off something more permanent." Harry smiled in thanks and lay the flowers upon the mantlepiece. "Will you be returning to the Ministry?"

Harry collected the book, making sure not to forget it and shook his head. "I think I will return back to the Leakey Cauldron. It has been a long day." She smiled in understanding and handed him a small handful of floo powder.

"Well Mister Potter. It has been a pleasure. If you ever wish for someone to write your story, you know just where I will be." She said with a grin. Harry smiled back in return.

"Missus Moores, I might just do that." He waved a quick goodbye and with a firm. "Diagon Alley." He disappeared in the green flames.


I wanted to get to a bit of shopping but this was overdue already and the longest chapter yet. I hope it lives up to the kind reviews so far.