AN: Hello one and all, VigilantSempai here with the first chapter of my new story, Harry Potter: The Return of the End. This story is going to feature a much larger wizarding world as well as take advantage of the magical aspect of the world that JK Rowling has made, or so I hope. I already have a good portion of the story worked out in my head, so all that is left to do is get it down, but that's easier said than done.

Without further ado I give you the first chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, other than the OC and the story. I make no money from this, nor do I plan to try.

By the end of the first week back, all the food was gone out of the house, and Harry had been forced to admit that he was, for once, truly alone.

Stemming the flow of hot water from the shower head, Harry let out a sigh. Despite not having eaten at all the day before and this morning, he was feeling the emptiness in his stomach rather keenly but that didn't stop the contentment from easing into his body from being able to take a hot shower for as long as he wanted. Had the Dursley's been there it would have never been possible, but they weren't at Number 4 Privet Drive, and hadn't been since Harry had come back for the summer holidays from Hogwarts.

It had been like any other time they had come to pick Harry up from Kings Cross Station, up until he had gotten to telling them about his godfather who was a wanted felon that was now a convict that escaped from the highest security prison in magical Britain, who had been put there (unjustly, though he didn't tell his relatives that) for mass murder. And the man happened to be super protective of Harry.

The look on their faces had been priceless, and Harry was sure he was going to cherish the memory dearly.

But on the way back to Harry's summer prison, Vernon had gotten a phone call. Harry didn't know who was on the other side, but he theorized that it was the whale's boss, judging by the Yessir's, Right aways's, and the fake personality that the man had slid into. With a startling realization, Harry realized that his uncle would have been sorted into Slytherin, had he been a wizard.

Vernon had gotten off the phone with a victorious smirk and sped back, running more than a few red lights. He didn't say anything the whole ride after the call, except when they pulled into the driveway, to tell his wife and son to stay in the car Harry to go inside.

"Get in there boy," he had growled, though he had a gleeful gleam in his eye. "And I don't want you to come out of your room until we get back."

Harry had nodded, taken his stuff inside, and abided by the rule for all of the five minutes to get his things situated in his room.

Then he went downstairs to make himself a sandwhich.

The Dursley's hadn't returned that night, nor the next, or the next. By that time Harry had already realized that the Dursley's had abandoned him, and quite honestly he wasn't really affected by it. He didn't really need them for anything, as he knew how to feed and clothe himself; he'd been feeding them and himself for years as well as putting on his own clothes for even longer, something that his cousin had only recently gotten the hang of over the last three years.

Oh Dudders…

Harry had assumed that he didn't need the Dursley's and for the most part he was right, but he forgot to factor in one tiny detail…

He didn't have any muggle money.

By the time he had realized his predicament, he had run out of nearly everything in the house. That had been two days ago; and he used those two days to try and think of any solution to his problem. He had thought of everything from simply asking his neighbors for help (Which they wouldn't do because he was a well known delinquent), to stealing, to even going into his aunt and uncle's room and trying to find any spare pounds, but quickly discarded the ideas.

He wasn't a thief and he knew that if his relatives caught wind of him taking any cash from them, there'd be hell to pay.

So he was left with one option; going to Diagon Alley and living off of his trust fund like he had the summer before, after he blew up Marge.

Great times.

He had spent all of yesterday trying to get to The Leaky Cauldron by muggle means, but hadn't been able to get there, and ended up walking several miles back to Little Whinging. He would have taken the Night Bus, but that might require him to do magic and he wasn't keen about getting expelled from Hogwarts, but it was his only option now.

Giving a small shake of his head, Harry swiped the curtains to the side dramatically, though only he was there to witness himself in all his naked glory. He grabbed a towel, and dried himself off quickly before wrapping it around his waist. He made to leave, but stopped at the mirror above the sink. Wiping the condensation off, Harry gave himself a good critique, or as good as he could without his glasses on.

He was too thin for his liking, though he had a faint outline of abs on his stomach which left him a small amount of pride swelling in his chest. His arms were thin, reedy almost, though all muscle as Wood was a slave driver in the team workouts. He would like to be taller, but he knew that he still had a lot of time to grow. His usually wild black hair was hanging limp, over encumbered with water. It was longer than ever before, dropping down till the longest hair was almost to his shoulders. He'd have to get a haircut soon, but a large part pf him liked his hair and kind of wanted to let it grow longer.

Plus that weird thing where his hair grew back in a single night might happen again, and he didn't want to deal with that.

He brought a hand up, and swept some of his hair out of his eyes, allowing his scar to peek through a little causing his eyes to narrow a little. Ignoring the tell-tale Harry Potter sign, Harry's eyes finally landed on their own reflection. He had always loved his eyes. There had been a single time in his life where his Aunt Petunia had commented on how his eyes looked like his mothers, and run her hand gently through his hair. She had been drunk of course, and didn't remember anything after, but ever sense then, Harry had loved his eyes, and stared at them in the mirror whenever he could.

That was until he learned who Narcissus was.

Snorting at himself, Harry stuffed his glasses on and left the bathroom for his own room. The door was ajar just how he had left it, and it let the draft from the open window blow through the house. His room wasn't messy, though he did admit that he could pick up his dirty laundry and take the the dirty dishes down to the kitchen. His books lay on his bed in a haphazard pile, a large space in the center where Harry would lay. Having nothing to do in the house alone, Harry had actually managed to get a good chunk of his summer homework done.

Hermione would be proud.

He quickly put on some boxers and the only form fitting jeans he possessed. Digging through his room, Harry found a plain white shirt in his dresser and a plaid green and white overshirt in his closet. The shirt fit just fine, but the button up, having been Dudley's years ago was to short as the sleeves only went part way past his elbows. After a little contemplation, Harry rolled them up until they rode up his biceps.

Glancing around the room for his wand, Harry found it on his bedside table on top of the open photobook that Hagrid had given him. He quickly snached it off the book, twirling it between his fingers. It was a habit he picked up over the last week. Stuffing his wand into his pocket, Harry gave one last glance over of his room, noting that Hedwig was still out on her hunt and swiped his money pouch off of his trunk, before leaving. He made his way downstairs, locked the front door and left out the back.

He made his way back to the street before taking a left and heading for the local park. It was only a few blocks away so Harry took the time to appreciate the warm late morning air. It was heavy, impregnated with smog and the heat of the summer day, and Harry found himself missing the clean, light air that surrounded Hogwarts.

The park was occupied by several small children running around with their inexhaustible energy. Their mothers sat to the side, at the picnic table shaded by a gazebo. Harry couldn't help but let his eyes linger on the smiling face of the toddlers as they ran to and fro. He'd never been able to experience that, thanks to the Dursley's, and felt an odd craving. As he watched, a you kid, a boy with brown hair and a dirt smudge on his face, caught Harry's eye. The boy pauses mid stride, his head cocked to the side in confusion for a second, before he gave a large smile that Harry couldn't help but return.

He passed the playground, and took a right off of Privet Drive, and walked until he came to a deserted street. It was surprisingly easy to find a place that was secluded enough to call the Night Bus, but he still couldn't help but glance around warily before he pulled out his wand and raised it, a tickling jinx on the tip of his tongue.

BANG!

Much like the first time he encountered the Night Bus, Harry fell flat on his bum in his fright.

In broad daylight, Harry could see that the Night Bus was a large double decker, covered in a deep purple paint. Like the last time, Stan Shunpike leaned out, one hand holding onto the bus's frame the other tucked into his pants pocket. He looked much like Harry remembered, greasy brown hair poked out from under his purple conductor's hat. He'd forgone the coat this time and had partially unbuttoned his wrinkled white shirt, something Harry couldn't fault him for that as it was rather warm out.

Harry wasn't the only one who remembered the person in front of him, if Stan's excited excitation was anything to go by.

"Look 'er, Ern!" he called in his nasally voice. "It's cha Nelev kid, tha' was Harry Potter!" Behind Stan, a head appeared, rimmed with white hair, and goggles over his eyes that made them look comically large, the sight reminded Harry of the estranged house elf Dobby.

Ignoring the slight pain in his bum Harry stood up, and took out his money pouch. "I need to get to The Leaky Cauldron," he said, fishing inside his pouch.

Stan smiled, flashing crooked slightly yellow teeth to Harry. "Tha'll be sev'n sickles 'n four Knuts." Harry fished out a galleon, and stuffed it into Stan's hand.

"Keep the change," he said stepping past Stan into the bus. To his shock, the beds that had been there before had been replaced by rather ratty looking arm chairs. Getting over his surprise quickly, Harry made his way over to an unoccupied chair, passing one of the other three passengers on the first level of the Night he could sit down, a shout of 'Take 'er away Ern!' was heard, and Harry's face made contact with the floor.

Like the beds, the chairs on the Night Bus were not nailed down.

After he managed to get back to his feet, and plant himself in the surprisingly comfortable chair, Harry waited for his stop, looking out the window as the Night Bus sped down a sidewalk before speeding through a park; buildings, people, and swings sets all jumping out of the way before springing back into place, undisturbed.

How the hell did they enchant this metal deathtrap to cause all the things to do that?

" Aye there, 'Arry."

Startled slightly, Harry turned to see Stan leaning on the window next to him, a smirk on his face. "Oh," Harry said eloquently, "Hi Stan."

The man blinked in shock. "Y'know m' name?" he asked. Harry just nodded one of his eyebrows raising in confusion; but Stan didn't seen to notice, instead he was smiling wider, a smug look on his face. He crossed his arms eyes looking off into the distance. "Blimey, 'Arry Potter knows ma name. Wait 'till Chuck hears tha'..." He trailed off.

After a second, Harry cleared his throat, and Stan jolted a little.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said, and opened his mouth to say something else, before the bus suddenly jerked to a stop. Harry had to throw his hands out onto the side of the bus to stop himself. Stan just rocked gently.

"Allen Parkway!" he called, his voice carrying to the far recesses of the bus. Harry watched as a woman in clothes so out of date that she could only be a witch appear from upstairs and disappear outside.

The bus rocketed off once again.

"So," Stan started, "'ave a good school yeah?"

Harry smiled and shrugged. Despite figuring out that the mass murderer that had broken out of a high security prison was his godfather, that his best friend's former rat was a fat man, and that his greatest fear was fear itself, not to mention his teacher was a werewolf (which Harry though was actually really, really cool). "Fine."

"Well yer in fer a surprise this yea, tha' fer sure."

Harry looked at the man inquisitively, but before he could say anything the bus once again stopped, and Harry just stopped himself from tumbling out of his seat.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Stan called, causing Harry to glance out the window. Sure enough the familiar rundown shop sat nestled between two other buildings. The black sign hanging above the door read The Leaky Cauldron. Harry turned to Stan a question on his tongue, but Stan beat him to the punch. "You caught us on a good rotation," he said simply.

Harry nodded mutely, standing up and making his way for the exit.

"'Ave a good day, Mista Potter!" Stan called, and Harry gave him a half-hearted wave in reply. Stepping out onto the bustling streets, Harry made his way through the crows, hearing the characteristic 'bang!' of the Night Bus's departure. It didn't take long for Harry to reach the door to the wizard bar, and without preamble he stepped in moving to the side to let his eyes acclimate themselves to the change in lighting.

The Leaky Cauldron was lit by the sunlight falling through the windows. It wasn't particularly extravagant, being furnished with old but sturdy wood tables and chairs, a thin layer of smoke clung to the ceiling from the fireplace that roared even though it was the middle of summer. It was rather packed, with wizards and witches milling about along with an assortment of other beings. Harry recognized a dwarf, only by the fact that his whole face was covered by his grizzly beard stalking next to a tall pale man wrapped in a black cloak.

Harry stepped further in, intent on making his way to Diagon Alley, and by extension Gringotts, but his nose finally picked up the smell of fried fish, and his stomach seemed to shrivel in upon itself as it let out a slight gurgling sound. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry approached the bar intent on getting Tom to make him some food.

Forty minutes later, Harry downed the last of his third butterbear before setting the bottle down next to it's two brethren, a platter that had once held a melt and chips* lay barren nearby. Stifling a burp, Harry glanced around the bar, letting his eyes soak in the uniqueness around him. Next to the fire place, a old man sat alone puffing on a pipe , purple smoke leaving his mouth or nose every once and awhile in the shapes of animals. Across the way, Harry saw a woman whose hair he was sure had been a deep blue, but was now a bright, neon pink. The table next to her was being cleaned and, as Harry watched, the waiter waved his hand carelessly causing the plates, cups, bottles, and napkins to rise into the air. The man didn't even spare them a glance, but instead proceeded to wipe the table down, and turn away to stalk behind the bar the plates following following, while the bottles and napkins zoomed around a witch to land in the trash.

Harry let a small grin come to his face. Magic always fascinated him, even in school when he was surrounded by it twenty-four hour of the day. Sure there were times when he grew numb to it and started glancing over the moving paintings and moving stairways. He'd start dreading learning a new spell or wand movement. He'd curse essays that were on topics such as the danger of potion making (though with his teacher he thought he was allowed that one). But then something totally unexpected would happen. He'd see a snowman hopping around, throwing chunks of it's flesh at students, or decide to use a secret passageway and stare in fascination as the stones folded in upon themselves or vanished completely.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stood up, leaving a stack of coins on the table behind him. He glanced back at the woman on the booth on the other side of the restaurant, and saw that her hair had become short and black, a streak of emerald green running through it.

He couldn't help the fact that his lips twitched further upwards. He really hoped that magic never lost the novelty that it had to him.

Stepping into the back, Harry took out his wand, gave it a twirl, and lightly tapped it against several bricks. He took a step back when he was finished to admire his handy work, and was greeted with the sight of the sight of Diagon Alley slowly appearing as the brick wall in front of him started folding in upon itself.

In the sky, the sun had risen further as had the temperature. A healthy amount of people walked down the large street that was Diagon Alley, and the shops were all open. Harry couldn't help but let the bright colors of the shops bring him back to the first time he had come here. He could still recall the wonder that he felt, how he'd been totally mesmerized by the massive crowds, and weird things being sold. He remembered seeing owls and bats, flying around, and seeing people take out there weird sticks to do seemingly extraordinary things.

It had seemed magical.

Taking a step out into the street, Harry turned and started walking toward Gringotts, the towering structure of pristine, white marble. Because of the lack of a large crowd, Harry managed to get to the bank rather quickly, and he paused only shortly to admire the beauty of the building before stepping up the steps and entering the imposing building

The bank looked just like it had when Harry was eleven. Spotless white marble floors and walls, small black veins running through the smooth stone. The ceiling, Harry noticed was decorated in scenes of bloody battles, though Harry only managed to make out a goblin running another one threw with a spear, before he averted his eyes, the bright light coming from the impressive chandelier becoming too much. Eyeing the two long imposing desks where several goblins sat conversing silently with customers, Harry hesitated only for a second before moving to the shortest line.

It seemed that he got into the express line, because less than ten minutes later, Harry was looking up at the imposing goblin, his green eyes peering into its' pale blue. A feeling of trepidation started bubbling in his stomach.

"Yes," the goblin asked sounding slightly irritated, though Harry hadn't ever heard a goblin sound anything but so he couldn't really tell.

"Ah, hello sir," Harry started, and seeing the goblin's eyes narrow, he continued on, trying to muster up his Gryffindor courage. "I was-" he started, before clearing his throat when his voice squeaked. Damn puberty. "I was hoping I could get into my vault."

Seeing the amusement in the goblin's eyes, Harry flushed but didn't look away.

"I see," the goblin started, before turning to the ledger in front of him, or at least Harry thought it was a ledger he couldn't see over the desk yet. "And I assume you have your vault key."

Harry hesitated. "Er, no actually I don't." The goblin looked at him, the skin around his eye pulling tight so Harry assumed that the goblin was raising an eyebrow. Feeling as if something bad would happen soon, Harry rushed to explain himself. "I gave it to Mrs. Weasley last summer, but I haven't gotten it back."

At this the goblin's eyes narrowed dangerously. Before Harry could even begin to think of a way to get himself out of the hole he was sure he was digging himself into, the goblin turned his head and snapped something, the noise sounding as if he was speaking out of his nose and roof of his mouth. Harry recognized it as Gobbledygook. Another goblin, somewhere Harry couldn't see, replied before the teller in front of Harry turned back to him.

"Please, follow Sore Tooth," he said, though the request sounded more like a demand. The goblin pointed to Harry's left where he saw a goblin waiting for him.

Harry swallowed through his suddenly dry mouth, his eyes flickering to the doors in behind the goblin, before he complied and started walking, turning away from the door when the Goblin took him behind the desk that the other goblins sat at.

How had the day gotten so bad? He'd just been at the Cauldron, finishing a great meal, his first in two days, and now he was about to be taken further into the sole bank that all wizards were wary of crossing. He probably would never see light again. No, he'd probably be tourchered for loaning his key out without telling them first, and then thrown underground where the vaults were, alone until he died.

To his amusement, Harry saw that the goblins behind the desks sat on really tall stools.

The goblin, Sore Tooth if he remembered correctly, lead him through several passageways and corridors, once threw a door past some secretaries, even under a waterfall that left Harry as dry as he'd been when he'd been other side. By the time they stopped at a simple wooden door, Harry was well and thoroughly lost.

Sore Tooth, banged on the door calling out in Gobbledygook when someone on the other side answered. There was a silence, in which Harry took the time to read the elegant script on the door, Goldgrin, before another gruff call came from inside. Without waiting to see if Harry was ready, Sore Tooth opened the door and stepped to the side to allow the teen inside.

Steeling his nerves, Harry stepped into the surprisingly spacious office. It was well furnished, with a fireplace situated in the middle of the left wall and bookcases opposite it. In front of Harry, a goblin that he deduced was Goldgrin was seated scribbling away at a form. His desk was a covered in stacks of paper, neatly piled on top of each other. As he watcher, Goldgrin dipped his quill in his inkwell, the ink a sparking gold.

"Sit, Mr. Potter," Goldgrin said, and Harry heard the door close behind him. Quickly glancing behind him, Harry saw that the door was, indeed, shut. With nothing else to do, he sat. It took several minutes for Goldgrin to finish what he was writing, as well as two more inkwell dips. The goblin finished with a flourish and set the paper that he had been filling out in a pile, before turning around in his chair, and hopping off. He disappeared for several seconds, but Harry could hear the sound of a drawer opening, papers rustling, and then the drawer closing. Not long after, Goldgrin appeared with a thick folder.

"I have been informed," the goblin started, finally turning his eyes upon Harry, "that you are not in possession of your vault key."

Before Harry replied, he took the time to take in the goblin before him, as well as try and calm his nerves. Goldgrin was old for a goblin, or so he looked as he still had several pronounced and deep wrinkles. Despite having a full head of hair, Harry noticed that it was thin and grey that ran down the side of his face into a thin goatee. Like all goblins, Goldgrin had long pointed ears. When Harry's eyes fell on the goblin's orange ones he felt compelled to talk.

"That is correct," he said, slightly surprised at how steady his voice was. "I gave it to Mrs. Weasley and have not gotten it back, though I haven't asked as well."

Goldgrin waved a hand dismissively. "That is of no concern," he said. "What does cause concern is the fact that she had it in the first place. You said you gave it to her willingly, but did you bring up the notion of parting with your key?"

"Er, no, I didn't sir."

Goldgrin looked at Harry for a second, before his lips quirked upwards. "Mr. Potter, I apologize, I have not introduce myself. I am Goldgrin, the Potter account manager."

Harry nodded. "I saw your name on your door, but didn't know how to address you." They sat in a silence for a while, Goldgrin analyzing Harry who, after a minute cleared his throat. "May I ask what you were working on when I came in?"

"That?" Goldgrin asked. "That was just an update on the Potter properties. But we'll get to that later if that is what you desire. The reason you are here is because of the breach in Gringotts protocol. While it is not uncommon for people to let others close to them go into their vaults, it is expressly stated in all Gringotts contracts that should this situation arise that the key is to be given back within the next two weeks unless the original key owner gave permission otherwise. Did you give permission to the Weasley Matriarch?"

Harry's first instinct was to instantly say that he had. That he just had a gap in memory when he entered Gringotts, and was actually waiting for the key to return in the mail with his owl. Such was his loyalty to the Weasley family, but when he opened his mouth to lie, he caught the eye of the goblin across from him, and knew that any lie would be seen through.

Nearly swallowing his tongue, Harry decided that he'd give the truth.

"No, I didn't," he said quietly before speaking up in a rush. "But I don't want to do anything that'll cause her to be punished!"

Goldgrin raised a grey eyebrow, much like the goblin teller that Harry had just been with had. "Are you quite sure Mr. Potter? I know that you are close to the Weasley family, but this is an insult to not only the Potter family but Gringotts as well as a complete disregard to the charter that has been in place for several centuries."

Harry didn't even have to think. "I'm sure," he said. "I know the Weasleys and they wouldn't do anything incriminating, least of all to me. If you feel the need to look over the ledgers, go ahead, but I'm sure that it's nothing more than an oversight on my part."

The goblin pierced Harry with a long hard stare, one that, despite being rather afraid, he returned it with equal fervor. After several minutes of staring, Goldgrin slowly nodded.

"I will not be pressing any charges against the Weasley family, but I will go over the Potter logs and if I find any abnormalities there will be a full scale investigation." Harry wanted to protest, but, at the steely look the goblin shot him, he stayed silent. "Now," Goldgrin continued, ruffling through the folder in front of him, "As a precaution, the lock to your trust vault will be changed immediately, and a new key will be made and mailed to you within two days time. For today, your goblin escort will open your vault for you." Pulling out a specific piece of paper, Goldgrin set it aside before looking at the young teen in front of him. "As you are not of age yet, Gringotts does not have anything to bring to your attention, but rather your gaurdian. Do you have any further questions?"

"Um, who is my guardian?" Harry asked, having a feeling that it wasn't his aunt or uncle.

Goldgrin actually grimaced, a horrifying sight that involved the wrinkling of his nose and a flash of golden teeth. "That," he stated, "is a tricky question. While the previous lord and lady did express to me personally that they were naming your godfather, Sirius Black, as your guardian, but with his status as a wanted fugitive, he has been passed over and your guardianship has been passed to one Remus Lupin."

Harry raised his eyebrow, and opened his mouth to say something, but Goldgrin just raised a clawed hand.

"Now while nothing has stopped Mr. Lupin from accepting guardianship, he did not show up at the allotted office in the British Ministry or here, at Gringotts, to officially accept within the first to months after your parents passed. Because of that, the Ministry overlooked him and instead has elected a temporary guardian."

"Who?" Harry asked, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth.

Goldgrin sighed. "As 1873 the Ministry passed the Heir Representation Act, or HRA for short. Under that law, if any ancient and noble house is down to it's last heir that is not of age when the previous Head of House retires or dies, then the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is elected to take the Head of House position until the heir is of age, though he or she is allowed to decide if the HR Act of 620 is passed upon to the heir."

"Wait," Harry started confused, and hand running through his hair, "Who's the Chief Warlock right now? And what's the HR Act of 620?"

Goldgrin gazed at Harry for a long second. "Currently the Chief Warlock is Albus Dumbledore. As for the HR Act of 620 is of no concern to you, at least at present."

Harry sat back in his chair that he had unknowingly leaned forward in. "Oh," he said.

"Is there anything else that you have questions on, Mr. Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth to say no, before he remembered something. "You said that you were looking over the latest results of the Potter properties?" The goblin nodded. "I wasn't aware that there was any," Harry stated.

Golsgrin nodded again,before ruffling through the thick folder again, nearly going halfway through it in one turn. It took him several minutes to find what he was looking for, though when he did he took out a large set of papers held together by an ornate paperclip. Or that's what Harry thought before it moved and started flying around the room.

Goldgrin ignored it. "Yes, House Potter has several hundred properties throughout the world. Twenty in Japan alone, with several small islands as well." Harry's jaw dropped. "Most of the properties have been donated to several orginizations or family friends, though a substantial amount of money is still being brought in."

Quickly regaining his wits, Harry managed to croak out a question. "What propertied do I have in England?"

Giving the teen a golden grin, Golsgrin started flipping through the small stack of papers before he came whatever he was looking for.

"It seems that you have several throughout England, though most are in or around London. Let's see… there are several stores in Diagon Alley that sit on Potter owned lands. Two properties in Surry: Number Four Privet Drive, and an apartment on the corner of 72nd Avenue and 14th Street."

Overwhelmed, Harry took a minute to regain his bearings. Number Four was his? But the Dursleys lived there. But why was it listed as a Potter property? Was it really his? Or was the Dursleys the real owners? Taking another second to shake the jumbled thoughts out of his head, Harry refocused on Goldgrin.

"How is that possible?" he asked. "My aunt and uncle live there."

Flipping the sheet over, the goblin scanned over the parchment, before clicking his tongue. "It seems that it was gifted to one's Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley nee Evans by James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans as a marriage present." Harry blinked, but before he could really form a thought Goldgrin continued. "How curious. It seems that the apartment in 72nd is listed under one Sirius Black."

Harry perked up at that, the conundrum of Privet Drive having been solved. "Wait," he said, "You said that that was on 72nd and 14th?"

Goldgrin locked eyes with Harry and nodded. "It says here that it hasn't been used in almost fourteen years, though no one lives in it right now. Goblins were sent there over eleven years ago to place it under a stasis charm, under my command."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Despite Mr. Black being sent to Azkaban, he was never sent to trial. Because of that the property is still seen as his, as well as it being listed under the Potter properties, so I was obligated by standard procedure to put it under stasis."

Running his hand through his hair, Harry couldn't help but pick up on something that the goblin had said. "You said he never had a trial?"

Goldgrin nodded. "That is correct. During and after the end of the Black Wizard's reign of terror the British Ministry of Magic, specifically DMLE had been put under severe scrutiny for the amount of witches and wizards that got away from being convicted by claiming imperious. As such whenever they found any case where the subjects innocence was ever in question, which by principle is any case, they were quick to put them in Azkaban. It was one of the reasons that Bagnold was ousted as quickly as he was."

A spark of hope ignited in Harry's stomach. "So since Sirius never had a trial, he was technically held in Azkaban unjustly," he said. "If I manage to get him a trial will it be possible for him to be cleared of his charges."

Goldgrin's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Mr. Potter I would advise you to use caution when you speak of such things, else people would suspect you of being in league with a suspected mass murderer." Harry stilled at the tone of voice that Goldgrin used, wondering if the goblin was going to report him to the officials, but Harry found that his fears were unfounded as Goldgrin gave him a particularly bloodthirsty grin. "With that said, that is generally what someone in Mr. Black's position would want. Though with his current status at kill on sight, it would be impossible for that to happen."

Harry deflated, the spark of hope in his chest fading away to embers.

"On a completely unrelated note," Goldgrin continued, causing Harry's head to snap to the goblin, "As the Account Manager to House Potter, I am allowed to use it's name and money in small quantities. But, in this case, I would be allowed to fund a private investigation, as well as do research for a proper defendant in case of a trial and finding a reporter that will let people know the injustice that a person has gone through." Goldgrin paused and looked straight into Harry's eyes. "That is, of course, with the Head of House, heir or said heir's guardian permission."

Harry took a second to catch on, but when he did, the embers of hope in his chest exploded to a roaring blaze. He couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. "If I was said heir," he said, choosing to follow Goldgrin's lead, "I'd give you, the Account Manager the okay to proceed."

The goblin and Harry stared at each other for a second longer before the Goldgrin gave a vicious smile and nodded.

"To show his gratitude, the Account Manager might give the heir a experimental magical item." The grey skinned goblin reached into another drawer and pulled out an ordinary looking brown leather wallet. "Said item would be connected to said heir's vault and allow them to pay for both magical and muggle items. Though the heir's blood would be needed," he added at the end, looking at Harry expectantly.

Nodding Harry leaned over and presented his hand to the goblin, who grabbed it and maneuvered his hand over the wallet before pushing his thumb nail through Harry's skin quickly. After squeezing a couple of drops of blood on the wallet which glowed brightly for several seconds before dying down. Letting go of Harry's hand, Goldgrin started rummaging through his desk.

"If you don't have anything else to ask, Mr. Potter," he said not looking up, "then I will excuse myself to do some paperwork."

Blinking at the abrupt dismissal, Harry quickly swiped the wallet off the desk and headed for the door before pausing. "Is there any way I can get the key for the apartment on 72nd?"

The rummaging stopped, and Goldgrin looked up, before he grabbed a blank piece of parchment and wrote something upon it, before holding it out to Harry.

"Give this to a teller and they will give you the key," Goldgrin said.

Nodding quickly, Harry took the parchment and left, finding the same goblin that escorted him there waiting for him. Without Harry even saying a word, Sore Tooth took off.

The trip back to the lobby was quick, though when they went through the waterfall, Harry had hid the paper inside his overshirt, deciding not to take a chance with it. Who had a waterfall in a hallway anyway? It took a little bit of time for Harry to get the key from the teller, but within half an hour of leaving Goldgrin's office Harry stepped out of Gringotts, not having gone to his vault like he had originally intended but ultimately satisfied with the whole ordeal

Harry gazed at the bronze key in his hand, the thought of living with Sirius floating threw his mind. He couldn't stop himself from smirking.

Harry frowned.

He stood in the middle of a park, the setting sun bathing the world in orange glow and overhead the sky was fading yellow to orange to purple to blue. The trees that surrounded the path that Harry was walking cast the brick path into dark shadows that were chased away by the week light of the lamps.

After leaving Gringotts, Harry had left Diagon Alley soon afterwards intent on exploring London a little. He could honestly say that he enjoyed his time walking through the bustling streets, looking into the various stores that he passed, he even got to try out his new wallet when he stopped at a diner for pizza.

Unfortunately, Harry forgot to take into account where he was, and found himself totally lost. After asking several people directions to 72nd and 14th, he had found himself in the middle of a surprisingly large park.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry sighed and started to walk further along the path, deciding that he'd just find the nearest deserted street and call the Night Bus. Just as he saw the end of the path, though, the lights of a building on the corner of the street across from him. He squinted a little trying to make out the writing that rested above the window. Despite his intent focus, he wasn't able to make out the words until he stood directly across the street.

Self-Defense Dojo

His interest slightly peaked, Harry started approached the brick building. It wasn't overly large, though it was long taking up a good portion of the city block. The windows were covered from the inside by blinds, but the light from the other side still bleed through. Casting a quick glance around him, Harry crossed the street and grasped the handle of the door, flinching slightly when a jolt of electricity shot through him.

Thinking nothing of it, Harry entered and found himself in a small reception area. Chairs lined the walls, and a moderately sized desk sat on the far side of the room. Behind the desk were three doors; one had a faded bathroom sign, the other was slightly ajar allowing Harry to see the office behind it. The last one, on the far right, was open, florescent lights streaming through.

"Hello?" called uncertainly. "Is anyone here?" Not getting a reply, Harry creeped closer and poked his head around the door frame, the words he was about to use dying in his throat. The room was large, taking up the majority of the space in the building. It was barren, with a wooden floor and cracked plaster on the wall what were decorated with several large cream cloths with words from a different language embroidered on it in blood red.

And there was a person.

He was an old man who sat with his back to Harry, which was the only way he could see his hair. It sat at the base of his head in a square patch of silver hair that fell down to his lower back in a long braid that was tapered off with a red string. From what Harry could see the man was wearing a black shirt, but seeing as the man was sitting down, he could only make an assumption that he was wearing pants of some sort.

Merlin he hoped so.

After standing for a couple of seconds, his eyes flitting around the room before he decided that he'd leave the man to whatever he was doing, but before he could take a step back the man spoke.

"Not so fast, Zéi."

Harry blinked. What had he just called him?

"Thief," the man said as if reading Harry's thoughts.

"Thief," Harry echoed affronted. "I'm not trying to seal anything!" he said stepping into the room, his steps resounding throughout the empty space.

"Nevertheless," the man said, his voice level and smooth, "you are taking something from me. Something that I have precious little of. Something that continually grows smaller and smaller."

Harry stopped a couple of feet behind the man, noticing the single candle that sat in front of him. What was he stealing? He didn't even have the intention to steal, so the guy was totally wrong in calling him a thief. Maybe he should just leave.

"Oh what a crooked person you are, stealing so much for me," the old man said, his tone taking on a slightly different quality. Harry, for his part grew more confused. He's taking more and more if it, though it constantly grows smaller. The man's patience? Perhaps, but patience can be regained. So there was…

Suddenly it clicked, and Harry felt his temper flare.

"You time?" he hissed, fist clenched tightly.

The man turned to Harry for the first time, his wrinkly face was pulled slightly as he smiled showing his surprisingly white teeth. His face was weatherbeaten, with bleached white and drooping eyebrows, the same color as his long goatee and mustache. The man's eyes were a pale blue, that shimmered with mirth and intellect. Taking all of that in within a second, Harry could barely contain himself from exploding at the old man in front of him.

"Right in on, my boy," the man said the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling slightly as he smiled wider.

Later Harry would wonder why his temper flared the way it did, nearly exploding into an episode that would be very reminiscent of his mother, or so he heard, but at that instance Harry couldn't find it in himself to be curious about it.

"You senile old man," he growled gritting his teeth, "The only reason I'm still here was because you stopped me from leaving." Let it be known that Harry Potter didn't like being called a thief.

"Oh?" the old man said, his head tilting to the side. His face morphed into a look of innocence though Harry still saw the sparkle in his eye. It angered him,as it seemed the man was making fun of the whole situation. "I was only trying to stop the delinquent who breaking into my dojo from stealing anything, but alas I failed."

"Your store was open," Harry said heatedly. "You didn't have a closed sign out."

"And that makes it okay to enter, Zéi?"

"I'm not a thief."

"Not only do you steal my time, but also the air that I might breath."

"The air is free for everyone to breath, you old coot."

"Oh, you wound me with your words. That makes you a burglar, Zéi."

Harry was sure that he was going to grind his teeth into dust with how hard is jaw was clenched. Biting back the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue, Harry spun on his heel intent on calling the Night Bus to get back to Privet Drive. Screw the apartment, he'd find it later, when he wasn't being messed with by some overgrown wrinkle.

Or at least that was the plan until a wall of flames sprung up in front of him before spreading out in a circle around him.

Momentarily stunned, Harry's hand dove into his pocket and pulled out his wand, only for it to be pulled out of his grasp. Gasping in shock, Harry's eyes followed it until it landed in the hand of the senile old man who now stood facing Harry. Harry's wand firmly held in his hand, Harry watched as the man stood up straight, his hands clasped behind his back, feet slightly parted.

"Why don't you stay for a while, Mr. Potter?" the old man asked, the twinkle in his eyes making Harry slightly angry, though it was tempered by his curiosity and, dare he admit it, awe. Despite his emotions, Harry kept his composure, eyeing the old man in front of him skeptically. The teen noticed that the old man was indeed wearing what Harry recognized as a traditional Chinese gi. It was a solid black, and looked as crisp as if it had been freshly ironed. On his feet, the old man wore black slippers.

As Harry watched, the man across from him raised his hand and, with a lazy wave, drew all flames into the palm of his hand. The candle that Harry noticed earlier floated up from behind the old man, and set itself down between the two. With another lazy flick of his wrist, the now small ball of flames shot toward the candle. For a single, terror-filled second, Harry thought the flames would explode violently, and he would die with the last thing he saw being the small smile on an old man's face.

Luckily, his fears were unfounded as the flame latched onto the candle wick, flickering only slightly.

The man elegantly slid into a seated position, his legs crossed in front of him, and his hands (Harry noticed his wand clasped gently in his hand) folded in his lap. He gestured with his free hand.

"Please, sit, Mr. Potter."

Harry eyed the man in front of him, resisting the urge to jump at him in an attempt to get his wand back. Not only had the man just done silent and wandless magic, but he had also manipulated the flames in a way that Harry was sure wasn't something a normal person could do. The old man was obviously not normal, even by wizarding standards, but something about the way he held himself made Harry think that even if he did have his wand that the man wouldn't have to rely upon magic to defeat him.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Harry knew when he was defeated. In contrast to what others might think, he actually did think about the things he did before he did the, admittedly not to such a deep degree as Hermione, but still enough to have a small amount of confidence in his actions. At least that what it looked like when he looked back at all the crap that he, Ron and Hermione had gone through at Hogwarts; and with all those adventures, Harry liked to think that he'd picked up on a at least a good sixth sense of intuition.

Plus he doubted he would be able to get away if he tried.

With a sigh, Harry slowly lowered himself until he mirrored the man across from him, noting that he wasn't as smooth or comfortable as the man across from him.

He idly realized that the wood was cool and not hot like he thought it was going to be.

"So," the old man started, "Why did you come here, Mr. Potter?" Harry for his part realized that that was the third time that the man had addressed him by his name, and, even though his tone still held the same amount pleasantness, he got the feeling that the man was quite serious.

"Who are you?" Harry asked instead of answering. He stared hard at the old man, who met his gaze with a pleasant smile on his face, unfazed. Sat for several second, Harry expectantly and the old man in what seemed like serenity. Finally after what was probably five minutes, Harry just sighed. "I was going to ask for directions."

The old man's lips stretched a little. "I see," he said. "You are lost, yet you do not know that you stand at a crossroad that you can not see."

"Crossroad?" Harry started confused, before he shook his head. "Wait before that, who are you? What are you? How did you do that with the flames?" It wasn't until then that Harry realized that his mind was actually really jumbled.

For the first time, the man's smile faltered. "I am," he started slowly, "and have been known by many names, but you may call me Makarov, or Master if you accept."

"Master?" Harry began before the old man raised his hand and Harry found his mouth snapping shut before he could continue."

"That flows into your other questions." At this Makarov's smile came back. "As for what I am, i guess I would be called something more and less than a wizard. A mage. And as for 'master', that would be because I am offering to teach you." Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Not only to do what I just did with the fire, but in magic as well as how to defend yourself without it."

Harry's mouth hung open. What the hell was this old guy talking about? He didn't even know the guy for over ten minutes, and within that time he had annoyed him, trapped him in a circle of fire before offering to teach him. Not to say that Harry wasn't interested, he was. Incredibly so, not just because he actually was very curious about what the Makarov had done with the flames, but had also caught his interest at the work magic. How was that possible? It wasn't like Harry could do magic outside of school, so how'd this guy teach him?

'Wait,' Harry thought. 'Why in Morgana's name am I even giving this guy a chance? Much less even thinking about it?' Despite his thoughts, Harry couldn't even help be intrigued by the man's words and offer. Protect yourself without magic? Like hand-to-hand- fighting?

Harry swallowed thickly. "Why?" he asked.

"Do you remember that shock that you felt when you touched the door handle?" Makarov asked. He nodded. "That was a special type of magic that I have set up around the perimeter. In short, I was able to gauge your potential by that, and from what I've seen, you have a great deal. Not only that, but you were able to figure out my riddle rather quickly, a test that I used to test your mentality."

"So… you want to teach me because I have potential?" Harry asked, hiding how flattered he felt by that. He didn't get complimented like that often.

A puff of air left Makarov's nose, his eyes becoming more intense. "My way of… teaching and using magic has steadily been forgotten in the world outside of where it originated, and it has always been a dream of mine to pass my teachings to others outside of my home."

"Where do you come from?" Harry blurted out, immediately flushing.

Makarov waived the hand holding Harry's wand in the air. "A far off land that you won't know about. But that is neither here nor there, Harry Potter. Will you accept?"

Harry bit his lip. "How will you teach me magic? I can't do magic outside school."

"That will only be revealed only if you accept."

Harry nodded, understanding. "What times would I have to train?"

Makarov raised an eyebrow. "Again, that will only be given if you accept."

Running a hand through his hair, Harry shoved down his growing irritation. Nobody had managed to push his buttons so quickly besides Draco Malfoy. "How long will you be able to teach me?" Makarov shrugged, and Harry threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "What can you tell me!?"

"You'll look really cool when we're finished."

Harry slammed a palm against his forehead. This old man was infuriating. But when Harry looked back at Makarov, something deep within himself told him that he should accept,if only to alleviate the boredom that he was undoubtedly going to have when he finished all of his summer homework. He had planned on just reading a bunch of books, and maybe trying to find a way to get to the Burrow early. But now he actually had something to take up his time until the Weasleys contacted him.

Plus the fire manipulation would probably come in handy.

Ignoring the strange feeling welling up in his stomach, Harry slowly nodded to Makarov. "Yeah, I accept."

Giving Harry a large smile, Makarov held out his right hand, Harry's wand held between his middle and ring finger. "Grab onto my forearm," he said.

His eyes flickering from his wand to the old man's pale blue eyes, Harry reached forward and grasped the man's forearm, the cloth that Makarov's gi was made out of was soft but felt durable. Harry's wand tip pressed against his bare forearm, and Makarov grasped his arm with surprising strength

Before Harry could say anything, Makarov started chanting in a language Harry couldn't understand. He didn't have a lot of time to try and decipher the words, as a sharp pain came from where his wand tip pressed against his bare skin. Hissing at the pain, though he was accustomed to it, Harry pushed through the pain and glanced at his forearm. What he was made his eyes widen.

Spreading like a drop of ink on a blank piece of parchment was an ever growing black dot. As he watched, the dot stopped growing in some places and branched out, into a single intricate design. It took several minutes of Makarov chanting and constant pain for whatever he was doing to finish. When he was finished, Harry was witnessed to something akin to a tattoo being placed on his forearm.

At a point the black had spread around his arm several times in thick lines, the thinnest having actually wrapped around the palm of his hand and onto his middle finger until it ended at it's tipr. The further up his forearm that the black line had gone, the thicker it got, until it branched off into what Harry recognized as four limbs and two wings, before it all ended toward the crook of his elbow with a large angular head colored a solid black.

It was a dragon, Harry realized, intricately wrapped around his arm with its tail curled around his wrist and hand, while the body was engraved around his forearm. As Harry watched, the dragon seemed to open an eye and gaze at him, before the head was nothing more than a solid mass of black again.

"That," Makarov said, his slightly strained voice stopping Harry from flipping out, "Is my mark. It symbolizes that I have taken you as a pupil and that you have accepted willingly."

Nodding mutely, Harry watched as Makarov gracefully stood up, before walking passed Harry and disappearing out the entrance. He reappeared a couple of minutes later, a small pile of books floating next to him.

"Now that you are my pupil," he said to Harry when he sat down again, "I can actually answer your questions from earlier. I will be teaching you about magic, but nothing will actually be practice for about a month. By that time, if I deem you worthy, we will move on to actually practicing magic, but not in the way that you are thinking. These," he said gesturing to the pile of books that he brought with him, "are what you are going to start off with. These are books on magical theory and runic magic."

"How are those going to help me?" Harry asked.

Makarov smiled. "You are to read them by next monday, when we will have our first training season." Harry's jaw dropped as he glanced at the stack of books. There were about five, which wouldn't have been the problem if it wasn't for the fact that they were severely thick, though manageable if he got right into it, it was only Thursday after all. "This," Makarov continued not noticing Harry's internal dilemma, "brings us to the second part of your training. I will be instructing you for six hours a day every day with the exception of sundays, starting from four-thirty to ten-thirty in the afternoon. Is that understood?"

Harry hesitantly nodded, noting that he would still have a good portion of the day to himself.

"Good," Makarov nodded. "I did say that you will be learning self defence without the use of magic, and that means that you have to condition your body. Each day before you come here, I want you to have run for a minimum of an hour, as well as done fifty push-ups and one hundred sit-ups, as well as as many pull-ups, lunges, and whatever else that comes to your head. When you get here, I will lead you through stretches so that you don't pull anything, before we move onto hand-to-hand combat before magic."

Harry blanched. That was a shite ton of things that he needed to get done before he got to the dojo, not to mention that he had the reading to get done, and, if he guessed correctly, he'd have more to read and practice as runes was something that he saw Hermione constantly looking at last year. Once again giving a hesitant nod, Harry unfolded his legs out from underneath himself, before scooping up the books and standing up.

"Harry," Makarov said, and Harry looked at him to see the handle of his wand pointed at him. Shifting the books to rest under one arm, Harry took his wand, and stuffed his wand in his pocket again. He resituated the books.

"Why am I coming here so late?" Harry asked.

Makarov stood up as well. "I have classes to teach," he said. "And while I will without a doubt enjoy teaching you, that will not pay the bills, plus the real training will come after the first month is up."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry decided not to ask the obvious question and instead steered the conversation in a different direction. "Do you know where 72nd and 14th are?"

"Oh. So that is what you were looking for when you came in here." Makarov smiled. "Yes, I do. Take an immediate left when you leave the dojo, go down two block, and take a right. You can't miss it."

Nodding, Harry turned and walked to the exit, before realizing that he had one last question in the tank.

"Ah, master," he started, the words feeling foreign in his mouth as well as leaving a bad taste. "When I first got here you said that I was at a crossroad. What did you mean?"

Makarov's smile took a different quality, one that Harry couldn't place but felt that it didn't fit his face.

"That, Zéi, does not matter any more. You have already chosen a path."

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, a small glass of firewhisky sat in front of him.

He wasn't a man of excessive luxury, preferring a simplistic life style that didn't really reflect a man of his status. He did enjoy the simple things though. The rather sour taste of lemon drops was a favorite of his, though he did find sweets rather pleasent, more so in his childhood but old habits die hard. He enjoyed the feeling he got whenever he helped someone, something most teachers got, as well as the reactions that the new generation had when he wore he, admittedly, rather outlandish robes.

But of all things that he did enjoy, Albus didn't particularly like drinking.

It was poison, one that attacked the body slowly and never failed to kill given enough time. Not to mention it stole the inhibition of whomever consumed it as well as his reasoning.

Yes, drinking wasn't for him, though he had to admit that it was pretty much the only thing that he could do at this time.

Sybill Trelawney had just excused himself from his office, saying that she needed more tea bags for the upcoming semester, not knowing that she had just given another prophecy.

Albus frowned, taking the glass of fire whisky and drowning the whole thing before he refilled the glass, but he didn't drink again, instead swirling the contents, his eyes looking into the fire in the fireplace but not seeing. He was deeply troubled. That was Sybill's third prophecy, and the second one within a month. Even in lore, two prophecies within ten years of was bad luck, not to mention that if a seer had given two prophecies in the span of time that Sybill had, they would be severely exhausted, yet she looked to be just fine; better, even, than she had in awhile.

But that was not the only thing.

Several creatures that were thought to be extinct or have gone into hiding were moving again. Unicorns were forming herds again, while a large giant settlement in southern Africa had started making raids against the nearby settlements. A manticore sighting had been confirmed when a detective in America followed the trail of four bodies. Godlings had been seen again, shapeshifters were about, and a plague of scarab beetles were currently infesting magical and muggle Egypt.

Just the other day, Charlie Weasley had written to him asking for him to develop a new ward to subsidise the cages that they were using because the ones they were using weren't working anymore.

Even Ents were being reported

Albus stopped swirling his cup, overcome by a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. His skin felt tight for the first time in years, no decades, and he felt his magical core thrum in his chest. The hairs on his arm stood up, and the blood pumped through his veins in a way that he hadn't felt since he and Grindelwald had been younger. Despite himself Albus felt his lips pull back into a smile.

Magic was coming back to this world. He didn't know how, or even where to even start looking as to why, but he knew that it was coming back and stronger then ever.

Unbidden, Sybill's words came back to his ears and the smile that had wormed it's way upon his face was replaced by a flat line.

The Harbinger has heralded the second coming…

Albus sighed. If Sybill was to be trusted then a monstrosity worse than Voldemort is coming, and he didn't even know how to start preparing for this prophecy, not to mention the other one or the wrenches that this prophecy threw into his plans for the other one.

Throwing back his head, Albus downed the last of his firewhiskey before he set it down and stood up to go to his chambers. He had a ICW meeting tomorrow about the triwizard tournament, and he would definitely need his sleep.

AN: So, what did you think. Leave a review, and I'll be sure to read and reply in my next chapter.

On a side note, I would like to tell everyone waiting for the next chapter of Catalyst of the Supernatural or any other story that the next chapter(s) will be out soon, so don't fret. The only reason I am taking so long to get these chapters out right now is because I have had a crapton of things happen in my life recently, and because I have another crossover fanfic that I'm working one, though it takes up a lot of time making sure I have a good understanding of the two storylines.

Anyway until next time!

Remember, Sempai will always notice you.