Thump

Thump

Thump

Harry sighed, taking in the familiar smell of cleaning supplies and slightly damp drywall not opening his eyes just yet. So, not exactly reborn then. He probably should have asked more questions. He rolled onto his back taking in the lumps in his oh so painfully familiar too thin mattress.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

A trickle of dust fell up his nose and he sneezed.

"Get up Boy!" and there were Aunt Petunia's dulcet tones. Harry opened his eyes and smiled. He was alive.

Harry rolled over and changed, tugging of his thin blanket and reaching for the greying t-shirt and too large jeans which he tied with a shoelace round his hips. He made his way to the kitchen; number 4 Privet Drive was just the same. Bright curtains and linoleum flooring, a faint smell of disinfectant and air freshener.

He began to gather the things to make breakfast, heating the pan to fry the bacon and cracking eggs under the watchful, distrusting gaze of Aunt Petunia. Boiling the kettle to make tea and setting a jug of orange juice on the table, Harry knew better than to antagonize the Dursleys in the morning and he needed to get his bearings. He could handle the Dursley's contempt for now.

Aunt Petunia huffed quietly behind him, shaking him out of his thoughts. Oh, yup that was the bacon crisping. Uncle Veron harrumphed through his walrus-like moustache as Harry set the bacon down on the dining table, trying to quietly side eye Vernon's copy of the Sun newspaper not able to catch the date as Uncle Vernon surreptitiously squinted at the page 3 girl. Harry grimaced.

Dudley's chair squeaked on the linoleum as he pulled it out to settle at the table with his parents. From the hall he heard the sharp click of the letterbox and the soft thump of the mail hitting the doormat. "Dudley get the post." Uncle Vernon grunted. "Make Harry get it!" Dudley whined in return as he wiggled his seat closer to the table. Harrys head ricocheting between the two in a fog of deja-vu. "Get the mail boy!"

Harry startled and hurried to the hall blinking. Then he saw it. The crisp corner of thick yellowed parchment poking out from under the cover of bills and a stack of takeaway menus discarded through their doorway. He ran his finger over the Hogwarts crest, the lion, the snake, the eagle and badger so familiar to him stamped in thick red wax then he turned it over; addressed in green ink in beautiful calligraphy:

Mr Harry Potter, The cupboard under the stairs, Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey

The Cupboard. Under the stairs. An uncomfortable feeling of indignation rose at the base of his spine on behalf of his younger self who had been so naïve. They'd known. Of course, they'd known as the implications had time to percolate through his brain. He could feel his shoulders stiffening but he had to get back to the Dursleys before they could suspect there might be anything unusual in today's post. He moved quietly slipping the thick parchment envelope under the door of his cupboard as he made his way back to the dining room.

Later, sitting in the dark, looking at the broken toy soldiers on the shelf; refugees and veterans from the war against his cousin. Harry absentmindedly ran his fingers over The Letter. It needed to be capitalized in his mind; this had been the letter that had changed his life in his first run. Barreling into his life courtesy of Hagrid's deep pockets and kindly beetle eyes he'd been blinded by a birthday cake and the first person who'd had a smile just for him. Did he really want to go back though? That was the question running through his mind as he trailed the index finger of his right hand over the cool red wax of the seal, although it was starting to warm and blur under his touch.

He might be eleven in body but he was 22 in mind and he wasn't sure he could hide that. That he was a good enough actor now to conceal the look of betrayal he would surely feel when he looked at the faces of his old friends with too old eyes. His magic thrummed in response. Too much magic, certainly for an eleven-year-old.

He'd always been powerful it turned out. A great deal of his magic roped up in maintaining his body under the brute force of neglect and subconsciously suppressing a horcrux he had never accepted. When he had come back that first time his magic had stretched exponentially. Leaping and growing in great arcs and responsive loops as it became a physical thing that accompanied his presence.

That was how the whispers had started. "The next Dark Lord" they'd said where they thought he couldn't hear him. "What if the horcrux isn't gone? What if Voldemort is possessing him?" in quiet worried voices with eyes that looked away too quickly and guiltily. All of which he had buried with his better instincts apparently, because they were his friends! Surely! He was clenching the letter now, hands white knuckled.

That night as he slept his nightmares were of warm brown eyes tinged with fear.

Harry woke early. Oliver Wood quidditch drill early. He still wasn't certain this was the right decision but as he wandlessly opened his cupboard door allowing his magic to caress the lock he ran through the options in his mind. A missing Harry Potter would cause mass panic and although any conflict with the muggles would be decades in the future, he would need a reputation to steer Magical Great Britain away from disaster. A reputation he wouldn't gain from popping up like a weed with all the credibility of one of Luna's nargles he reminded himself.

That said, Harry thought as he penned his response to Professor McGonagall in the affirmative by the light of the streetlamp shining by the front lawn. He would need to get himself to Gringotts sooner rather than later. He couldn't afford to make the same mistakes as he had on his first debut to the wizarding world, not if he planned to make a completely new set of alliances. The Goblins would be a formidable ally. He had no intention of telling them about that one time he stole a dragon.

Diagon Alley was just as he remembered; the hum and bustle of families rushing around, excited young faces leaning up against the window of Broomstix to catch a glimpse of the latest Nimbus 2000. The fog of mixed smells coming from the apothecary and the strange cacophony of sounds coming from Magical Menagerie. Magical. It had lost that vibrancy by the end of the last war, people had moved quietly and fearfully about their business willing themselves not to attract unwanted attention, he was happy to see it again and breathed in the atmosphere deeply. Harry steeled his shoulders and moved forward with the crowd.

He had 'borrowed' £50 from Aunt Petunia's purse after Vernon had left for work, Dudley to visit Piers and Petunia to gossip over tea with the lady at Number 7. He would replace it before she noticed. Disguised his scar with muggle concealer and glamoured his hair to a mousey brown, he wanted to stay under the radar for now.

Up ahead at the end of the street the white marble façade of Gringott's gleamed tall and imposing reflecting the late summer sun. Two goblins stood guard by the bronze doors of the entranceway spears in hand, faces expressionless. Harry stood tall and schooled his face into a suitably blank mask and made his way through the vaulted gothic arch of the doorway. He stepped up to a counter where a familiar looking goblin was working away diligently, ignoring Harry's presence with an air of disdain. Harry smiled wryly inside, some things don't change and the goblins of Gringotts would take every opportunity to subtly snub the wizards whose gold they jealously guarded. So, he waited.

When Griphook deigned to look up from his task Harry met those gleaming dark eyes and bowed his head respectfully in greeting. "Greetings master Griphook, may your gold ever flow and your enemies cower at your feet. My name is Harry Potter. As I am not currently in possession of my vault key, I will require an inheritance test before conclusion of my business with Gringotts today." The goblins prefer you get straight to the point. Masters of brevity the lot of them.

Now this raised a calculating look of surprise from the goblin. An eyebrow arched and long fingers drummed over the counter in thought. Harry supposed he did look like a homeless street urchin; etiquette probably didn't seem like a foregone conclusion. "May your coffers never empty Master Potter. Follow me" Griphook stepped down from his counter and lead the way down a long stone corridor, a stark contrast to the marble and gold of the hallway.

They passed door after door before coming to a halt in front of a black painted doorway set deep in the stone. "Ragnok is the head of your account, he will see you now master Potter" Griphook intoned rapping on the wood of the doorway sharply before walking away leaving Harry alone in the corridor. Harry entered.

"Mr Potter. Please take a seat" the goblin said gesturing.

Harry lowered himself into the offered chair opposite the large mahogany desk, sitting straight, taking in the fierce looking weaponry fixed to the walls surrounding him flickering in the torchlight. A reminder that the goblins could be vicious should they so choose. He looked the goblin directly. "Greetings Master Ragnok, may your gold ever flow." He paused considering his next words "I find myself in a somewhat unorthodox position and trust the goblin nation's discretion. For a price of course." Ragnok inclined his head in acknowledgement, eyes slightly narrowed considering the child sat before him.

"I offer knowledge in exchange for your aid." Harry had become well versed in goblin customs in the period following the second war when he had been heavily entrenched in meetings regarding reparations due for 'that one time he stole a dragon' as he liked to refer to it in his mind; and he thought, caused enough property damage to the centuries old building to make a galleonaire wince.

"A traveler." rumbled Ragnok. Harry's eyes widened slightly, now this he had not foreseen. Ragnok tilted his head slightly to the side and explained. "We feel Magic's shifts more keenly here deep in the earth and have been expecting one such as you for some days now. The Goblin Nation is under no obligation to inform your ministry of the arrival of one such you and you can indeed trust in our...discretion." He smirked, his eyes reflecting the torchlight. "Your offer is acceptable to us."

Harry held an internal sigh of relief as he waited for the goblin to continue. "It is my belief that we should begin with a blood test to confirm your current identity. This test will confirm your bloodline and inform you of any held inheritances financial or magical." Ragnok continued as a small white bowl containing an ink-like liquid, delicate silver dagger and a roll of parchment appeared on the desk in front of Harry. "Three drops of your blood into the bowl if you please." Harry did as asked, carefully sterilizing the dagger afterwards before replacing it carefully in front of him, the goblins eyes were following his movements he noted. Harry arched one eyebrow, there were a lot of things that could be done without the consent of a wizard if one was in the possession of his blood, very few of them pleasant. He would not be careless with it, certainly not in the presence of fae.

Ragnok poured the mixture in the bowl carefully over parchment and the two waited, watching as the modified ink began to creep out from its point of origin growing over the page like a vine before glowing softly silver and settling.

Harry pulled the parchment towards him and read more from curiosity than anything, he had a suspicion of what he would see there.

Harry James Potter

Born July 31st in the year nineteen hundred and eighty

Mother – Lily Rose Potter nee Evans Father – James Charlus Potter

Godmother – Alice Longbottom Godfather – Sirius Orion Black

Magical Guardian – Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

There was more detail on his maternal and paternal grandparents and further ancestry but Harry skimmed over that for now suppressing the fresh pang of a sorrow that had long since dulled to a bitter aftertaste of betrayal as his fingers ran past Dumbledore's name.

Heirships

Heir Potter – by blood

Heir Black – by blood

Lordships

Lord Slytherin – by conquest

Lord Gaunt – by conquest

Lord Peverell Master of Death – by right of Magic

Harry slid the parchment back across the desk towards Ragnok silently and waited as the goblin read through the details, watching as he stilled, stiffening almost imperceptibly as he reached the end of the parchment. "To business?" the goblin looked back "to business, Lord Peverell."

Later that night Harry sat in his cupboard thinking through the events of the day in his mind. A newly acquired gold ring on his finger. The visit to Gringotts had been informative. Harry had spoken with the goblin of what he knew and shown him the memory of a future yet to come... dust falling from the sky, fire and ruins. Dead dead dead … Ragnok had taken a copy of the memory or vision if you have it to show to the goblin elders for them to consult over.

Goblins could sense magic in a deeper way and taste the truth of his words, it was why they never used veritaserum in their interrogations. After that Harry had discussed profitable future investments with the Goblin using his knowledge of which companies would be successful in the upcoming years; the twins would be sure of an investor or two when it came to opening their joke shop. They had gone over the details of his accounts and estates. While Dumbledore had not misused the Potter funds as his magical guardian they were still in an abject state of neglect.

Harry had accepted his Peverell lordship and the Potter and Black heirships. He had decided to hold the Gaunt and Slytherin lordships in regency for the moment while he considered. He had to put a halt to the wizarding war fast. He could hunt down the horcruxes and destroy them, he knew where they were. But something was stopping him. A second chance he mused. A second chance...A dark eyed boy sitting rigidly on his cot in a grey room demanding "tell me the truth!" distrusted from the start.

Having been on the receiving end of Dumbledore's machinations in a way he understood so much clearer now in hindsight. How had he not seen? Harry couldn't bring himself to hate. He had asked Voldemort at the end for remorse but it had been too late then, he had seen that it was in the snake like eyes burning red and unhinged. The last percent of a soul clinging to life and a purpose lost in a fog of desperation.

He couldn't go to Dumbledore with this. The man clung to his plans with an old man's hubris, he would never hear him out and Harry would be wrapped up in a game where he only held half the cards. He understood now that Dumbledore was a general and Harry a pawn, a toy soldier. To Dumbledore, Harry was never just Harry, a childish hope of his; Harry had been the war to Dumbledore. And Harry was not supposed to survive.

In the years he had spent after the war Harry had joined the Aurors, fast tracked through his training as Scrimgeor had swept through wizarding society purging it of anything dark.

People had been so afraid and the light side had committed atrocities in Harry's opinion; entire families sentenced to Azkaban and troves of knowledge burned. Harry had felt so useless, this hadn't been what he'd been fighting for all those months. When he'd tried to protest his voice had fallen on deaf ears.

And then the whispers had gotten louder, excuses made on the part of his friends when he hadn't seen them for weeks "sorry mate, you know how it is yeah?". Harry had started to isolate himself, holing up in the Black library sequestering himself with only Kreature for company. He had read through page after page on old rituals and forbidden magics, fully aware that it was only his privilege as the boy-who-lived that allowed him the safety to do this without scrutiny. He'd needed to understand. He'd felt so hopelessly ignorant.

He had further researched soul magic, a project he'd begun as a way of processing what had happened to him, his experience of being bound to his parent's murderer. He had begun to understand the sheer extent to which Voldemort had damaged himself but where there were ways to break, to split to tear there were also ways to heal. Harry leant back with a loud thunk as he caught his head on the sloped underside of the stairs. Merlin, he was really going to do this wasn't he. Harry ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing at his forehead.

He let out a sigh. Harry motherf**king Potter was going to try to jigsaw the Dark Lord's soul back together like the man was Humpty Dumpty and not a violent megalomaniacal sociopath with an already dangerous obsession over him.

Sometimes he hated himself.

He groaned, rolling onto his side he pulled the sheet over himself and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he thought Hagrid would arrive and he would have his 'official' introduction to the wizarding world. He snorted as he imagined the Dursleys faces at being doorstepped by the half giant. Well, that was something to look forward to.

He would not allow himself to be used this time. And it wasn't like he could die anyway he might as well try something different. He could taste ash in his mouth as he drifted off to sleep. His thoughts becoming less coherent as he felt himself being pulled under. In the end Harry thought the man had been right, the muggles were dangerous. They were only human and fear always ends in destruction. He could still hear Ginny's voice. "I'm so, so sorry Harry".