A/N: Piano and piano accompaniment music is very conducive to writing...
Chapter 4: The Only Thing You Can Count on Is Death and Taxes…. Not!
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The Deatheaters were quite beside themselves by now.
It had been a week since Harry Potter's death, and their Lord… well… Most had no idea, though a few were considering that Potter had managed to do something to their Lord when he died. Sort of a 'dragging you with me' vengeance thing.
All that Wormtail knew was that he had to simply keep supplying Voldemort with snack and drink if he wanted to keep from being punished. It was a simple enough task, he thought as the plastic Muggle grocery bag rustled at his side, compared to the ruthless tasks before. Who knew that the Dark Lord had a sweet tooth? He knocked at the man's door and entered.
He thought that if the other Deatheaters had seen their Lord watching television and stuffing himself with soda, chips, and Mars Bars, they might all revolt. "My Lord, I have returned with what you have requested."
"Excellent, Wormtail!" the man said, bouncing up and to his feet to retrieve his renewed supply of goodies.
"Er… those are nice slippers, sir. Are they new?" he asked, motioning to the clawed and fuzzy slipper feet the man was wearing. Dear Lord, his Lord was losing it! He, Wormtail, the sniveling coward, needed to do something!
Harry groaned as he awoke. For some reason, he was resting face first on a queen-sized bed when he was sure the last thing he remembered was Fawkes transporting him somewhere. A hand trailed to his back pocket, and found no wand still. He only stirred when he heard someone close by chuckle.
"Young man, how can you spend time around Alastor Moody and still carry a wand in your back pocket?" If Harry could have sworn…
"Mr. Ollivander?" Why had Fawkes brought him here? He rubbed his eyes, but the clear vision stayed the same. No one else had those creepy eyes, though the sight of him in nightshirt and cap were new.
"One and the same, Mr. Potter. I do not suppose you know why Fawkes deposited you here of all places?" Harry shook his head and rolled to the edge of the bed to sit. He was light-headed, and when he stood up, he felt much farther away from the floor than he should have been. It seemed a good idea to sit back down.
"You have grown up from last I saw you. If not for your scar, I would not have recognized you."
Harry turned to look at Mr. Ollivander with that statement. Different? How could he look different? A flash of a memory came to mind. A beautiful house, a smiling face he recognized, and the pain as his magic swarmed over him. Changing him, embracing him as it never had before. Then a startling realization came, only confirmed by the dirt clinging to his Quidditch robes.
"I… I died."
Harry felt Mr. Ollivander's eyes watching him closely but did not look back up from his lap until a hand rested gently on his shoulder. "Are you hungry, Harry?"
The teenager ignored the use of his first name, instead shaking his head. "I don't feel anything, apart from my magic and touch." Pressing his hand to his chest, "I do not even have a beating heart." He frowned, focusing inward to see what else felt different. It was, well, kind of disturbing to realize he was dead. "I seem to draw breath to speak but not breathe. It feels like my magic though, has flooded my veins."
The older man nodded. "It sounds as if it is your magic sustaining you, though for such a thing to be possible…. Well, I knew you were a powerful wizard." Harry sighed and nodded, clenching a hand into a fist. So powerful, he could not die. He could not even be afforded that normalcy. But he knew it would not do to dwell on it, at least right now.
"Harry, you are welcome to stay here. Get some rest; feel free to peruse the books on the shelf there. There are still many hours until the shop opens."
Harry took in the sight of Ollivander in his pajamas for the first time and realized he must have been keeping the man up. "Sorry, sir." His apology was waved off with a hand and smile, before the old man left. Fawkes appeared from the place he had taken up on a perch in the corner of the room, which looked rather like the one that had been in Dumbledore's office, settling on Harry's knee. Harry gently ruffled the bird's crown feathers as he thought about what he was supposed to do now….
Onis Ollivander found it pleasant to have company while he did his work. It was early in the summer, long before the rush of wand purchasing, which he knew would occur now that he was back in his shop. This is when he got his wand-making work done, and he found a young man seated nearby and watching in fascination as he weaved the magical elements together.
Over the last few days, Harry had followed after him like a lost puppy. He had been afraid to come down during shop hours for fear of someone recognizing him at first and kept to the back rooms. However, Onis had provided him with a red strip of material, which when tied around his forehead, easily blocked his scar from view. Since then, the young man had taken a great interest in what Onis did. It was quiet company for the most part. The boy was unusually quiet, even more so than his mother had been when she would come for books and supplies. Then again, the boy had gone through far more in his lifetime than many adult wizards had.
"I noticed you have been reading many of the spell books around here. Are you having difficulty sleeping?" he asked, checking the balance of the current wand before polishing it and settling it in its box. The light at the boy's door was never extinguished, as far as Onis could tell.
"I don't need to sleep anymore. I figure I might as well study."
"Well, perhaps you would like to try and make a wand?" he asked, feel his lips twitch upward at the surprised look on Harry's face. "You have read the theory, and the harmonious magical elements in the supplies I use. Besides, it might be a good idea to make yourself another wand." As far as Onis knew, Harry's worldly possessions were still back at Hogwarts, probably tucked safely away. Harry was currently borrowing some of Onis' own clothes. Well, he needed to do something about it. Feeling unusually impulsive, he put away his tools and supplies to Harry's questioning glance.
"Harry, we need to go do some shopping. I would like you to accompany me, and I will show you afterward where the supplies are you will need to get started."
He noted the boy looked almost panicked. It was one thing to stay in a rarely visited store, but it was quite another to go strolling out into the streets! Onis sighed and knew this might be difficult. "We will not go into Diagon Alley right off. First, you need a name."
Harry looked up at the old wizard. A name? Of course, Harry Potter was dead. If he were to go about using his name, serious problems would arise. Besides, if he really thought about it…. Well, the idea of making a new persona was almost a freeing experience. "Can I just make up a name?"
"No, it is a little more complicated. You have probably not been aware of it, but when you entered into the magically binding contract of the Triwizard Tournament, the contract back at the Ministry was signed by your magical name and signature."
"Isn't a name and signature the same thing?" This seemed to be delving into ideas that wizards had and were never explained to the muggleborns, which he might as well have been. Onis' shake of the head confirmed this.
"Your magical name is your name. It cannot be forged, and you cannot lie and write down a different name. Most contract papers of importance have the charms on them that require you to write your magical name. Your signature is interconnected with it, but unlike a name on a paper, your signature can be traced back to spells and to your very aura."
Harry thought about this new information, brow slightly furrowed. It seemed to make sense, in as much as anything made sense in the wizarding world lately. "So we have to go somewhere to do this?" Where were they going if not to Diagon Alley? Surely they couldn't waltz into the Ministry building!
"Normally you have to go to the Ministry, but as this requires a certain amount of secrecy and underhanded dealings, Knockturn Alley is our destination."
Now, Harry had only had a few memories of Knockturn Alley, and all reinforced the strong want of never returning there. But then, he had always been in some sort of danger there, he mused. He walked alongside of Ollivander down the street towards the business section and past the 'antique' shops. Harry had been shocked to find that Ollivander's had a side of store on the dark alley.
"It is a neutral position Harry," he had said as they got ready to leave. "I do not sell anything innately dangerous." What did that make the swords and other weapon and shield relics? Pruning tools?
The sudden thought of whacking away at a hedge with Gryffindor's sword interrupted his thoughts, causing him to nearly miss Ollivander opening a door to their left. Harry followed him in to a two room office, where a single woman sat at a desk. If he had entered the office without knowing it was on Knockturn Alley, the wizard never would have guessed it was a place of black dealings. The woman recognized Ollivander, nodded in greeting and led them into the back room. Harry jumped when the door behind slammed shut and was activating numerous wards, hand ready to grab his wand.
"You companion is nervous Onis," she said. It wasn't a question. The dirty blonde offered Harry her hand, which he took reluctantly. He didn't feel anything overly evil about her, which eased his mind a little and sat down in one of the offered chairs. "So what may I do for you?" At the silence that answered this, she met the young man in the eyes. That caught Harry's attention. "All information dealt with in this room is confidential. It cannot leave this room."
"Well," said Harry after a moment, "Ollivander here says this is the place to get my name and signature changed."
"Yes, though when we change your name, your signature will be newly recorded." Harry supposed that was alright, since his magic signature according to his keeper right now, had changed drastically. "All right," the woman said, pulling a long, thin sheet of paper from a drawer of her desk and setting it in front of him. "We will need to take a drop of blood. Owing to the importance of names in our world, you are only allowed to select from family names that have come before you, since you are technically of their blood."
Harry leaned forward, and with a reassuring look from Ollivander, stuck out his hand, palm up, to the lady. He felt the slight stick of a pin, and her squeezing the pad of his pointer finger until a drop finally fell onto a small patch of paper on top. Harry almost missed the slight gold and silver tendrils in that tiny splat.
The wizard watched in interest and trepidation as the drop was absorbed into the page and words began appearing in the same colour, shining like metal if the light hit the wet ink. "How is this stuff invented?" he wondered out loud, which seemed to amuse the woman. He glanced up. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I ever caught your name?"
The woman smiled. "You keep your secrets, and I keep mine. Though if you must call me something, make it Jibrille." She looked down at the paper, an eyebrow raising the only sign that something in the names interested her. "Here are the family names," she said, sliding the sheet closer. Harry peered down at it, feeling Ollivander joining. There were a few dozen at least, going back generations, newest right at the top with 'Potter'. "Do any of these names interest you?"
Harry was considering a couple of names at the top, until the wand maker pointed at one at the bottom. "Why not this one?"
Harry looked and blanched. "I would like to not be the center of attention again. This would certainly put me in the light."
"Think though," said Ollivander. Harry noted he was being careful not to say Harry's name. "They are still looking for you, even now according to the newspaper. As much as you don't look like yourself anymore, you still have your mannerisms, and those eyes. I happen to know for a fact this family had those eyes. Besides, who would expect you to take that name?"
Damn, Ollivander could think about these possibilities, thought Harry. Now that he actually stopped to think about it, what the man suggested made sense. Playing on loyalties in the school was perfect, if he went back, and though he would still be an object of attention for a while, "It is kind of like hiding me in plain sight." Those bright eyes watched the old wizard nod and give an almost mischievous smirk.
"Now I just need a first name." Not James or Evan, as much as he would like to honour his parents. A soft voice in his ear, warm and inviting like a summer breeze, whispered a word in his ear. One he spoke out loud. "Lantis." Where had that come from?
"A fine name," said Jibrille with an air of approval.
"And it greatly matches you as well," chuckled Ollivander.
Harry wondered where the voice had come from, but the name was fine by him as well. So he took the magical quill Jibrille handed him as she presented a form in front of him which required his name. "The quill works on blood, but nothing like the one you must have encountered in the past," she added, motioning to the back of his right hand. Harry flushed; he had nearly forgotten about the words etched on his hand. "If you sign in blood, it verifies your name and signature in one."
He took the quill, and figuring he might as well do this change of identity correctly, wrote in a style far different from his normal handwriting and took longer. It was long, fine cursive. "Lantis Slytherin." A kind of tingle ran over him, but the woman just looked pleased now, and set the file in an opened folder at the edge of her desk. More documents appeared. He needed a past, and here they could put the information into motion and slip into the legal channels. If anyone looked up information on him, they would find it legit.
Ollivander had paid (as Harry had no access to his bank account) and they left once more after another hour discussing any particular details Harry wanted in the profile or not. "So how am I going to get into my bank account now?"
"Well, they are likely under watch by the Order, the key removed. Oh, the goblins would recognize you, name change or not. Most magical species that aren't wizards are notorious for such abilities, but it is still too dangerous. You however, will now have access to the Slytherin bank account. Hm, I wonder how Hogwarts will react to a named heir of Slytherin returning?"
To Harry, it sounded as though he were speaking of the castle itself.
Hermione greeted Remus as she joined him in the library. She could not bring herself to call him James, and it would be dangerous to get into such a habit anyway. He had been in hiding like this for almost sixteen years. But she wondered why. Surely, it would have been worth the possible consequences of their experimenting with souls in order to have his son back? The thought of Harry having to grow up with the Dursley's, while he had his actual father out there made her more than a little upset.
However, it was not her place. The person who should have had the right to get mad was Harry, and he was… was no longer here to talk to Remus about it. The man was probably feeling the guilt about it anyway, since that was where Harry had died.
She glanced across the room to where Harry's trunk sat with his broom on top. No one had known what to do with them, so they remained there. This house had been Harry's. "Isn't it odd?" she asked suddenly, causing Remus to look over at her. With the questioning look, she continued. "Harry didn't have a will, so this house should have gone to the Ministry, correct?"
Remus looked thoughtful. Hermione had read that in the case of the death, all un-willed property was brought to the attention of a department in the Ministry. Surely someone would have come to inspect the house?
"Well, if the house still has a Secret Keeper, it might continue working."
"But Harry told me before he left school that the Fidelius charm was not active anymore since Dumbledore's death."
Before they could debate further, a burst of flames signaled Fawkes coming into the room. No one had seen him since the funeral of Dumbledore and Harry. Hermione jumped from her seat and crossed the room when the bird was locking its talons around the handle of the trunk and one about the broom. "No! Shoo, Fawkes! Let go of Harry's things!" The bird just Flamed again with the items in question in tow. Why did Fawkes take his things?