Disclaimer: Same thing as before.

Chapter 2.

Harry awoke to bright sunlight and the unendurable pangs of hunger.

Temporarily ignoring the flood of memories that he would much rather forget Harry tentatively reached out to his core. He grinned in relief when he felt that it was completely rebuilt, if not slightly stronger than before.

Getting up, he grabbed his clothes and made his way to the bathroom. After a long shower, he made his way downstairs.

"Anythin' I can get for you, sir?" asked the innkeeper, looking up from where he was polishing glasses.

"Yes please, Tom. Cereal, bread, eggs and bacon, and a cup of coffee."

"Sorry, sir, but there's no more bacon in the whole of London. Another thing to add to the list."

Harry stared in astonishment. Was the war really that bad, that they did not even have enough food to eat?

"What about in the muggle world?" he asked, still incredulous.

"You're not from around here, I take it," said the innkeeper dryly, finally putting down his rag of a towel.

"I've been out of the country for years," Harry lied smoothly. "My family evacuated."

Tom nodded sagely. "Aye, a good few have been doing that, and maybe it's the right idea. But as for your question, well, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has blocked off all imports and exports into this damn country. We are self-sustaining when it comes to basic food staples, but anything from the continent or abroad… well, it's nigh impossible to get your hands on 'em. The Muggles believe there's been a drought that's destroyed crops the world over. The Ministry fed 'em a load of lies, and are forced to use memory charms left and right, 'cause the Muggles are smart enough to realise something's fishy."

"Oh," said Harry inarticulately, his mind whirling. "Well, whatever you have then, but make it a lot. I haven't eaten in over a day, what with travelling and everything."

"Right you are, sir, right this way."

Sitting down to his plain but large breakfast, Harry could no longer avoid confronting the unbelievable situation he found himself in. Again, all he had were questions with no answers.

Were his parents alive in this new world? Or had Neville and Harry's roles been completely reversed, meaning that they were lying in Saint Mungo's completely insane? And were Ron, Hermione and Neville best friends now that he was the Child of Prophecy? Were Ron and Hermione even alive?

After Harry had defeated Voldemort and left school, he and his two friends had drifted apart slightly. The war and growing up had changed them, and they were no longer the 'Golden Trio'. Hermione went to a wizarding University in Paris, Ron, because of his poor marks, helped the twins at their joke shop, and Harry was accepted into the Silver Arrows and played Quidditch for England. In the process he had shocked many people who had thought he would become an Auror, but he had had enough of fighting. He wanted to enjoy himself, and in his new life he had got his wish. Becoming an Auror was an option he had immediately dismissed.

Flying was a passion, fighting a necessity.

However; Harry also had another obsession. Raw Magic. It was in his seventh year that he had found his core and had immersed himself in it. Harry had discovered something that had alluded even the greatest of wizards; magic was, at least partially, sentient.

He had spent hours just playing with it, basking in the feeling of pure energy enveloping his body.

When his wand was destroyed it barely fazed him. He did things with magic that had never been seen before, and a wand only slowed him down.

He loved magic, and magic loved him.

Only one other wizard with equal power would potentially have been able to connect with his own magic in such a way. However, Harry ensured that Voldemort never gained any knowledge on the subject. It was definitely the 'power the Dark Lord knows not.'

After Voldemort's downfall, Harry had been content to play Quidditch, chat with his friends, and explore his new power. He had had peace, and freedom. He had been happy. Now he'd been dumped in an Alternate Reality where Voldemort was still on the loose, and Harry was confused and pissed off.

Deciding to find answers to some of his questions, Harry went back up to his room. He knew what he was planning was draining and potentially dangerous, but if there was one the Harry Potter hated, it was not knowing what was going on. Lying on his bed he used occlumency to fall into a light trance, delving into his core. After gathering his power, he slowly began stretching his magic further and further into his surroundings and the past. First all he saw was another wizard sleeping in the next room, and Tom making a cup of tea in the kitchen. Then he saw himself walk downstairs and ask for breakfast.

But the next images were much less peaceful.

Screams as Deatheaters killed thousands.

"We are on the brink of collapse."

A young clumsy boy placing a hat on his head. "Gryffindor!"

"Hogwarts is the last true haven."

Voldemort laughing as he tortured a man writhing at his feet. Peter Pettigrew.

Dumbledore sitting alone in his office, his head in his hands.

"I regret to inform you that eight more of our members have fallen."

James, Sirius and Remus crying, then raising their glasses. "To Peter Pettigrew, may he rest in peace."

Alice and Frank Longbottom clutching each other. "You are in danger."

Lily Potter crying in a hospital bed, James at her side. "Stillborn." "I apologise for your loss."

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches."

The images came faster and faster, blurring together. With a gasp, Harry wrenched his magic back before he lost control.

Exhausted, he lay still, processing the moments in time that he had seen. He realised two things. 1. That the 'major event' that caused the creation of this new world was that Harry James Potter was never born and the Potters never betrayed. 2. That without thirteen years of peace allowing people to recuperate, the world was screwed. Voldemort was close to achieving his ambition of ruling the whole of Britain.

Both of these thoughts were quite disturbing, but what had caught his attention most was the smooth and scarless forehead of one Neville Longbottom.

Lily and James Potter were childless, and there was no 'boy-who-lived.' Voldemort had never attacked, and a lightning shaped scar meant nothing.

The prophecy still existed, but Voldemort had obviously decided to see how things evolved, not attacking the Longbottoms until Neville's true powers were revealed. "The power the Dark Lord knows not."

It was all just so weird, decided Harry. Completely messed up, and also depressing. The number of deaths far exceeded that of Harry's world. Two huge attacks on the Ministry of Magic had almost toppled the government. People were in disarray, and it was all anyone could do to uphold an effective defensive.

"But they have their saviour," argued Harry to himself. "Neville will eventually kill Voldemort with no help from me, and everything will be ok."

But Neville never survived the killing curse. He was never marked, and was not Tom Riddle's equal. But Harry determinedly forced these thoughts into the back of his mind. "It doesn't matter," he reassured himself. "Neville will save everyone, and I'll concentrate on getting home."

That was one thing Harry was clear on; he had to go home. Home to a world where peace reigned; where, after much campaigning from Hermione, all beings had been given equal rights at least under the eyes of the law; where most people were alive, and where Harry was happy.

Harry was pretty certain it was manageable, but he first needed to properly understand the 'multiple worlds' theory. Unfortunately, his only lead was at Hogwarts, where it was impossible to just waltz straight in. If it were anything like Harry had experienced during the last war, then the security of the wizarding world would be verging on paranoia. Already after his brief existence in this world he could see Dark Detectors and Aurors were everywhere, though Harry wondered cynically how many were spies for Voldemort.

For the moment though, Harry was content to read through newspapers and browse bookstores to thoroughly understand the politics and laws of this different England. He had learnt since he was younger that running into a situation without sufficient knowledge was a supremely stupid idea.

Unfortunately, a couple of days of inconspicuously strolling around the alley had lead to a new problem. With no new food or material coming into the country, prices were incredibly high and he was running out of money, and fast. Balking at the idea of stealing from the poor and gaunt figures surrounding him, and as anyone rich was followed by silent bodyguards, Harry reluctantly came to the conclusion that he would have to approach Gringotts. In his old world, Harry had been somewhat fond of the goblins, as they were intelligent, despised the ministry, and you knew where you stood with them. However, while the Ministry of Magic that Harry was familiar with was corrupt and incompetent, this new one was even worse. Instead of dithering and squabbling over pointless subjects and never getting anything done at all, the present Ministry did actually pass laws left and right, but it was anyone's guess if the Minister meant to aid or hinder the Dark Lord's rise. Harsher measures had been introduced for apprehending and punishing suspected Deatheaters, and Aurors had been given almost total freedom in raids. However, being a Vampire was now punishable by law, and Werewolves had all but been exiled from Britain. Other magical beings had also been targeted, their rights curtailed to a previously unthinkable degree. This of course had the happy consequence of enraging all non-human races, most of whom had either gone dark, or had retreated from Britain completely, preferring the more tolerant countries in northern Europe.

Harry wondered if all wizards were suicidal, or if it was just a requisite for the ones in high office.

He purposefully transfigured his clothes into expensive and exquisitely tailored robes, before heading towards the imposing bank. Respect in the magical community, Harry knew, was based on wealth and purity of blood. Harry might not at the moment have either, but he at least looked like he had both.

As he stepped through the arched doors of the bank Harry stumbled at the sudden influx of magic. It was almost like walking through a wall of water. Goblin and human spells were woven together so skilfully as to create wards stronger than even those surrounding Hogwarts. As he passed through them Harry felt completely exposed, the magic testing his strength and intentions as well as preventing the use of any travel or offensive magic. Harry was fascinated by them since back in his own world Gringotts had never been so heavily warded, but by the suspicious glares of the goblin guards stationed around the main hall Harry doubted that he would be allowed to study them. Instead he had to content himself with a cursory inspection as he passed through them.

He easily identified the routine wards such as anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards, as well as some of the goblin-crafted magic. In his old world the goblins had been hired to ward all public buildings as well as some private homes, since they specialised in defensive magic. Hermione had eagerly studied them and then related all her findings to Harry and Ron, who had listened in amused exasperation. While not having a wide understanding of warding magic, Harry knew the basics, as it was impossible to not pick up some of the subject that his best friend was so interested in. Due to her lectures on the topic, Harry could guess the purpose of most of the wards, although some he was certain he had never encountered before. They had probably not been invented in Harry's much more peaceful world.

Sighing at the memory of his friends and the reminder of the current war, Harry joined a line of wizards and witches waiting to be led to their vaults. No one spoke as they waited in line. Elegantly dressed purebloods stood with arrogant unconcern on their faces, occasionally sneering at the evidently poorer wizards and witches around them. Many of these shifted nervously from one foot to another, pulling at threads from their worn robes and clutching their rather empty money-bags. Harry could see no one in muggle attire, when usually there would be a crowd of muggleborn students and their parents exchanging money on the left side of the hall. Harry hoped that they simply wore robes to appear less of a target, rather than the more violent explanation that they had been murdered by Deatheaters.

Compared to the busy hall Harry remembered, the queues were fairly short, and he was soon face to face with a sneering goblin.

"Key," demanded the goblin peremptorily. Wonderful service, Harry thought sardonically. Though he supposed if he spent all day serving people who only seemed to care about how many rebellions his people had incited, he'd be a tad disgruntled, too.

"I don't have one at present," replied Harry easily. "It is that fact which I am here to remedy. I wish to claim my inheritance."

"See the Head of Inheritance, third floor," said the disdainful goblin, barely glancing in Harry's direction. "Next."

"Thank you," murmured Harry, before sweeping up the stairs to the left, suspiciously eyed by goblin guards. The halls he walked through were as magnificently decorated as ever, making Harry smile. At least that had not changed. He soon reached the specified office, and after knocking, entered.

An older, more elaborately dressed Goblin was sitting at a desk covered with parchment.

"Greetings," said Harry, politely bowing. "May Gold grow from your labour."

The goblin's expression of surprise was quickly hidden.

"Greetings," he nodded, returning the traditional salutation. "May your labour yield you gold."

Harry was willing to bet that a human hadn't used that form of address in years.

"Please, sit," said the goblin, gesturing to the seat on the other side of his desk. "My name is Igknots, son of Smerilgrip."

"I am Hadrian Evans," returned Harry, taking the proffered chair. "I wish to undergo the Inheritance Ritual." It was polite to go straight to the point. Time equals money, and goblin society revolved around gold.

"Very well." Igknots reached into a drawer and pulled out a sliver instrument that curved downward before ending at a sharp point that could only be described as a metallic quill. Clean parchment rested underneath. "A sample of blood is required."

This was the sole reason why the procedure was labelled as a ritual. In practise it was rather simple and mundane.

Harry held out his hand, subtly manipulating the magic in his veins. He did not wish his true identity to be known. Harry still did not know whether his parents were alive or not, having been unable to find any reference to them in newspapers, and unwilling to arouse suspicion by asking someone about them. If James Potter was alive, then Harry would inherit nothing from his father's side of the family. If he was dead, then Harry would be recognised as the heir of the Potter Family. While Harry desperately wanted to find out if he had a family in this world or not, he could not risk the awkward questions which would certainly ensue at the appearance of a previously unknown Potter. Instead, Harry decided he would only allow his mother's inheritance to appear. Having undergone this ritual once before, he knew that Lily Potter née Evans came from a line of squibs that were descended from a family of wizards. Since the position of Head of a Family required magic and given the patriarchal nature of the older family lines, squibs and women were unable to inherit, therefore enabling Harry to gain the title even if his mother still lived.

Igknots pierced one finger and let seven drops of blood fall into the device. The quill began to move, and moments later Igknots handed the sheet over to him.

Hadrian Mikhail Evans

Morrigan Estate……….. designated by Lord Nathaniel Gryer Morrigan of the Noble House of Morrigan, 1897

Wentforth Family……….designated by Eloise Harriet Wentworth, 1980

Harry smiled wryly. In his own world, there had been more names, but there was still one written on the parchment he held in his hands that he did not expect. The name Wentworth was one Harry barely recognised, but surmised that it was just another family that had died while their counterparts in his old world lived.

"Quite impressive," allowed the Goblin. "Do you wish me to give you a brief overview of your inherited estates?"

"If you would be so kind," nodded Harry, leaning back in his chair. Igknots rose and opened the door of his spacious office. After barking out some orders in Gobbledegook he returned.

"The two Families are old and well respected, and one of them belongs to the Fourteen Families. It was thought that no heir existed for either of these estates; therefore their finances have been dormant until present. The Ministry attempted to seize both the Morrigan and Wentworth assets, but fortunately failed. Only designated Heirs may enter the vaults, and the property remained unplottable even after the last holder's death."

Harry fumed silently. The ministry was always trying to steal that which did not belong to them. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and Igknot's speech. A surly looking goblin entered, carrying a small stack of folders and parchment, which he deposited on the desk before wordlessly leaving.

"Ah, good," said Igknots, picking up the top folder. "These folders contain all the necessary information on your inheritance. The Morrigan Estate may traditionally only be held by a male heir which barred inheritance from the late Lord Morrigan's daughter and granddaughter. The line then ended with a squib who married into the muggle world, and the title was thought to have been lost. However, it seems the magic has resurfaced, allowing you, as a wizard and a direct descendent, to be the designated heir.

Since the Estate has been dormant for over a century, it does not have any shares in any modern companies, but it is moderately wealthy, owning considerable property and a vault containing over 4,600,000 galleons.

As Head of the House of Morrigan you are entitled to a seat on the Wizengamot as well as a place on the Hogwarts board of Governors, as stipulated by Lord Reginald Morrigan's associate, Rowena Ravenclaw in 967 AD. The Head of the House of Morrigan receives the title of Lord Morrigan, although, due to the defeat of the monarchy in 1827, it is purely a decorative title.

"The Wentforth family was decimated at the start of this current war. As the Heir of Morrigan you are the nearest relation. I believe the late Mrs Wentworth's great-great-grandmother married the second cousin of your great-great-uncle."

Harry tried to think out what relationship that would actually be, but soon gave up. Igknots continued.

"The Estate consists of a Gringotts vault containing 600 000 galleons, a manor and a summer cottage. Wentforth owns shares in many leading companies in both the muggle and magical world. In magical England, the most notable are the Daily Prophet and Madame Olina's Healer Supplies. The Inheritance entitles you to a hereditary seat among the full session of the Wizengamot, as well as a place on the boards of both magical and muggle firms. For a full account please refer to the listing under 'Investments.'"

Harry accepted the proffered folders.

"It is important to note, however, that due to the exponential inflation rates of the past two decades the actual worth of your vaults has decreased considerably. What was once a small fortune in gold is now sufficient for only a few years of comfortable living. Your wealth lies primarily in property and shares in companies.

"Thank you for explaining so thoroughly," said Harry politely.

"Not at all, sir," replied the Goblin in an equally polite tone. "Do you wish for me to designate an employee of the bank to manage your finances, or do you not require our assistance?"

Harry thought for a moment, and then decided that he would have neither the time nor the inclination to supervise everything himself.

"A financial manager would be best for the present, I think."

After discussing wages, interest rates and the use of a card for withdrawals, they came to an agreement.

"Very well, I will instruct Smicklehook in what is required. If you could just sign here, here and…here, to officially accept the inherited Estates. Thank you, sir."

Harry stood up and bowed formally. "May Gold flow until our next meeting."

"May Gold flow," echoed Igknots, also bowing.

A/N Um, yes, yes, I know. This chapter follows on of those typical Harry Inherits Lots Of Money fics. The next chapter should be more interesting. Ah well, review and tell me what you think!