A/N: Special thanks to my beta, Jordre! ;D
Chapter 2
As he prepared to go to Diagon Alley, Harry realized that Tolly's presence made sense, and not just for carrying packages. The elf was familiar with the sort of garb that would be required of him at this stage, and so could provide advice as well.
When the two entered the Alley from the back of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was surprised at how much the atmosphere in the place had changed since his last visit. Gone were the cheerful air and the crowds socializing in the street; people rushed about with their heads down, as if fearful they'd be seen, exchanging only the briefest of greetings with each other before they hurried on their respective ways. There was no gathering of youngsters in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies; in fact, he belatedly realized, there was not a single child of any age anywhere to be seen. It was actually heartening to see; it meant that not everyone was buying Fudge's denial.
Madam Malkin and her personnel did not display any of their usual affability, working quickly and with a minimum of conversation. He felt he was almost rushed through making selections. He didn't question, though; he knew people just wanted to get their necessary errands done as quickly as possible and get safely back behind their home wards. He couldn't blame the shopkeepers for facilitating that need. He was rather grateful himself that magic made it possible to be out of there and on his way in a new set of robes within a few minutes; he'd stop and pick up the rest on his way back.
The queue to the tellers' windows wasn't very long; within another few minutes, he was telling a disinterested-seeming teller, "Harry Potter to see Kurluk, please."
The Goblin scrutinized him closely. "Key, please."
Harry handed it across, glad that Dobby had been able to take care of that little problem the previous day. After examining it, he handed it back and returned to his work, motioning for him to step aside so the next customer could approach.
Barely had he done so when another Goblin entered the lobby. "Follow me, Mr. Potter," he said, and led Harry into a long corridor lined with doors. When he stopped, he opened one of them and motioned Harry inside.
The Goblin seated behind the desk had several thick ledgers on the desk before him; he motioned Harry to a seat, and when he had settled in it, said, "We have been trying to contact you for a very long time, Mr. Potter."
It was the last thing he had expected to hear. "Really? I haven't received anything from you."
"Your magical guardian didn't pass on our mail to you?"
"No, sir. The only mail I've ever gotten was my Hogwarts letters, my Daily Prophet subscription, and letters from friends." After a moment, he added, "Sir, until this morning, I didn't even know I had other vaults besides my trust vault."
That got the Goblin's attention. "He didn't tell you?"
"No. Not one word. I just discovered I had a manor yesterday evening. This is the first time I'm hearing anything about a magical guardian." Suddenly, some of Dumbledore's behavior made sense. He'd wondered why Dumbledore got to tell him where to spend his summers, and what made him think he had the authority to do so. "Who is it, anyway?" he asked, already strongly suspecting the answer.
He was right. "Albus Dumbledore."
Now Harry also understood his grandfather's reluctance in commenting about Dumbledore's secrecy. Since the Potters were light, it stood to reason they had probably been friends with the Headmaster, and hadn't liked having to reveal something…less than complimentary about him.
He reached up and rubbed his scar as it began to burn; now he looked at Kurluk with urgency in his eyes. "There's something else I just learned that I've been advised you might be able to help me with. I've been told that I might be carrying a Horcrux in my scar."
Kurluk looked at him in alarm. "Whose?"
"V…uh, Tom Riddle. He calls himself…You-Know-Who."
"It's safe to say his name here, Mr. Potter. If he has re-established the Taboo, it cannot penetrate our wards."
"Thanks, that's good to know. But if something can be done, can we investigate that before we go into my accounts? He knows there's a link between us, and he's already used it against me once. My scar burns when he does, and it's starting to bother me now."
"Come with me, then. This just became an emergency."
Harry grinned as he looked in a mirror. The pain of the removal had been excruciating; in the process, his scar had burst open and started bleeding. A healer had seen to it as soon as the ritual had been finished, and now, after some time for recovery, there was no trace of it. The whole business had cost him several hundred Galleons, but he didn't mind. He'd have given up his entire trust vault if that was what it would have taken.
"If you're done admiring yourself over there, Mr. Potter, we still have business to attend to," Kurluk said amusedly.
That business left Harry in something of a daze. To his vast relief, a middle-aged gentleman by the name of Ben Walsh had been introduced to him as his parents' solicitor; knowing he was in well over his head in estate matters, he readily renewed the man's retainer. There had been a whirlwind of papers to be signed, and the matter of the heirs' rings. The fact that there was more than one was a major surprise to him. He learned that his mother had not been, strictly speaking, a Muggleborn. While the Potters were descended from Ignotus Peverell, the Evanses could claim his brother Cadmus as their distant ancestor…Cadmus, whose daughter had married a scion of the Slytherin Family, making Harry the only living descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Yes, Tom Riddle had been Slytherin's heir, but, due to the fact that he had technically died, he could no longer claim that distinction, and it now fell to Harry. Even if a case could be made that Riddle had not truly died because of his Horcruxes, Harry's defeat of him in 1981, 1991, and 1992 meant he had taken the position of heir from him by conquest. That he was also heir by blood only made his claim that much stronger.
Not that the worst dark wizard since Grindelwald was about to fight a legal battle in the Ministry over it.
Next had followed his godfather's will. Unsurprisingly, aside from bequests made to a cousin named Andromeda Tonks, and to Remus Lupin, Sirius had willed the rest to Harry. He had also stated that Harry was to be emancipated, and that meant he now wore, not the Heirs' rings, but the Heads' rings. He was officially the Head of House for Potter, Black, and Slytherin. He would also have been Head of House Peverell, but the Peverell name had gone extinct, and the House's Honors had been absorbed by the Houses of Potter and Slytherin.
Kurluk paused in his explanations long enough to write something on a piece of parchment, which he then passed to Harry. "Touch your wand to your Slytherin ring, and read this declaration," he instructed.
Harry glanced it over, then did as he'd been told. "I, Lord Harry James Potter-Slytherin, do hereby declare Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior, also known as Lord Voldemort, formerly the self-proclaimed Heir of Slytherin, to be a traitor and enemy of House Slytherin. So I say, so mote it be," he read. There was a flash of light, and a rather odd feeling inside. "What did I just do?" he asked.
Walsh was positively smirking; with his own toothy, evil-looking grin, Kurluk explained, "The simplest explanation is that you just disowned Voldemort. Being head of House Slytherin puts you in a position of command over him. The fact that he's actively working against your interests means that his magic is being stripped from him even as we speak. This sort of casting out is different from the usual passive pronouncement; it must be accomplished with a specific ritual declaration—which you just made."
Voldemort had just begun a scan of Potter's surface thoughts. The boy was deeply depressed, though something had his attention and interest at the moment. He was just beginning to establish a deeper connection when something abruptly ended it altogether, and he could not re-establish it. That couldn't be right; Severus had told him the boy had no Occlumency shields at all. Some outside influence must be shielding him. As he mulled over the possibilities, he summoned Severus.
A few moments later, the Potions Master was kneeling before him. "Rise, Severus. Tell me, where does Harry Potter live?"
"I am told he resides with Muggle relatives in Little Whinging, in Surrey."
"I need his exact location. Something is blocking my access to his thoughts, and I must find out what it is."
"The blood wards, perhaps?"
"Since his blood was used in the ritual that returned me to a body, those wards should not stop me from finding him."
"My Lord, I do not know his address offhand; I will need to go back to Hogwarts and look it up."
"Do so, and return immediately. I must send my people out to collect him for me."
"Yes, my Lord."
Once Snape had left, Voldemort summoned the rest of his Death Eaters.
The minutes slowly ticked past; one by one, his loyal followers entered his presence, but still there was no sign of Severus. Angrily, he decided to summon the man again, but before he could, a sudden, massive drain of his magic overtook him, and he went even paler than usual.
"My Lord, are you all right?" someone asked.
Worried about the source of the drain, and angered by Severus' delay in returning, the Dark Lord's temper was not helped by the fool's drawing attention to his momentary weakness. "Crucio!" he snarled, but the spell was cut short when Nagini reared up with an almighty hiss, just before her head exploded with a burst of searing light, and she fell over, dead.
In a vault in Gringotts, a priceless historical artifact suddenly began to glow, then emitted a stream of cleansing light, shot through with dark streaks, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream that no one heard. The same happened in an abandoned shack in Little Hangleton and in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. At Number 12, Grimmauld Place, only a grumpy old house elf heard the scream, but, seeing the light pouring forth from the old locket, he felt peace for the first time in many years: His old master's last order had finally been carried out.
The rate of drain increased drastically, and Voldemort began to draw on his followers, through the Dark Mark that linked each one to him. One by one, in concentric circles moving outward, they dropped to the floor and moved no more.
Snape muttered imprecations under his breath. Harry's file, which should have had his contact information in it, was not among the student files. Minerva informed him that Dumbledore kept it hidden in his office; even she didn't know where it was. He asked her if she knew Harry's address, but it had been so long since she had been there that she could no longer remember precisely; all she recalled was that the street was named for a shrub. That was a singularly uninformative clue, since, she recalled, all the streets in that area were named after flowers or shrubs. Since mail owls could locate people without addresses unless they were behind wards specifically blocking them, street addresses weren't normally necessary for correspondence.
As he turned to leave, planning on going to the Ministry to look it up there, he suddenly swayed as he walked, then grabbed at the doorframe to keep from falling over. "Severus? What is it?" Minerva asked, concerned.
"My magic…siphoning…" He fell over, unconscious, and Minerva levitated him to the hospital wing.
The inflow of magic from his followers did not help. Whatever was pulling on his magic was working faster than they could feed him. A strange feeling spread across his skin, one he'd experienced only once before, when the body of Quirinus Quirrel had disintegrated at Potter's touch. This time, however, the body he inhabited was not a natural human body, but a magical construct, sustained by his own magic; without it, the form could not be sustained and began to crumble.
In his room, Draco tried to do his homework, but he couldn't concentrate, knowing the Dark Lord was downstairs. He was due to take the Mark himself next year, but until then, his parents would not allow him to attend meetings.
He didn't understand why he had to bother with his homework. He'd passed his OWLS; he didn't have to go back. But his parents insisted; once the Dark Lord had taken over and things settled back down, they said, he would be going back to complete his education. In the meantime, he was not to allow himself to fall behind.
Then his mother's scream split the air; homework and all warnings forgotten, he burst out of his room and ran down to the conference room.
His mother was the only one still on her feet in the; she stood surrounded by fallen witches and wizards, and a pile of robes was draped over the Dark Lord's otherwise empty throne. "Mother? What happened?"
"I…I don't know," she said. "The Dark Lord looked ill. Then Nagini's head exploded, and after that everyone just started falling over. Those standing nearest him fell first. When they were all down, the Dark Lord just...disintegrated. He looked like his body was turning to ash." Regaining some of her composure, she cast a diagnostic spell on Bellatrix. Reading the results, she stumbled and would have fallen if Draco hadn't grabbed her and supported her. "She's dead." She cast again. "So's he…Merlin, they're all dead. We have to get out of here. Go pack; we're going to the villa in France. Take everything; it has to look like it was a planned holiday. Hurry!"
Madam Pomfrey looked up as Dumbledore came in. "What happened?" he asked.
"He's suffering from magical exhaustion," Poppy said. "I don't know how it happened; Minerva told me he just suddenly weakened, and said something about his magic being siphoned before he passed out."
There was only one way that could have happened, Dumbledore knew, and he immediately approached the unconscious Potions Master and pushed up his left sleeve.
The man's forearm was completely clear.
Dumbledore knocked on the Dursleys' door; Vernon opened it, and before the headmaster could get a single word out, said, "How dare you send your people to threaten me at the station—and then the brat never even shows up! He's not here, I have no idea where he is, and good riddance to bad rubbish! Good day!" And with that, he slammed the door in the headmaster's face, bloodying his nose as he had leaned a little too close to said door.
After casting simple healing and cleansing charms on himself, he knocked again. There was no answer; apparently they were going to ignore him completely now. Well, it didn't really matter. He had what he had come for: The wards were indeed gone, and a quick scan of the Muggle's surface thoughts had shown him to be telling the truth: He had not seen Harry at the station, and he was not here now. Checking to make sure no one was watching, he Disapparated, and went to the Burrow.
"He got off the train with us, and I saw him heading towards the barrier, but that was the last I saw of him before Mum and Dad took us home," Ron replied to the headmaster's question.
"Did he say anything during the journey that might indicate where he might go?"
Ron shook his head. "He didn't say much of anything at all, the whole trip. Losing Sirius hit him really hard."
That's exactly what I'm worried about. He kept that thought to himself, however.
Apparently Molly's thoughts were going down the same channels, for the next thing she said was, "You don't think he might have gone and done something…hasty, do you?"
It was Ron who answered. "No; I think he's hiding somewhere."
"And why do you think that, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked.
"Are you kidding? Every time someone from our world talks to those Muggles, they take it out on him. He comes out of the platform, sees the Order pretty much reading the riot act to the Dursleys—After what I've seen them do to him, I don't blame him for doing a runner. I would, too!"
"What do you mean?" Molly said.
George broke in at this point. "Mum, we weren't exaggerating when we told you they put bars on his window," he said. "We had to use the car to pull them off, and then we got Harry out through the window. There must have been at least three locks on the outside of his bedroom door; we could hear his uncle opening them while we pulled Harry out. And there was a cat-flap at the bottom of the door; he told us that was where they slid food in for him…when they bothered. Haven't you ever wondered why he's so skinny when he comes here every summer? And never tells you and Dad about what goes on there?"
"Mum, he begged Professor Dumbledore not to make him go back there after first year," Ron added. He shot a dirty look at the headmaster. "You didn't believe him, did you?"
"I had my reasons for making him stay there."
Ron opened his mouth to argue the point, but his father put a hand on his shoulder to calm him and said, "Albus, have you ever heard of child abuse?" he said, stressing the words. "What good does it do to keep him safe from Death Eaters when he may very well be in even greater danger from his own family? Let him be. I don't know where he's hiding, but he knows where he can find help if he needs it. Now you tell us You-Know-Who is finally truly dead. If that's so, the news will keep. Besides, doesn't he have a subscription to the Daily Prophet? He'll find out soon enough."
"There are other matters that must be investigated," Albus insisted. "I'll be calling a meeting of the Order tonight. Finding Harry will have to be our first priority."
Ron made a face. "Professor, try writing him a letter. We have Hedwig here with us; she should be able to find him just about anywhere."
It had been a long and tiring day, setting affairs in order after the reading of both the Potter and Black wills. Most of it had been well and truly beyond his understanding; Mr. Walsh had handled all of it, explaining where necessary, then offered to arrange a tutor for summer lessons on finance and estate management. He was well qualified to handle it all, but he would be doing better by his client to have him trained so he could understand all that was happening and be able to make informed decisions, rather than just giving the solicitor carte blanche. Deciding that the offer proved, more than anything else could have, that the man could be trusted, Harry promptly agreed. The tutor would contact him to set up a schedule of appointments.
It was nearing dinner time when he finally returned to his manor. His manor; wasn't that an awesome concept! He had just finished eating when Hedwig found him in the dining room. She was carrying two letters; Tolly would not permit Harry to take them from her. "Mail can be booby-trapped," he said. "Allow me to scan them first."
"I understand," Harry said, "but this is my own owl. She was staying with my best friend; if she's got mail for me, it's from him, and I don't think Ron even knows how to put a booby-trap on mail—though I wouldn't put it past the twins to try to prank me." He grinned at the prospect of foiling any such attempt. "Go ahead."
A moment later, Tolly was handing him the letters, which had proved to be free of traps; one was indeed from Ron; the other was from Professor Dumbledore. Probably going spare, wondering where I am, Harry thought. He can just keep wondering; serves him right for leaving me in the dark for all those years. With that, he set Dumbledore's letter aside and opened Ron's.
Hey, Harry.
Great news! Dumbledore told us that You-Know-Who is gone for good! He won't tell us how he knows, and he says he doesn't even know himself exactly what happened, but he's really upset because he doesn't know where you are. Don't know what business it is of his; I don't blame you for running off, but we are kind of worried about you. You don't have to tell us where you are, but just let us know you're okay. Mum's afraid you might "do something hasty," as she puts it. I think we finally got through to her that we weren't pulling her leg when we told her what we saw when we rescued you summer after first year.
You know you're still welcome to come stay with us for a while; Hermione will be here sometime in August, when she gets back from holiday with her parents. Hope you'll come.
Talk to you later, mate.
—Ron
He'd expected news of this nature; Kurluk had told him that the particular type of casting-out he'd done would drain Voldemort's magic, and he knew too severe a magical drain could kill someone. He also recalled that Dumbledore didn't approve of killing; he insisted on giving people second, third, and even fourth chances. After the disaster at the Department of Mysteries, though, he no longer agreed with that philosophy. Clearly fifteen years in Azkaban hadn't done anything to "redeem" the Death Eaters who had been there; if anything, Dementor exposure had made them even worse. It made no sense to avoid killing the enemy when they had no qualms about killing you. They hadn't been throwing stinging hexes that night. War was kill or be killed, full stop.
Shoving the thoughts aside before they led him into another fit of grief, he opened the second letter.
Harry,
Please meet me at Grimmauld Place as soon as possible. There are urgent matters I must discuss with you now that Voldemort is dead.
Professor Dumbledore
Oh, what else is he finally going to let me know about? Harry wondered, all the anger that had caused him to destroy Dumbledore's office flooding back even stronger than before. Well, no time like the present to find out, he decided. He'd have to remember not to meet his eyes.
