..::Chapter Three::..
Gringotts

"Harry? Harry is that you?"

It takes a lot of willpower to make my limbs move again and continue walking forwards. Thank goodness that my hesitation was brief and hopefully unnoticed. I just Harry's hand a little squeeze to let him know not to look back at the person calling him, though I'm have a sinking feeling that I know who it is too if the tired and wary tone of the voice is anything to go by.

There is a brief sound of shuffling behind us like the person is undecided whether they want to follow us or not. I pointedly ignore it and continue my march forwards even as Harry begins to shoot me several questioning (and some demanding) looks. The shuffling stops after a few seconds, a sigh, and I can heard footsteps retreating from us as they grow softer. Relief swarms my chest.

I know that Harry's fame is unavoidable in the long run. I know that eventually we will have to get involved in cannatical events and characters. But that doesn't mean that I can't try and avoid it for as long as possible. The situation is muddled and unclear enough as it is and bringing in attention to ourselves like that will only serve to make things worse. For now, even if it is someone (I suspect one Remus Lupin) hurting and searching they'll just have to keep suffering until I can be sure that Harry will be safe. A premature meeting with a plot-heavy character could have many unintended consequences in the future. Already I'm regretting letting the Weasley brothers escort us through Diagon Alley but at least neither of them suspected Harry's true identity. Unlike the mysterious speaker.

"Who was that?" Harry whispers to me. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought and something akin to frustration. I can't blame him. We just bypassed a chance meeting with someone who clearly knows Harry if they can identify him at a glance. A boy desperate to know his past isn't going to lightly let that one go.

"No one," I answer in a clipped voice but I shoot him an expression that says 'I'll owe you'.

Harry makes an annoyed face at my answer but luckily drops the subject as we approach the teller. We step up in front of the Goblin and -not for the first time- I mourn the loss of my adult body. Having to look up and strain my neck just to talk to people gets pretty tiring after a while, and in this case my head doesn't even reach the counter.

I look up expectantly, waiting for the Goblin to notice my presence. It becomes clear after a few seconds that either the Goblin didn't notice me or is purposefully ignoring me. I've an inkling it's the latter.

"Excuse me Master Goblin," I call up. "My cousin and I wish to speak to the Potter vault representative. Could you help us?"

It becomes very apparent when we continue to receive no response that the bank teller is ignoring us. A flash of red irritation spikes through me as I narrow my eyes at the Goblin.

"I said, excuse me Master Goblin," emphasizing each word hard. "But we need to speak with the Potter Vault representative, if you would be so kind." I've had to deal with these types of bias and rude pink-collar workers in my last life. Rarely a pleasant business but ultimately unavoidable. One learns to be pushy when traversing the wonderful world of customer service and representative administration.

My last comment seems to catch the teller's attention because he raises his head slightly and glares down at us with those beady black eyes. I'm a little taken aback by the sight of those large black pupils dwarfing out any white sclera but I school my face into one of a collected composure. I can already feel those eyes judging me and any sign of weakness was enough for the sharks to come a feeding. So I meet his gaze straight on and confrontational, jaw just slightly jutted out in challenge.

It takes a moment for the Goblin to speak up. He sneers at us, flashing us those rows of sharp pointed teeth (perhaps my shark analogy isn't so off after all), and answers dismissively, "Go away. I have more important things to do with my time than entertain a pair of wizard-spawn." He spats out the semi-derogative term, "Now leave before you scare off my clients." Then he returns to his paperwork.

My eyes are blown wide in shock. I understand that Harry and I look young, but I had spoken as politely as possible. Magical bank or not this is still a bank and service like this… My irritation turns to fury and I fight the urge (damn this immature impulse control, it will be the death of me one of these days) to snap back at the rude Goblin. I breath heavily through my nose, face flushes with embarrassment at being so easily dismissed, and Harry shooting me worried looks before I take a deep breath and reply with the last thread of my self-control.

"I see no other patrons in line for your teller Master Goblin, except of course the two standing before you now. If you do not assist my associate and I, I will be forced to file a complaint to your management about this ill-mannered treatment." The teller looks back down at me, anger now evident on his face only second to the fury that I feel boiling in my chest, "I expected better out of the highly-regarded Gringotts establishment."

The Goblin rears back, shark-like teeth now in full view as he lets out a low guttural noise in anger, "Now see here you impudent spawn-!"

A sharp voice behind us interrupts him.

"Riftgok, what is the meaning of this?"

The teller's -Riftgok's- expression immediately transforms from anger to a ruffled mortification. Riftgok leans back in his seat and fusses out his suit looking both annoyed and worried at the same time (I'm sure the annoyance is directed at me). His beady black eyes are staring intently at the speaker behind us. Harry and I turn to face the newcomer.

The sight that greets us is that of an older Goblin, with white tufts of professionally groomed hair and skin heavily wrinkled (even to the standard of regular Goblins) and appearing paperthin. Clearly we are in the presence of a being much older than any of us. His face is sharp and stern, seemingly hardened in a permanent glower. His equally beady eyes survey the situation with an intense and frightening intelligence.

"Riftgok, explain." He commands.

The teller clears his throat, clearly intimidated by the older Goblin (I don't blame him, I'm immensely intimidated too. I feel Harry's fingers close in tightly around mine), "My apologize Gorkrus. These two," Riftgok's narrowed eyes snap sharply to Harry and I, "wizard-spawn refuse to leave and insiste on playing around." My mouth closes into a thin hard line as I once again meet his glare straight on.

"Your associate lies Master Gorkrus," god I hope I didn't butcher that name. Riftgok hisses at the accusation. "My cousin and I approached Master Riftgok's teller in hopes of accessing a vault. Not only did his ignore us and refuse to offer his services," the teller sneers and opens his mouth to protest but I continue cutting him off. "But he also insulted us. This type of behavior is unacceptable, especially that of the esteemed Gringotts bank." I look at the older Goblin, "I may be young, but as a client of the Gringotts establishment I am deeply offended at this intolerable treatment."

Gorkrus is silent and it appears like he is contemplating the situation. Finally he lets out a sharp sight and settles his worker with a icy stare, "Riftgok, apologize at once to our clients that you have insulted."

"But Master Gorkrus-"

"At once Riftgok, I won't have your behavior tarnishing the good name of our fine establishment," Gorkrus says harshly, leaving no room for argument. If Riftgok wanted to complain he kept it to himself because he looks properly chastised and scared. He faces Harry and I again, a small sneer still evident on his face.

"My deepest apologies valued clients, my behavior was inexcusable," he grits out reluctantly. Pride probably bruised at being scolded by his boss then having to apologize to two wizard children.

I let out a miffed noise but also reluctantly accept his equally reluctant apology, "No harm no foul," I decide to answer. "As long as this doesn't happen again we should not have any problems with the bank in the future." There, now they'll think twice before doing anything underhanded or acting upon any prejudices in the future now that I've placed the thinly veiled threat of taking my business elsewhere.

"Very good," Gorkrus says in a cold tone. "Now that that has been settled perhaps I may be of service to you both. May I have your names young masters?"

"I am Dudley Dursley," I say then take a brief glance around to make sure no one was listening and I continue in a softer voice, "and this is my cousin Harry Potter. We were wondering if we could see what vaults Harry has to his name and what we can access at this time."

The only tell that Gorkrus is affected by the mention of the boy-who-lived's name is a slight widening on his eyes. Nearly unnoticeable but I make it a rule to keep an eye out to small details like that. You never know what can give away a person's inner monologue.

"Very well," he answers. "Please follow me Master Dursley and Master Potter." He turns and begins walking without checking if we were following. I shoot Harry a reassuring look before nudging him forwards. He just gives me a contemplative look before following after the old Goblin.

We are led through to the back halls of the Gringotts building. Narrow passageways (equally as extravagant as the front parlor) with multiple doors on either sides that reveal offices. I see that both Goblins and wizards alike work in this back rooms though there are far more of the former. We continue walking until we stop at a door.

Gorkrus sharply raps on the glass door and opens it when an affirmative sounds from inside. Harry and I shuffle in behind him.

In the office is a busy set up (much like all the offices here), with multitudes of shelves piled high with paperwork and accounting transactions. A familiar looking Goblin sits behind the large mahogany desk.

The Goblin looks up and seems to give a start at the sight of his boss. "Gorkrus. How unexpected, is there something you need me to do?" He eyes Harry and I suspiciously.

Gorkrus clears his throat, "Griphook. These two young masters are Mr. Dudley Dursley," a pause, "and Mr. Harry Potter. They seek access to the family vault."

Griphook's eyes widens in shock as his boss turns to us and speaks, "Griphook here is the Potter family accountant. He is incharge of all Potter estates, vaults, and assets. He will assist you."

"Thank you Master Gorkrus," I answer him kindly.

"Thank you," Harry speaks up more timidly, his earlier gusto with the Weasleys clearly dashed in the presence of such an intimidating Goblin.

Gorkrus grunts out an acknowledgement, "Well. If that is all then I will be on my way. Griphook will take good care of you." Then he turns and leaves.

Griphook seats us down and begins waving his fingers around and magically sorting out the mess of papers in the room. We watch in awe as he pulls up the correct files with mere flicks of his wrist. Wandless magic on this scale is incredible. Given, Goblins aren't wizards and most likely work magic in different ways but it's still humbling to see. Harry and I have a long ways to go in the art of wandless magic.

Once all the appropriate documents are set Griphook turns his attention to us, carefully observing each of us.

"I can see that you are Mr. Potter," says the Goblin looking at Harry. "I've worked with the Potters for many decades and that hair is very much a distinctly-Potter trait. However…" His voice trails off as his head turns towards me, black eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I do not recognize you, nor do I know of any wizarding family by the name of Dursley."

"I am Harry's blood cousin," I answer immediately. "Our mothers were sisters. Harry currently lives on my muggle parent's estate with us." I can tell he's mistrustful of my involvement with Harry and the Potter vaults so I add, "You needn't worry Master Griphook. I'm not here to liberate cash from the Potter fortune, I am simply here to assist my cousin in getting all his assets sorted. Of course, there are a few questions that I would like to ask if you would be so kind as to answer."

The Goblin merely raises a brow at me, still not completely trustful but seemingly less suspicious as before. "Very well then though I was not insinuating that you have any ulterior motives," bullshit, "and I would be pleased to answer any questions you have for me Mr. Dursley. In the meantime, let us get these assets, as you said, sorted out."

I nod rigidly.

"Before we begin though," Griphook says pulling out a piece of parchment. "I will have to first confirm your identity Mr. Potter as is with security protocol." He places the paper before Harry and gestures to the corner of his desk at a small black cylinder, "this is a blood test that will confirm your identity. Simply place any finger into that hole and prick it lightly on the blade within and drop three drops of blood onto this sheet of parchment."

Harry physically pales at the suggestion, "Uhh…"

"Don't worry Har-bear," I grab one of his hands and give it a comforting squeeze. "It's just a little cut, you'll be fine."

Griphook nods clearly taking pity on the frightened boy, "Of course I will offer you some gel to put on your finger afterwards and it should be all healed up within seconds."

"See? There's nothing to worry about," I tell him reassuringly.

Harry stares at my face then his own morphs into one of determination, "Alright. I can do this." A little more hesitantly he reaches his free hand over to the blade and quickly pricks his finger with only a small flinch. "Ouch…" Harry hisses out but determinedly holds his injured finger over the parchment and squeezes out three drop of blood.

Griphook hands over a jar which I immediately take and open, generously applying to the tip of Harry's finger. "Good job Har-bear." Then he grabs the parchment and pulls it closer to him and watches as words appear on it.

Harry James Potter
Son of- James Fleamont Potter
& Lily Joy Potter (née Evans)
Born: 31 July, 1980

Harry's green eyes grows as he drinks in the names of his parents hungrily. Meanwhile, Griphook and I continue with the business at hand.

"Alright, now we may proceed," the Goblin comments. "Just let me pull up the files of your list of accounts." I nod and wait as he sorts through the papers on his table. Within seconds he pulls out various sheets and lays them out in an orderly fashion, I count five.

"These are the list of vaults under Mr. Potter's name," Griphook says. "This here," he gestures to a document with a red and yellow coat of arms on it, "is the main Potter family vault. Mr. Potter will not be able to access this until his seventeenth birthday when he comes of age, at which time he will be presented with the Potter ring of Lordship and the title of Lord Potter. For now this," he gestures to another document also with the same coat of arms, albit smaller. "This is the trust account made in Mr. Potter's name by his parents. He may access this vault at anytime, though it only hold money and no family treasures or heirlooms. Each year, approximately three hundred galleons are deposited into the trust from the main family vault.

However," he continues. "An additional five hundred galleons are also distributed into the trust annually due to the condition stated here," his points his gnarled finger to a small section of fine print that I would've missed. "It's stated here that an additional five hundred galleons are to be added to the existing three hundred existing galleon annual allowance if anything were to happen to James and Lily Potter."

I do the math quickly in my head. Three hundred galleons the first year then a subsequent four years (five come January) where eight hundred galleons were deposited, that leaves… My mind whirled with calculations.

"Wow," I breath out.

That leaves a whopping thirty-five hundred galleons sitting in Harry's trust vault, simply collecting over the years. I don't even want to know how much cash is in the main Potter vault if that's the case.

"What is the muggle pound to galleon exchange rate?" I question.

"Roughly seventeen pounds currently."

The calculations took a little longer this time but I quickly come up with the answer. That is nearly sixty thousand in pounds and eighty-seven thousand in USD. That is a lot of money.

Still in shock at how rich the little five-year-old next to me didn't even know he was, I have to shake myself out of my amazement and ask Griphook to continue with the vaults.

"Next we have the Black family vault," the Goblin says. "Due to the incarceration of the last remaining Blacks the vault would've gone to it closest relative. However, the incarcerated Sirius Black was the only candidate left to inherit the Lord Black title which gives him full control over the family vault. In his will he left everything to James, Lily, and Harry Potter. Since James and Lily are deceased, Mr. Potter here stands to also inherit the Black family vault if no one else challanges his claim. There is one other Black relative that can challenge this claim, but I doubt Lady Malfoy will do so, especially since she has not done so yet."

I nod, "And the Black family Lordship?"

"Because the title Lord Black still belongs to Sirius Black, incarcerated or not, Mr. Potter does not stand to inherit that title either unless the current Lord Black relinquishes his title -for which he cannot do imprisoned, or if he becomes deceased in which the same case for the Lordship as with the family vault stands. Lady Malfoy can challenge for ownership of the title."

Well, hopefully if my plans all go well then none of these issues with the Black family vaults and or titles will persist. I may be reluctant to get involved with canonical characters but for my plans to work I will have to get involved with one.

"This next vault is Sirius Black's personal vault where he kept a few of his personal valuables as well as a sizable amount of galleons. The last inventory taken counted around twenty-one hundred galleons. This vault, like the Potter trust, can be accessed by Mr. Potter immediately."

Not as much as the trust but still a lot a lot a lot of cash. I can only imagine if I had this kind of money to take care of my family in my last life. Maybe ease my father's hard life instead of him and my sister Teresa having to work a million jobs just to feed.

I shake my head. That's all in the past now, what's done is done and irreversible. My family and I lived a good life together, happily and lovingly, even if it was a very hard life at time.

It still hurt to think that some people just have this type of money lying around.

A cough by Griphook brought me back into the present. I offered him a sheepish smile as the Goblin continued.

"This final vault is a bit of a mixup. Yes Mr. Potter does stand to inherit it, as with the other two family vaults, when he comes of age. But there are certain… conditions he must meet first."

I furrow my brow in confusion. Even Harry's attention has been grabbed as he offers the final vault document a bemused look. I ask, "What is the vault?"

"It is the Peverell family vault and the Peverell Lordship," Griphook answers blandly. "As I said before, Mr. Potter is a descendant of the Peverell line and meets base qualifications to inherit the vault. However, there are other conditions that must be met before he can inherit the vault."

Peverell family… "What conditions?"

The next thing he said sent me for a doozy.

"We do not know," he says. "There definitely are conditions stated. But we cannot view the conditions."

I give him a blank look. "What?"

"There is some ancient magic safeguarding the rules of the vault. Gringotts does not have the ability to break these safeguards -nor would we be willing to break policy by doing so. What we do know is that there are conditions that cannot be viewed." Griphook adds, "The Peverell vault has been in Gringotts for centuries and no one has met its qualifications yet. And trust me, many have tried. I'm only showing this to you because it's bank policy to disclose all relevant information concerning assets and accounts. I have high doubts that Mr. Potter, or anyone really, will be able to access this vault."

When I questioned the Potter family accountant on the confidentiality of our visit I was met with an interesting answer.

"All meetings are completely confidential," Griphook says. "But I must point out that should Mr. Potter attempt to access his trust vault then his Magical Guardian will be notified that it was accessed."

I stiffen, "And... Who is Harry's Magical Guardian."

Three guesses to who it is.

I mentally groan.

Albus fucking Dumbledore.

Not only is he a hugely influential canonical character, but he's also a crafty and manipulative old geezer to boot.

With the ability to read fucking minds.

I had foreseen that this may be an issue but dealing with it is on a whole 'nother level. There is no way that Harry and I can just waltz into the trust vault now. The longer we stay off Dumbledore's radar the better. And I personally would like to wait until the last possible moment before being involved with the powerful wizard and if all goes good then I still have another five years before he becomes an issue. But as things stand I'll avoid a confrontation if at all possible.

But Harry, sweet blessed Harry, sweet blessed genius Harry made an excellent observation.

"What about Sirius Black's vault?" Harry pops into the conversation suddenly. I hadn't even noticed that he was listening in, let alone actually following along with what we were saying.

Griphook looks contemplative, "Hmm… It is true that accessing the Potter trust will alert Albus Dumbledore. But Sirius Black is technically still alive so perhaps Dumbledore may not have jurisdiction over the vault. There may be a loophole we can exploit here. Please wait a moment while I go check and see if I can work something out."

So we waited for Griphook in his office.

He returned after nearly forty minutes, by which time Harry had already fallen asleep in his chair, using my lap as a head rest.

Apparently the Potter vault representative had to pull a few strings here and there but worked it out so that Harry can visit Sirius' personal vault without alerting anyone to his presence. I thanked Griphook profusely and gently roused Harry from his nap (he rubs his eyes so cutely) before we followed the Goblin towards the vault.

Which is how we are where we are now.

Riding in a damn death cart going at neck breaking speeds down through a dark series of tunnels and caverns. My stomach protests loudly at the unnatural movement and I'm reminded that even in my past life I hated scary amusement park rides. And this is ten times worse because not only are there no seatbelts, but the cart also isn't actually attached to the rails.

I've never prayed before but I find myself praying to any god I can think of now. This is not how I imagined my second death.

At least Harry is enjoying himself.

He's just standing there looking all exhilarated as the wind whips past us and he's barely containing his shouts of glee. A prelude to his life-long love of quidditch I'm sure. I have to yell at him to make sure he doesn't throw his hands up in excitement instead of holding on for dear life like I am.

My face turns green.

"If you need to throw up, please do so over the cart," Griphook remarks dryly, somehow still audible despite the shrieks of wind flying around us. I just send him a tiny glare and grip my stomach (and cart) tighter as we roll and bounce deeper into the dark cavern.

Harry just laughs.

We step out of Gringotts, pockets heavy with coin.

Harry gave me permission to manage his money and Griphook seemed to get that I was the one in charge and that Harry is still pretty much a little kid so he didn't kick up a big fuss. I collected some coin and distributed some to Harry for his own personal spending for the day and some for myself. Then I purchased a bottomless coin purse for three galleons (cheapskates, that's more than 75 dollars) and filled it with a couple of handfuls for future use so we don't have to keep coming back to the bank (and we won't have to ride the death trolley either. Win-win in my opinion). I also had Griphook direct us to the exchange office where I made the exchange with galleons for some two hundred pounds of Muggle money and we left on our way.

"Where do you want to go first?" I ask Harry, "We still have a good hour and a half before we should start heading home."

"Fortescue's!" Harry immediately exclaims and I roll my eyes at him.

"Alright, alright you little bugger." I rub his head in which is once again bats my hands away with a pout, "Ice cream it is then. But not too much, sugar isn't so good for you ya'know."

It's Harry's turn to roll his eyes at me, "I know how sugar works Dudley."

"It's Marco now Lyle," I smile at him teasingly. "Remember our game? We can only use our real names with the Goblins because they need to know our names for us to use the bank."

"And you still have a lot of explaining to do Marco," Harry says cheekily. I just give him an exasperated smile and gently cuff on on his head.

"All in good time my dear Ursa, all in good time."

When we reach Fortescue's Harry is enraptured by the sight of so many ice cream and ice cream choices. He makes a beeline for the display window with all the buckets of ice cream sitting glistening. I take a more leisure pace and just take in the sight of the once fictional ice-cream parlor.

Honestly, I prefer Baskin Robbins.

At least they have strawberry cheesecake ice cream (with actual chunks of cheesecake. It's divine).

But like with the carts, Harry is happy. He eagerly buys a flavor of ice cream I can't identify and bounces back to me with his prize.

"Look Dud-Marco!" He presents the frozen treat to me, "It's called pumpkin crumble and it's pumpkin pie flavored." I do notice that between the orange and brown swirls there are sprinkles of crust here and there. "Want some?"

"No thank you Ursa," I decline. "Not a big fan of pumpkin. It does sound good though."

Harry just shrugges as if saying 'more for me' and begins eating his treat. I watch his green eyes light up with joy and I can't help but smile at him. Harry notices me though and pauses in his eating.

"Wot?" He asks, "Is there sumthing on my face?" He begins rubbing at his cheek with his free hand.

I burst out laughing and reach out to pull his hand away from his face, "No, nothing. There's nothing on your face Ursa." I chuckle a little more and give him a warm smile, "I just… You're so cute sometimes." I poke his nose with my thumb and watch in amusement as the boy chases my hand away and denies my claims of him being "cute".

"But you are cute! But that's okay because you're my cutie alright?" I say to him. Harry just blushes and grumbles, giving up and passively subjecting himself to my treatment. I laugh again, "Alright, alright, I'll stop. Hurry up and finish your treat, I wanna go to the bookstore."

School picks right off where it left and passes by quicker than I expected (especially since day after day is filled with nothing but unchallenging work designed for children). I should feel a little more jealous that Harry and Anthy have been spending more time with each other this year (its sweet how taken Harry is with the preppy blonde) but I can't find it in myself to be jealous that we spent less time together (during school that is). Those two, and their now mutual friend Gabriella, have become thick as thieves and spend most of their school days together. It's nice to see Harry really enjoying himself as a kid and playing and laughing with friends.

It also helps that I have a good stock up of wizarding books purchased fresh from Flourish and Blotts. Harry bought a good few texts too but not nearly as much as me. The rather pricey bottomless book bag I picked up just for the occasion came much in handy though, especially in hiding said books from Petunia.

One book we picked up was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: The First Wizarding War and after skimming through to search for obvious bias-ness I deemed the book a good start to explaining Harry's heritage and legacy.

Least to say that had been an interesting conversation.

To say Harry had taken the news well would be giving the boy too much credit. Harry may be mature in many ways but an adult he is not. I do have to give him some credit though as the news had not been taken well but there was no screaming or breaking so that was good. However there was, understandably, good deal of tears shed, especially when it came to his mother and father. Not matter how much my maturity has rubbed off on Harry it was still an interesting reminder that he's still a child.

One thing I did make it clear though was that no matter what pedastal the wizarding community put him on Harry is not some sort of miraculous messiah or savior.

Harry is special no doubt. But I've seen where that hero complex of his had taken him in the original canon storyline. Luck had played a big role in the defeat of the Dark Lord in J.K Rowling's tale but I have no qualms that fate will be playing cruel tricks on us. Luck will not be on our side and I'd be foolish to believe it will. Success is where preparation and opportunity meet and I'll not meet that path halfway. If prepared is what we must be than prepare is what I'll do.

Then I explained about Sirius Black.

Harry immediately recognized the name as the man who had left him two vaults and had been both shocked and ecstatic when he learned that Sirius was his godfather. Then I read on and the boy became enraged when he heard of his godfather's (framed) betrayal. Like I said, there was no yelling or screaming but the fury had been evident on his pudgy toddler face. I had to quickly rectify the situation by explaining that Sirius was framed and hadn't betrayed his parents. Though I was surprised by how immediately Harry agreed to believe me despite not having any proof.

When asked he answered, "I trust you Dudley. If you say Sirius is innocent then I believe you."

Of course, afterwards came the determined declaration of saving Sirius from his false imprisonment. Which I had to quickly shut down because we're still toddlers and saving Sirius is a feat currently beyond us. I did, however, promise to look into possible ways to prove his godfather's innocence. I did not mention Peter Pettigrew's status as a animagus.

The following summer vacation allowed us to once again make sparring trips to Diagon Alley. Like the previous year we were careful to hide our identity each time we entered but the soon route and comfortable pattern made us complacent -made me complacent- with the magical world. I'd forgotten that wizards are just as much the vile and depraved creatures as the monsters you see on the television, and that Dark Lords and Death Eaters are not the only things to worry for. With that and the relaxed comfort of routine came mistakes. Small and unnoticeable mistakes.

But with dire consequences even I would never be able to predict.

The book I'm holding looks interesting but I'm not sure if I really want to add it to my already large pile of reading material. The title is A Complete Comprehensive Guide to the Theory of Wand Movements by Augusta Weiry and details in, as the title states, the theory of wand movements. I've already skimmed through bits of it and it looks promising. There is an entire fifty page chapter on the different types of upward flicks at the end of a motus -the technical term for a complete series of wand movements. Spell inventors use this type of knowledge to fashion spells, such as if one is designing an offensive spell then a short and sharp upward flick to end the motus will yield the best results with the lowest chances of magical backlash. That is of course, assuming you use a wand at all seeing as only around 60 percent of the wizarding population uses wands -the other forty percent using either a completely other channeling medium or no medium at all. It's all terribly interesting.

However, I'm not going to be able to even use any knowledge I get from this book for another four years, and there are absolutely no books on wandless magic in Flourish and Botts or Obscurus Books. I have my doubts that I'll have much luck anywhere else. Perhaps in Knockturn alley but I won't dare enter there alone, not to mention that I also have Harry with me.

Speaking of the little tyke.

Harry jogs up to me out of breath and sweating, struggling to hold up a stack of four books. I quickly eyeball the titles of each and note that there is exactly one -thin- book on architecture and no less than three books on magical law. I roll my eyes because he already has eight of them at home. Somehow, after our talk about Sirius, it translated to an intense obsession with reading up on law. When I first caught Harry stumbling unsuccessfully through a thick tome on non-magical law in the library he had admitted that he was looking up ways to save Sirius. I reminded him that wizarding laws are sure to be different than those in the muggle world. I honestly expected him to give up the endeavor (I know how tedious and confusing legal jargon can be) but the next time I found him with the same law book and an open dictionary Harry had reasoned that he was practicing for reading the magical law books. I decided to just let him at it then. Who am I to hold back such determination?

It also turned out to be a good thing because I also took the time to read up on those wizarding laws when Harry wasn't using the books.

"Are you sure you want to read up on," I pointedly look at one of the books, "Wizarding France: Laws and Policies? Where did you even find a book on French laws? I doubt it'll help much in what we're trying to do."

"I want to learn French," Harry declares pushing up the iconic circular-rimmed glasses, that Petunia finally bought for him, up his nose.

I blink. This is the first I've heard of this. I crack a smile at him, "You know, there are much more efficient ways to learn another language than to read a law book. Isn't it written in English anyways."

"It's in English and French," he says matter-of-fact as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. I just sich and pat his head.

"Do what you want Lyle," I drawl returning to my book. I think I'll get it if only for future reference. Maybe it'll help me channel magic endlessly? Who knows. I set the heavy book on top of the rest of the pile in the feather-light basket. "Are you done picking out your books then? You wanted to get some confections right? We'll have to stop by Rosa's for lunch first then we can go. We should have enough time." I pick up the basket and start maneuvering us through the store.

It takes a bit to reach the counter with Harry's heavy books and all the Hogwarts students browsing and shopping for the upcoming year (which is the only reason Harry didn't get a basket, because they were all gone), and another fifteen or so minutes just waiting in line to get to the cashiers. But we finish paying for the books and are out of the store in no time. All our books go into the bottomless bag I'm carrying.

We eat small sandwiches at the teahouse for lunch, I have a cup of tea with lemon and Harry a cup of hot coco. Then we walk to the confection's store.

I really want to get a chocolate frog. I watch Harry browse excitedly through the store while I stand awkwardly to the side. I look down at my growing belly, a small frown playing at my lips. Sugar is a definite no. Not if I don't want to grow like the original Dudley. I have no idea what monstrous genes that Vernon most definitely passed down to me, but I'll have no part of it. This terribly metabolism is going to be the death of me.

I look at the taunting chocolate and mourn.

When I tear my gaze away from the delicious confections I notice that I've lost sight of Harry. My frown grows deeper as I look casually around for any sign of my baby cousin. My focus is so intent on where I'm looking that I don't even notice the pounding of feet behind me before it's too late.

"Gah!" A shout rips from my mouth as a body tackles into my back. I nearly drop my bag as I stagger forwards and all I can hear is a tinkle of familiar laughter.

"Harry!" I snap loudly turning my fury onto the smaller boy. He knows I startle easy. I pry his arms from around my waist, gently but firmly, and I hold him at arm's length. He just stares at me with those mirthful green eyes and cocks a lopsided smile at my angry face. "Apologize now."

"'M sorry Marco," his smile drops a little as if he's suddenly realizing that I'm actually angry. "I was just playing around."

I raise a brow, "You call tackling someone playing around? I know I've taught you better than that Lyle. That was rude. Not stop smiling like a goofball and apologize to me properly." I've cooled down some and the anger is mostly gone from my voice. Perhaps I overreacted a little but he seriously scared me.

"I'm really sorry Marco," Harry says a little more quiet. I sight and pull him in for a hug.

"It's fine. I'm sorry I got mad," I reply. We just stand like that for a few moments before we're interrupted by a cough.

I release my cousin and turn my head around to the person calling for attention. It's some wizard, looking to be in his thirties or so though you can never tell with magical creatures, and he's smiling at me sheepishly and holding something familiar.

"I believe you dropped this young man," he says holding my bag towards me. My mouth forms an 'O' and I quickly grab it from him.

"Yes yes, I'm so sorry for the trouble," I babble out embarrassed. This guy probably saw that hole embarrassing exchange between Harry and I. I quickly throw and adjust the strap over my shoulder and turn to face the man completely, "Thank you for your help sir."

"It was no problem at all lad," he smiles.

Eager to get out of the whole situation already I tug Harry's arm to my side, "Thank you again sir. Ah, we should probably be going. Our parents will be wondering where we are." Harry shoots me a annoyed look, probably because he hasn't bought any of his candy yet but I ignore his plight and start directing us out of the store. I'll make it up to him later. I shout a quick "thank you" again over my shoulder and briefly catch the man waving kindly at us before turning down the path towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"You owe me candy," Harry grumbles adjusting his glasses.

"And you owe me a new back," I counter. Harry just opens his mouth then closes it as he fails to find a retort.

He settles for, "Well you still owe me candy."

Despite my embarrassment I laugh.

The third school year starts and like the year before things pick up from where it left off.

Harry is sitting in a corner whispering happily with Anthy and Gabby as the three plot whatever it is seven-year-olds plot. I'm seated at my desk reading the public library's copy of Wuthering Heights. The rest of the class is mingling around, either chatting or doing their own little thing.

Our teacher Mrs. Miller was called out to a last-minute staff meeting and the only adult currently in the room -besides myself- is the underpaid janitor Mr. Dauson. It's been nearly half an hour already since class was put on hold. Not that I'm complaining, reading Emily Brontë's drama-filled tale of family, love, hate, and revenge is much more thrilling than learning elementary spelling that I could probably write in my sleep. Still, this is a rather strange occurrence.

Suddenly the door opens and in steps Mrs. Miller, looking rather pale and worried, and behind her walks the straight-laced and stern Principal Wilhelm, her face grim.

"Attention class," Mrs. Miller calls nervously playing with her blonde hair. "Principal Wilhelm is here to tell us a very important announcement, so please pay close attention and give her your utmost respect."

My brows furrow. An announcement so important that it has to be done in person instead of over the intercom? A foreboding feeling filled me as I gingerly set down my book.

Principal Wilhelm studied the class and waited till everyone was silent before continuing, "As your teacher told you. I have a very important announcement to make. From now on, after school you will all remain in your classrooms until your parents come to pick you up." A chill crept up my back, "As I'm sure some of you know. Young mister Robby Johnson has been absent for some days now," her calculating eyes swept the class as if debating her next words carefully. "He has been found. There is a bad person going around doing bad things to little boys and girls like you so I need you all to be very careful and listen to everything your teachers tell you to do. And I mean it when I say that you will stay in your classrooms after school lets out. There will be strict and severe consequences for anyone who dares disobey this rule. Do I make myself clear?"

A entire class rears back in fear. The students glancing around at their friends worriedly but a chorus of, "Yes Principal Wilhelm," sounds from the children anyways.

"Good," Mrs. Wilhelm says. "That will be all. You may now resume your class Mrs. Miller." She turns and leaves the room and I stare after her in shock.

Robby Johnson. He's a student in our grade but in another class. I never talked to him before but I know that he's a rather tall boy with black hair and grey eyes. Wilhelm didn't say it but I'm old enough to read between the lines.

A student is dead. Kidnapped and probably sexually abused before being murdered and left out for the police to find.

I look around the class and meet Harry's worried green eyes. We hold each other's gaze for a moment. Fear grips at my throat but I offer him a small reassuring smile. It seems to bring some light back into his eyes because he smiles back and turns to continue his conversation Anthy and Gabby. When he looks away my smile turns into a deep frown as I let my inner turmoil run through my brain as I try to think of possible outcomes.

I conclude that as long as we stay safe and follow the teacher's orders we should be fine. I let myself sigh but the worry barely alleviates.

Dark Lords aren't the only monsters in the world, I think bitterly.

Two weeks later another student goes missing. His name is Ethan Green from the grade above us. He was a short boy for his age with green eyes and dirty blonde hair, often teased for his height and thick-glasses.

His body is found five days later.

Jamie Campbell goes missing. Same grade as us, dark hair grey eyes.

Timothy Shoe from our class. Black hair, brown eyes, and wears the same type of glasses Harry does.

It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. And horror washes over me when I realize what is happening.

Dark hair and glasses, my mind whispers darkly as fear grips my heart. These students are all replacements.

Oh my god. Harry!

Authors Note:

An UPDATE! YAY! And another (sorta) cliffhanger.

So I'm sure some of you will be wondering, why Dudley feels embarrassed at the candy shop. It's because, while it is perfectly acceptable for a child to act in that way Dudley sometimes forgets that she is a child. Also I'm still trying to get a hang on this whole 'characterization' thing. I'm sure I'll improve as the story goes on.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Not sure when I'll post the next. I haven't even started working on it yet. Ah well. It'll come when it comes. It's not good to rush these kinds of things ya'know? :)

-The FireCrest 3

(Please leave a review on your way out. They motivate me to write more.)