Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

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In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

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Chapter IV: Sweet, Sweet Sixteen

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The Dementor continued. "Here, you will not feel anything physically. No pain, hunger, dirtiness, or—what was it humans said—the 'need to use the loo'?"

Harry stifled a chuckle. "I see."

---

Harry and his guide emerged from the Fortress of Dark. The congregated Dementors loitered about; the moon had not changed its position in the night sky. Yet Harry felt as though an hour, if not more, had passed while he was in the Fortress. They had toured the Fortress; Harry had even sparred with some enchanted dummies with his new sword. His arm ached with the exercise, yet he was proud of himself for his not-too-shabby ability to wield weaponry.

Harry tugged the sleeve of his guide and asked, "How do I address you as a whole? Is there a name that I can call you all or is it just 'Dementors'?"

The Dementor replied, "We are, as we have said before, we come and go into existence. As such, we have a collective knowledge. What one Dementor learns, we all learn; there is no need to scout out a particular because you told them something. Therefore, just address us as you will."

Harry nodded and turned to go.

"My Liege," it said as an afterthought, "If you ever want time to actually pass while in the Fortress of Dark's dimension, you only need to head outside the Fortress. Time stands still within the Fortress' walls, but outside is a different story."

"What is outside the Fortress anyway? I only saw black out the windows," Harry responded with curiosity.

"It is the black void that we, as well as other black creatures, melt into when we fade out of existence. It is the shadow, darkness. You can manipulate it, control it to do your bidding. Even in this dimension you can will it to do your bidding. It is something that, had we not told you, you would have found out on your own," it said.

Harry nodded again and walked over to the centre. Raising his hands, he addressed his audience. "Dementors! I thank you for your attendance tonight, and I am in need of an answer to a question. I understand how to perform Occlumency and Legilimency, but I need a little prod in the right direction in how to do it. Is it possible for you to find me a tutor—preferably a Master in both arts?"

A Dementor stepped forwards. "Rest assured, my Liege, we shall find you a Master of the Mind Arts."

As an afterthought, Harry added, "As long as it is not Severus Snape or Albus Dumbledore."

The Dementors bowed, basking in the feelings of contentment their Lord was exuding.

Harry looked over them with a strange sense of pride. "You have all traveled from near and far to witness my transformation; it means much to me that you would do that. I thank you, and hope that this night's events do not create necessity for punishment when you return. For those of you under Voldemort's service, I would like you to keep tabs on him for me. He currently wishes for my death and I would like to be able to intervene in whatever plans he has. Thank you."

Harry drew his cloak tighter about his lithe form and turned, walking out into the moors. "Where are you going, my Liege?" one of the cloaked figures asked.

He paused and replied, "Somewhere to be alone. I need some time to come to terms with what I've become." He began walking again before stopping. Turning, he faintly blushed before asking in a discomfited manner, "How do you Stream?"

---

Four o'clock in the morning found a young, black-haired youth swinging gently on the swing set in a local playground in Hyde Park. He was clad in a black set of robes and cloak, both of which were trimmed with elegant silver embroidery. His shoes lightly scuffed the trampled, dew-covered grass underfoot. Had there been any passersby, they would have remarked upon the boy's unusual glow he had about him.

Already Harry had figured out how to keep the black smoke from emanating from his form. It was a simple matter of will power that he mastered with ease. Currently he was trying to figure out how to keep from being illuminated with that dark, ethereal light. He did not want to be compared favorably to a glowworm.

He raised his hand from the chain links to see if the same will power strategy was working, only to stare at his changed hands. The black nails could only be described as claws; they were sharp, hard, and polished, gleaming softly with the moon's dying beams. Instantly his mind visualized his hand as he flung it out even though Remus held him back, desperately striving to reach Sirius' body disappeared behind the Veil…

Harry slammed his eyes shut, hoping the haunting images would fade before his mental eye. Harry knew that he would have to come to terms with Sirius' death—and he had to do it fast. He did not know how long he could keep the dam from bursting, giving way to torrents of grief, pain, and agony. Agitated, he stood up and began pacing.

Calm down, he mentally coached himself, Talk out loud if need be. There's no one here to hear you.

"Okay," he muttered, "Think back to what happened and talk." He took a deep, fortifying breath, acutely aware of feeling like a crazy that needed to be immediately shipped off to Bedlam. "First off, Sirius—" he choked. "Sirius fell through the Veiled Arch trying to help me. He acted of his own volition coming here. Bellatrix shot the Stunner that sent him through the Arch, and Voldemort was the one that drew me out to the Ministry with those images. Although I failed to learn Occlumency and Dumbledore kept me in the dark about that blasted prophecy, it was ultimately Voldemort… that was…"

Harry's pacing slowed to a halt as his heart pounded with dawning comprehension: It was not my fault.

It was not my fault. The sentence repeated itself over and over in his mind like a mantra. It was not my fault. It was not my fault.

His knees could no longer hold him up; they buckled and he collapsed into a heap. The barrier holding back his emotions broke, and he heaved a quiet, but heart-wrenching sob. The morning sun peered over the rooftops, reflecting the glistening tears that welled up in his closed eyes, squeezed between the black lashes, and slid gracefully down his cheeks.

Harry's distress unknowingly called several of his faithful to him. The seven Dementors that Streamed into Little Whinging encircled him protectively, absorbing the powerfully raw emotions exuding from their Lord. It would not do to have a city of insane humans—they could sense that he would deeply regret it if the event were to happen. So they stood uncomfortably, each wanting to give comfort in their own way but hesitant to do so. They did not know if their Lord would want them to act in such a manner. They discretely monitored the magical human that appeared in the park. The emotions coming off the human was conflicted—curiosity warred with hostility. It did not matter to the Dementors as long as the human did not harm their Lord.

Eventually the sobs abated, giving way to sniffles that also slowed to a stop. The Dementors peered down at their Lord, a mere child in their eyes, their postures portraying their concern.

"Thank you," Harry croaked, rubbing the vestiges of his tears with the backs of his hands.

"We would do anything for you, my Liege," a Dementor said, as they bowed as one.

"I feel like such a crybaby," Harry muttered, getting off the grass.

"Do not feel to badly," another Dementor gently chided, "Humans have always had breakdowns when they are emotionally distraught. It is natural. We know through the souls of those we have taken."

Harry gave them a wry smile before collapsing, drained from the transformation, and the emotional and mental stress. A Dementor broke formation, ducking down to catch the Boy-Who-Lived in its arms.

With an unspoken agreement, they clustered in the shadow of a nearby tree and Slipped.

---

"Foolish, idiotic imbeciles," the Dark Lord growled as he stepped over the bodies of Death Eaters that littered the great room floor. Nagini wisely remained silent as her Master fumed. "Why are all my followers doomed to be bloody morons?"

Voldemort entered the study and sat down in the armchair. Nagini silently slid off his shoulders and curled herself in a dark corner near the fireplace, her dark, beady eyes watching her human.

The Dark Lord closed his eyes in meditation. He would find the body and kill it. Enough with leaving it alive for his own pleasure. In his mind, he located the string of energy that connected himself to the body. He began traveling along it, eager to locate the living corpse.

As he traveled along the connection, he felt the coldness associated with a Dementor. He pushed himself farther along until he could no longer go any further; the worst memory he had flashed before his mind's eye.

He cackled happily as Lily Potter fell to the floor, dead. Turning his attention to the small babe wrapped in a blanket, he flicked his wand at the infant as he murmured the incantation for the Killing Curse.

His eyes widened in shock as the curse rebounded off the child and struck him. Voldemort silently screamed in fear, agony, and anger as his soul was forcefully and painfully ejected from his body, leaving him as nothing more than the faintest wraith.

As he escaped the small home in Godric's Hollow, he left behind his own corpse and the squalling, lightning-bolt-scarred one-year-old, Harry James Potter…

The memory hit him like several tons of bricks, causing the Dark Lord to beat a hasty retreat from the other's supposed mind. Voldemort reacted physically to his fear by nearly biting through his lower lip in his attempt to keep from screaming aloud, as well as digging his fingers into his armrests.

He gasped as he opened his eyes. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He distantly felt pain in his hands and his lip. Tentatively, he touched his tongue to his lip, quickly pulling away when he felt the intense sting. Looking down, he noted how there was blood dribbling down his front and his fingers were buried up to the first knuckle in the wood beneath with blood oozing from the newly-created holes. Clenching his teeth, he wrenched his hands free and studied them. His fingers were covered with splinters both large and small, causing them to look cactus-like in appearance.

Voldemort snarled as he thought of why he had relived his worst memory as he traveled along the connection. He came to two conclusions when he could not find answers:

1.) People normally did not have these sort of curse connections; and

2.) What did Kissed people feel anyhow?

Voldemort held back a frustrated growl to keep from aggravating his lip. He could not speak, nor could he hold a wand. How was he to appear before his servants looking like this?

He sighed. And his day had been going so well, too…

---

When he strode quickly down the hallways with his black cloak billowing out behind him, he indeed looked quite menacing. However, at three in the morning with him limping painfully instead of striding, he looked more pathetic than menacing. Severus Snape leaned against a wall in a corridor, muscles convulsing periodically and out of breath. He had awoken not too long ago on the floor of Riddle Manor, scattered with all of his colleagues. Beads of perspiration peppered his brow and upper lip, and his robes stuck wetly to his body. The distinctive Death Eater mask was tucked in the hood of his robes.

He eyed the small distance he needed to cross to reach the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. Rallying his failing strength, he shakily made his way there. Pressing himself against the wall next to the statue, he whispered, "Exploding bon-bons."

The sculpture jumped to the side, allowing the injured man passage. He stepped onto the moving stairwell, clutching his sides as the stairs spiraled upwards and finally deposited him outside the door to the Headmaster's office.

He slumped against the door, weak, dizzy, and throbbing all over. Said door immediately opened, and the Potions Master stumbled into Albus Dumbledore's careful arms. The elderly man stooped to fling Snape's arm over his aged shoulders, supporting the younger man as he slowly led the younger man into a transfigured puffy red recliner.

Once Albus was sure that Severus would not fall out of said chair, he swiftly plucked a vial from a side cabinet and pressed the glass container into the Death Eater spy's quivering hands. The younger man downed the swirling blue contents of the vial in one swallow. The relief was evident on his face as the phantom pain eased and faded away.

"Thank you, Albus," the younger said, setting the vial on the desk with steady hands.

"How are you now, Severus my boy?" Dumbledore asked, concern in his usually twinkling eyes.

The spy's obsidian eyes darkened even more. "He was extremely incensed. Those bumbling fools that call themselves Death Eaters have lost Potter's body," he dutifully reported, lips curling at the mention of the boy. "He inflicted the Cruciatus on each and every one of us. From what I remember when I woke up, all of us were passed out on the floor of the great room. He was gone."

"Thank you, Severus." Albus' brow furrowed as he mulled over his informant's words. They lost Harry's body, he thought hollowly, The bloody idiots lost a soulless body! He paced behind his desk, stopping once to stroke his phoenix's warm, crimson head. Fawkes trilled softly in contentment and continued his preening.

Severus excused himself and exited the office, Albus' worried gaze following the man out the door and down the stairs. He sighed heavily as he sank into his seat behind his desk. Producing his wand from a pocket, he mumbled the incantation for the Locator Charm: "Locus Harry Potter." He watched in consternation as his wand began to spin in erratically, pointing in all directions. What the devil? He watched his wand jump about for a little more before muttering, "Finite incantatem."

He can't possibly be dead; the spell would have pointed to his body location. A firecall to the Ministry can't hurt right now; I need to inform someone in the Order, Albus reasoned as he knelt by his fireplace. Taking a pinch of light green powder, he threw it into the fire, waiting until the flames changed to a deep emerald. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror Headquarters, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic," he intoned as he poked his head into the blaze.

Had it been a less serious situation, Albus would have hummed off-tune Muggle tunes as his head spun through the extensive Floo system. His face appeared in the fireplace belonging to an Auror by the name of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Said man was currently sitting at his desk, a respectable stack of papers neatly sitting on his work surface. The quill in the man's hand wavered as he scribbled down report after report. The escape of the Boy-Who-Lived, however convicted, as well as the Battle of Azkaban, as it was now called, had created loads of work for the Ministry.

Albus gently cleared his throat, startling the Auror from his paperwork. "Albus," Kingsley greeted, stretching out his back. "What brings you to firecall me at—" he glanced at the clock, "—three-forty-six in the bloody morning?"

"Kingsley," Dumbledore began, "Would you mind performing a Locator Charm on Mr. Potter?"

"Of course, Albus," Kingsley said as he drew his own wand. Muttering the incantation, he, too, watched in puzzlement as his wand spun about unpredictably.

"Any ideas?" the Headmaster asked the Auror. "Even an Unplottable area still yields a general direction. If he were dead, though I dearly hope that is not the case, it would simply point to his body. I suppose a visit to Little Whinging would be necessary to find any clues left behind. Since you were here, and Tonks is currently out on Order business, I was hoping you would be able to. However," here the headmaster eyed the new papers that settled themselves on the top of the stack after unfolding themselves from paper airplanes, "I think it would be prudent to leave you to your work."

Kingsley sighed. "I was not hired to do paperwork," the Auror grumbled.

The Headmaster chuckled. "Try being the Headmaster of Hogwarts; then come complain to me," he joked.

The Auror snorted wryly. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Have a good morning, Kingsley," Albus said before his face disappeared from the emerald flames with a pop.

Kingsley watched as the fire changed itself back to the normal orange and yellow hues. Groaning, he returned to the ever-increasing paperwork. Cursed bureaucracy, he thought darkly.

He worked continuously on the papers for several more hours, stopping only as the imitation sunlight began to stream through his "window." The Auror groaned as the stretched. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock as he headed out to nab a cup of hot, black coffee. Seven-twenty-bleeding-three ante meridian.

---

Albus rubbed the small of his back and he stood up. This body isn't what it used to be, he thought wistfully. Fawkes watched as his companion shuffled to his bedroom and emerged wearing a navy blue cloak that clashed horribly with his cerulean pajama set sprinkled with yellow animated shooting stars and winking moons. Nodding at his familiar, Dumbledore exited the office and made his way outside of the anti-apparition wards of Hogwarts.

An elderly man appeared with a small pop in a well-known Wizarding location known as Diagon Alley. His blue eyes roamed over the deserted walkway and closed shops; satisfied that he was not seen, he exited into the small alleyway and the Leaky Cauldron, an old pub that bridged the Wizarding world and the Muggle world. Charing Cross Road was silent and empty, lit with the orange-colored incandescent lights from the street lamps. Pulling the silver Put-Outer from his robe pocket, he flicked the cap open and, one by one, extinguished the street lamps.

Striding out into the middle of the road, he muttered the Locator Charm and was amazed to find that it pointed in a steady direction west of where he stood. Taking a guess at where Harry possibly was located, he apparated to the intersection of Park Lane and Oxford Street, Dumbledore shivered; the cold was undeniably that of a Dementor's. His mind drifted to the night he left baby Harry on the Dursleys' doorstep, a deep-seated guilt and sadness swelling out from his heart.

Shaking his head, he produced his wand and muttered, "Locus Harry Potter." His wand pivoted to yield a westerly direction. Deciding to relocate to the western edge of the park, he apparated there and nearly fainted against a nearby tree, so strong was the Dementors' presence. He had half a mind to produce a Patronus and direct it at the small gathering of Dementors, but it warred with curiosity—they were not about terrorizing the neighborhood of Muggles; rather, they were huddled in a circle, seemingly worrying over whatever was within their ranks. A soft sobbing could be heard from their general direction. Albus watched in horrified fascination as they looked at each other indecisively, as though they had higher mental faculties than previously believed. Maybe they did?

An eternity seemed to pass before the sobs began to slow, and finally stopped. By now the sun was brushing the tops of the trees with its light gold rays, casting long shadows over the park grounds. The eerie rattling of their breaths could be heard as they seemed to communicate with one another. One of them suddenly broke formation and ducked into the centre of the circle, rising with a bundle in its skeletal arms. The aged Headmaster hurriedly stood in attempt to see what the bundle was only to be assaulted with extreme vertigo. Despite the nausea and dizziness, he watched as they crowded in a tree's shadow and melted into the darkness.

Albus blinked and promptly slumped back down against the tree, mind sputtering incoherently. He sat for approximately half an hour, standing up only when he realized he had no sensation in his rump. Mothers with young children were now coming into the park, cradling infants while admonishing their toddlers for their impatience. Dumbledore situated himself on a park bench and propped his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands while still holding his wand. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

"Are you Merlin?"

Albus glanced up in surprise at the question and met the inquisitive hazel eyes of a four-year-old boy with sandy-blond hair. They stared at each other for a moment before Albus gathered his wits about him and replied with a grandfatherly smile. "No, dear boy, I am not Merlin."

"Oh…" The boy stepped back, abashed and disappointed. "You look like him…" he murmured softly to himself.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore," the Headmaster said, gesturing grandly at himself. "Might I inquire as to the name of the young man before me?"

The boy's face brightened at the "adult-like" treatment he was receiving. "My name's Anthony Reed. I'm four years old." He puffed his chest out with obvious pride.

"My, my, that's an exciting age to be," remarked Dumbledore as they shook hands. "May I ask why you thought I was Merlin?"

"Well… you have a long white beard, glasses, the same clothes as he does, and a stick—although his is bigger than yours," Anthony explained as if it were the most logical reason.

"Where did you see Merlin?" Dumbledore asked, genuinely curious.

"From the Disney movie The Sword in the Stone," he answered in that childish are-you-stupid? sort of look.

Ah, a Muggle motion picture. "I see," Dumbledore said happily.

"Anthony!" Both boy and man looked up to see a young woman with a baby girl propped on her hip approach. She frowned at Anthony before turning to Dumbledore. "I'm so sorry, sir, that my little boy disturbed you," she started.

"Quite the contrary, madam, he did not disturb this old man's musings. Albus Dumbledore, a pleasure to meet you," he stated cordially as he stood and held out his hand.

The woman flushed before replying, "Cecilia Reed. I take it you've met Anthony," she said as she glanced at a subdued Anthony. "And my little girl is Adrienne."

"Beautiful children you have, Mrs. Reed."

"Thank you. Anthony, you should apologize to Mr. Dumbledore for disturbing him," she reprimanded.

Seeing as how she was not to be swayed, Albus wisely remained silent as Anthony stumbled through his apology. He told mother and child that there was no harm done, and bid them both a wonderful day. After leaving the small family, the friendly smile immediately melted away into a frown. Slipping behind a grove of trees, he disappeared with a small pop.

He trekked back to Hogwarts after disapparating just outside the anti-apparition wards, mulling over his own thoughts. Entering his office, he retrieved his pensieve from its cabinet, removed the memory of this morning in the park, and plunged headfirst into it.

---

Harry perched himself atop the one of the twin rooftops of the Tower Bridge of London, legs dangling off a side as he enjoyed the morning sunlight and slight breeze. It gently ruffled his hair with caressing fingers. He imagined this would be how his mother's fingers felt—tender and soothing. He briefly wondered how Hedwig was fairing, wondering if she made it to Hogwarts safely. He lazily watched the steadily increasing flow of traffic as the morning commute continued.

A tinny tapping and flapping of wings startled Harry, who swiveled around to find a stately dust-brown owl settled next to him, its leg outstretched for him to take the parchment. He accepted the parchment and unrolled it. It read:

July 24th, 1996

Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,

You are cordially invited to the reading of the Last Will and Testament of one Sirius Black on July thirty-first at two o'clock, post meridian. We await your confirmation owl.

Sincerely,

Groblink

Branch Manager of Gringotts, Great Britain

Harry blinked at the letter. Why had he not received this letter before? Did the goblins not know that Sirius had died that night in the Department of Mysteries? He looked at the owl, which was still waiting for his reply.

"Er… I'm sorry, but I don't have a quill or parchment to reply…" He felt foolish talking to the bird. It was fine with Hedwig; his familiar knew him well enough and vice versa so that they could communicate in a way. An idea wormed its way into his mind. Could he get one of the Dementors to bring him a quill and parchment? No, he decided, That is petty and a waste of their time and effort. He thought about how he could get his hands on the writing utensils when they conjured themselves out of a small puff of black smoke.

Harry started at the sudden appearance of the harmless quill and several pieces of parchment before hesitantly taking them and writing his response:

Dear Groblink,

I will attend the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Sirius Black.

Thank you,

Harry Potter

He rolled the parchment up and handed it to the owl. The avian took it in its peak and took to the skies with a mighty flap of its powerful, silent wings.

Harry's brow furrowed as he thought of the date. What was the date anyway? The time spent in Azkaban, Voldemort's keep, and the Fortress of Dark had left him a tad bit disoriented. Dementors? He called out mentally.

What can we do for you, my Liege? they responded in chorus.

Er… what is today's date?

Time is irrelevant to us. We cannot tell you. We are sorry that we cannot be of any help to you, they replied apologetically.

It's fine, Harry replied, Thank you.

"Oh!" he exclaimed as he lightly smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand, "I just need to look at a newspaper! Now how to get down without scaring the daylights out of people…" he mumbled.

He Slipped out of a small alleyway not too far from the Leaky Cauldron; he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, hiding his face in the darkest of shadows. The patrons of the pub, as well as Tom the bartender, glanced up at the newcomer and eyed the hooded stranger with wariness. Glancing over the shoulder of an oblivious wizard who was reading the Daily Prophet, he caught the date. It read: Wednesday, July 31, 1996.

It's today? Well, happy sixteenth birthday to me, I suppose. I guess I should head over to Gringotts anyhow. I wonder what happened to the vault my parents left to me? That decided, he strode out into the back where the brick wall stood. It was then that he realized he had no wand to open the portal to the Wizarding world. Bollocks! Now how am I going to get to Gringotts? He pounded the brick that opened the passageway with the fleshy side of his fist, wishing longingly that it would open.

He jumped back, barely suppressing a yell when the bricks began to rearrange themselves, allowing him to pass through. How the blazes did I do that? he thought, befuddled, as he hesitantly stepped through the archway, half-afraid it would close on him. Ducking about the crowd, he managed to get to Gringotts with no incident—merely the weight of many stares and lots of people backing away from him. Stepping up before an open goblin teller, he patiently waited for the teller to notice him.

"May I help you?" the goblin asked in a curt manner.

"I would like to access the state of my vault, please," Harry answered politely and quietly.

"Key?"

"Er… I am a recently convicted felon, and all my possessions have been taken, my key included. Is there anything I can do?" the young Dementor Lord asked.

The goblin stared at Harry long and hard, evaluating the stranger who had power rolling off him in waves before coming to a decision. "Linkflail!"

A swarthy, short goblin scurried up to the teller counter.

"Please take this young man to see Groblink."

"Follow me," Linkflail commanded brusquely. Harry dutifully followed, cloak billowing ominously, the goblin through a maze-like network of tunnels, finally reaching a set of ornate double doors. "Inside these doors awaits Groblink," he said.

"Thank you, Linkflail," Harry said, nodding his head. "I appreciate it."

The goblin blinked at the gratitude. "You are welcome, sir," he replied somewhat uncertainly before leaving Harry alone in the cavernous hallway.

Taking a deep breath, he strived to project an air of confidence that he most certainly did not feel. He knocked on a door and waited for the grunted, "Enter," before opening the door to allow himself entry. Harry seemingly glided across the floor towards the opulent desk where the goblin was seated, perched on a fog of swirling black smoke that he had unknowingly allowed to be seen. The confidence he strived to project created a sense of deep coldness that was resembled a hint of what a Dementor's presence felt like. Overall, he gave off the vibes of being a mysterious, powerful someone that was not to be trifled with.

The goblin cleared his throat as he shifted uneasily on his chair. "What may I do for you today, Mr.…?" he trailed off once he realized he had no idea who this human was.

"Potter. Harry Potter," Harry replied as he slid the hood back to reveal his face. He nodded his head respectfully. "I'm a little early."

"Indeed you are early for the will reading, Mr. Potter. However, I have been informed that you are here for different reasons," Groblink remarked as he leaned back into his seat. He gestured for Harry to sit in one of the seats opposite the desk. Harry sat down with a gracefulness that a swan would have envied.

"I'm here to inquire about the vault that my parents left to me. However, I was recently convicted of manslaughter and had my possessions, key included, confiscated," Harry explained. "It seems likely that the Ministry would want to freeze and then repossess all my assets."

The goblin nodded and snapped his clawed fingers. A dusty tome appeared before the being and settled gently on the desk. Groblink leafed through the book, stopping to read the contents about two-thirds into the book. "Ah, yes," he remarked after a length of time, "The Ministry has frozen all your assets and is currently in the process of claiming them. However, as you are underage, you were under the guardianship of Sirius Black, and now, it seems, Albus Dumbledore. He has managed your account, monitoring your spending and deposits, and, in your brief absence, fighting the Ministry to keep it for you."

While Harry was immensely grateful that Dumbledore was doing what he could to keep his money out of the Ministry's greedy paws, he could not help but feel irritated that the old man was monitoring his spending habits.

"There is also," the goblin continued, breaking Harry out of his train of thought, "The Potter Family Vault. It was willed to you by your parents for your personal disposal once you come of age. Until then, your legal guardian was supposed to manage your accounts. However, since your legal guardian is now deceased, you are able to claim your inheritance. Would you like to pay a visit the Potter Vault? We may deal with your lack of a key with the correct… persuasion." Groblink grinned, showing the neat rows of pointed teeth.

Harry grinned himself. "I would like that very much." The boy trailed after the goblin into a miner's cart. One crazy roller coaster-like ride later, they arrived at a small flat platform with a large, polished iron-wrought door protruding from the rock face. The door had a single adornment: The Potters, in regal, capital letters embellished with a small amount of twining ivy. Harry was drawn to the door; he reached out and stroked the door along the middle, where the two individual doors opened. He shivered as he felt ancient magic flow through him, analyzing and exploring his magical core, his entire being. The magic receded, and the iron doors quivered and opened.

"It is good that you are indeed the heir of the Potter line," commented Groblink.

Harry swiveled around to gaze at the goblin, a dark expression on his face. "Why?"

The goblin sneered. "Had you not been, you would have been sucked into the door up to your elbow and paralyzed. Any magic you performed would fail and increase the sensitivity of your nerves. The vault door would send an alarm, and a security dragon would come to see who was unfortunate enough to attempt a theft. Needless to say, the thief doesn't survive the encounter."

Harry smirked. "I like that a lot." Turning, he strode into the cavernous vault of the Potter Family. Piles of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts met his eyes, along with jewelry, assorted crowns and coronets, shelves of books, weaponry, furniture, portraits, and an assortment of other objects. In the centre of the yawning vault stood a small pedestal with a single transparent levitating orb. Harry was once again drawn to the orb. He reached out and touched the surface, his thoughts idly wondering how much the Potter Vault contained monetarily. The surface of the orb rippled and in electric blue letters that scrolled across the surface, it spelled out how much money the Potter Vault contained.

Approximately twenty-four million Galleons, four-hundred-eighty million Sickles, and thirty-six hundred million Knuts.

Harry's jaw dropped. He practically owned that much money? Never had he dreamed that he would be the inheritor of so much!

Apparently he stood there, mouth agape for a while like an idiot, because behind him, Groblink cleared his throat. Harry spun quickly, snapping his jaw shut with an audible click as he did so. "Would you like to try on the Potter signet ring? It is here on this cushion," he said as he gestured to his left.

A gold ring lay on a crimson velvet, gold embroidered cushion. There was a ruby embedded in the center with the Potter crest imprinted upon it in gold. Next to it was a folded note. Harry picked the note up and read it.

Our Dearest Harry,

If you are reading this, it means that we, your mother and father, are no longer of this plane of life. We never meant to leave you so early in life, and we are truly sorry. We love you very much, Harry, and hope that you are happy, healthy, and loved. Have fun, stay safe, and live life the best you can. We are always with you, Harry; never forget that. We are both very proud of you, we miss you, and most of all, we love you so very much.

Love,

Lily and James Potter

His eyes welled with unshed tears that he refused to let fall as he finished the letter. He folded the letter reverently and placed it in his robe pocket. He then picked up the ring and slid it onto his right ring finger. It tingled and pulsed with magic as it ascertained that he was, indeed, the heir of the Potter line before it stopped tingling and left a warm feeling. Harry felt an influx of power as the ring granted him Lordship of the Potter Family.

A ghostly apparition appeared before Harry, bowed and said in an echoing tone, "Greetings, Lord Potter."

Harry did a double take. "Dad?"

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So ends another chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I'm so sorry this took so long; I finished it while at home, came to college, and realized I hadn't saved it in my email. Thusly, I had to retype the entire damned thing. My apologies to you all for the wait, and thank you so very much for your patience!

-Tal.

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Completed: 9.15.2006

Edited: 9.15.2006

Re-edited: 1.3.09

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