Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

AN UNEXPECTED LETTER

Ron and Hermione hadn't owled him this holiday. Not even for his birthday.

Harry frowned. Some friends! They knew he was being starved, and chose to ignore it. Meh, whatever. Suddenly, a bit of movement outside his window drew his attention. Cautious this time, Harry crept to the window sill to see the Weasley owl- Errol- aiming for the closed window of his bedroom.

Jumping up, Harry flung open the window just in time, as the barmy bird dived into his room, and cannoned into his bed. One puff of feathers later, a letter was deposited into his hand by the knackered owl. On the front, it said:

Mr Harry James Potter,

The Smallest Bedroom,

Number Four Privet Drive,

Surrey.

In cursive, slightly swirly handwriting. Interested in the sudden busyness of his holidays, Harry tore open the letter. Inside, it read:

Mr. Potter (Harry, if I may call you that?),

It has come to my attention that you were not educated in the ins and outs of the magical world, as other Muggle-raised wizards are. My daughter, Fleur Delacour, mentioned it in passing to me. I assume, due to your lack of contact, that you did not know that your father and I were once very close. Your father was a cautious, calculating, and viciously clever man, and saw it fit to entrust me with a copy of his and his wives' wills. Yes, wives, as in 'plural'. No one ever acknowledges the fact that Eileen McKinnon, Julia Bones and Lily Evans were all his wives. As you may be pleased to find out, you came of age today, and so should be coming by your inheritance, if it hasn't found you already. I have been in contact with your magical 'Guardian'- Albus Dumbledore, of whom I am sure you are aware is your Guardian- in relation to this. He insists on you being left to your so-called 'childhood'. However, with the Dark Lord risen again, you need to train. If you agree, I would very much appreciate it if you would consider this offer: I can offer training for you in everything you need to survive. I can afford the best tutors, the best spellbooks, and even the best stress-relief. (Don't mention that to my wife, Apolline!). My manor home in the French Alps has been equipped with the necessary precautions for your coming of age since I was made your secondary Godfather. You will need to rest within the specific Chamber to come to your full inheritance- we will talk in detail of this face-to-face later.

I anticipate your reply post-haste,

Signed,

Jacques Delacour,

Minister for Magic,

France.

P.S.: My daughter was given this to somehow hand to you through your house-arrest. I hope it finds you well.

Harry leaned back, now completely confused. One, why would Fleur be given this to get to him? How would she have any form of contact with him in the first place- or access to the Weasley's owl, for that matter? Two, how could he refuse the offer of training, for free, and from someone who knew his dad as someone different to those who claimed to be his best friends? Three, what was this about his parent's wills? And three fucking wives, too! Nobody had ever mentioned the other two, or their wills. Four- Harry wondered what this inheritance was, seeing as his trust vault was his for life, so far as he knew.

Harry had a dilemma. Did he a) check out the wills and training, or b) forget it, and train himself? Urgh, I need help, I can't even practice magic over the summer, how can I even do my homework? His mind made up, at least for the moment, Harry dug around in his desk drawer for a quill and inkpot. Instead, all he found was one of Dudley's old pens. A biro. Huh. Wonder why Muggleborns don't use these. Harry found a scrap of parchment and wrote out a quick, albeit informal, response saying he would like to know more before signing on for anything. Looking over at Errol, he knew the poor thing wouldn't be able to fly tonight. So, being the kind, gentle-minded boy he was, Harry scooped up the filthy owl and deposited it in Hedwig's cage. And closed the window- he didn't want the silly bird leaving without his message.

The next morning, Harry awoke to a loud but pitiful hoot as Errol tried to get out of the closed window. It seemed incapable of understanding the physics of glass.

Harry chuckled slightly, and picked up the letter to Monsieur Delacour. Tying it to Errol's leg, Harry made it clear who it was to. He also made it clear for the owl to rest every now and then- it wouldn't be good if the owl dropped dead on the French Minister for Magic's couch.

The young boy settled down to watch the belaboured flapping of Errol until he disappeared. Right, let's see if we can't find out who's spying on me… Harry thought, as he made his way to the bathroom. He didn't even remember the dream of Cedric's ghost he'd had the night before.

After a pleasant shower, still vastly earlier than the Dursleys would arise, Harry quickly retrieved his Cloak from under the loose floorboard. Swishing it about himself, he realised he wouldn't be able to see his mystery person- he'd need the mask for that. Harry's head slowly turned towards the box on his desk, which contained the mask which- according to Monsieur Delacour- was part of his inheritance. Picking up the weird mask, this time he noticed a small note lying tucked amongst the cloth. The Mask of Dark Souls, it read. Flipping over the note, the other side read: MoDS will absorb the soul of any evil or Dark being slain in the vicinity, upon activation. In conjunction with the Valyrian Adamantium Battle Suit, Helm, Body Glove and assorted accessories, the wielder and wearer of this mask will attain new heights in their powers. This may only be reached through selfless use of the VA Suit and Accessories, and will only exhibit the extraordinary properties when in contact with the bloodline of Andal Peverell.

Not just priceless, then. Unique! Harry thought. He wondered who this Andal Peverell was, and where he learned to smith like this. Maybe Monsieur Delacour would know. For now, Harry just needed to use the mask to see who was spying on him. Setting down the note, he slipped the mask on, and proceeded to slowly and silently make his way down the stairs and out of the front door. He quickly closed the door, making sure to leave the latch on. Using the mask, he could see the figure of a woman sitting against the garden wall of Number Three, and occasionally looking towards to house. The figure was obviously drowsy. Harry walked down the patio path to the pavement, and then stealthily snuck behind the invisible spy. Before he decided whether to confront them, however, the figure started talking to themselves.

"Bloody hell, why does Dumbledore have us staking out Harry's house? What does he think'll happen, a riot? Harry can look after himself, after all. He was so cute when I was in Seventh Year, I'll never forget. Now, though… He's going to be hot stuff when he's older, I tell you. *sighs* Talking to yourself again Tonks? What next? Invisible masturbation? That'd be embarrassing as fuck. I just wish Dumbles would tell me why I'm here- Harry can't be the Weapon, Dumbledore wouldn't call him that, would he?"

Harry scowled as he realised that Dumbledore was taking his 'protection' too far. Not only stopping him from seeing his friends and getting mail from hem, but what seemed to be treating him as a weapon as well. Well, we'll see about that! I'll get training and then become cleverer than Hermione. Then we'll see who's an item to be bandied about! Wait… did she say MASTURBATION?! Harry grinned, as the lecherous side of his brain started going into hyperdrive. Wonder if she's fit? Harry wondered.

It took almost three days until Monsieur Delacour replied to Harry's letter. Three unbearable fucking days. All the note said was "11 PM. Magnolia Crescent Park. Bring all of your magical needs, and your inheritance, too. DO NOT be spotted by your minder." Harry grinned, and started to pack. He threw away all of the junk at the bottom of his trunk, as well as all of the crappy textbooks he'd never need. He knew them all off by heart anyway. The three days between sending off his letter and receiving the reply had been hell. The Dursleys had been forcing him into doing all the housework possible, leaving him only five or six hours of sleep per night. Adding to that, he'd been allowed next to no food, either. Harry was growing weaker by the day, losing even more of his hard-earned weight. He was so glad he'd be leaving.

Harry finished packing his trunk, making sure it was as light as possible. He also packed a rucksack, in which he placed the box holding the mask. The Dursleys had gone out for lunch, and left the fridge padlocked. So, in aid of feeling full at least once this holiday, Harry raided his cousin's room. Harry had never actually been in there, or even seen the interior. The walls were covered in wrestling, boxing and porn posters, with a lot of the so-called models being pretty fugly- right up Dudley's street. The floor was covered in sedimentary layers of food wrappers, used tissues (which Harry avoided at all costs) and dirty plates. Harry quickly found the bedside table and rooted through the top drawer looking for anything edible. His cousin was clinically obese- surely there was food somewhere?

"Aha! Gotcha!" Harry yelled, as his fingers came into contact with a box of biscuits. Ripping off the lid, Harry was immediately dismayed. The only thing in the box was a pile of see-through baggies holding white powder, pills and green herbs. Weird, wonder what this is for? Oh! Oh shit! Dudley's doing drugs! Or is he dealing? The bastard! Harry thought; Although… What if I slipped some weed into Dumbledore's office? Maybe into Fawkes' ash tray? That'd make him truly high! Or… maybe sprinkle some cocaine over the Sherbet Lemons, or transfigure the ecstasy into the lemons… Oh, this is too good. Harry scooped the entire collection of baggies into his left front pocket. The trousers were big enough to hide the bulge. He hoped. Harry continued in his quest for food through the pigsty.

"Whew! Hard work, but it's paid off! I just can't wait until Dudley finds out all his food is gone! Hahaha!" Harry was sitting on his bed, surrounded in piles and piles of chocolate bars, energy drinks, biscuit tins (of real biscuits this time), and crisps. Besides the first tin of drugs, there were four more. There was nearly a kilo of each drug- what Harry estimated to be worth thousands of pounds. He chuckled at the problems he'd cause Dumbles this year…

It was ten fifty-five PM. Harry had stashed the massive piles of food in his trunk, and then cached the trunk itself in Magnolia Park under a bush. It was time to leave. Harry made his way downstairs, and was about to leave when he heard a familiar voice. What's Dumbledore doing here? Harry thought, as he sidled up to the half-open living room door.

"Petunia, my dear, it's been too long!" That was definitely Dumbledore!

"Professor Dumbledore, four years is too soon in my opinion. Why are you here?" Aunt Petunia's voice was cold, almost ice-like.

"Now, now, Petunia, dear. Who's been funding your dear little boy's education? Of course, it's not my own money, its Harry's. But what he doesn't know, can't hurt him, eh, Petunia?" Harry stood stock still. My money? How in the hell did Dumbledore get a hold of my money? The only person who has my Vault Key is- Oh. Mrs. Weasley. She's basically Dumbledore's slave, anyway. I am so going to kill that woman! Harry maintained his silence, however.

Petunia sighed. "Yes, alright."

"Now, Petunia, its time you started actually beating the boy. Not Dudley, dear me, no! Harry! He is far too arrogant when he arrives at Hogwarts. He needs to be… toned down a bit. I know you're giving him no food, but maybe try and set Dudley onto him or something. Make sure he does his father proud. I will unbind my son's magic when the time comes. Harry's bindings will stay. I'll make sure he dies when killing Tom, just to make sure he can't interrupt my plans." Now that was interesting. Harry was sure Rita Skeeter would be having multiple orgasms if she found out that little titbit. Plus, Harry now knew he could not trust Dumbles at all.

Harry quickly covered himself in his Cloak, and then silently slipped out the front door. Turning back, he saw a nightmare-making scene- Dumbledore was stripping down, in front of a very excited Petunia. Talk about hot and cold, Harry thought. He shivered, and then starting sprinting towards the Park, his rucksack in hand.

A/N: This is most likely to turn out a little bit Gary-Stu, but the story should hopefully make up for it. Fantasy + swords + magic = nerdporn in my opinion. The levels of swearing and stuff may or may not escalate. As an Estuary English speaker myself, I don't see swearing as bad, per se, so emphasis is the desired effect in most cases. As with most fanfiction these days- if you don't like it, leave a review, and then stop reading. I'd hate to put people off with my half-tossed ideas and perverted thoughts about French girls, vampires and werewolves.

Any romance is not likely to be one-on-one- I like more than one personality.

SaHFF signing off, HAKUNA MATATA peeps. ;)