AN: I apologise for this chapter making a bit less sense date-wise, but Rowling made it very difficult by letting every school year start on Monday, September 1st… In canon, the last task is June 24th. According to hp lexicon calculations, this would fall on a Wednesday. By actual calendars though, this was a Saturday. In this story I am for dates/days staying with actual historical calendars as much as I can because I'll only get confused otherwise. Due to that though, the End of Year Feast in this chapter is on Friday the 30th of June and not the non-existent Friday 2nd of July which Rowling took in her books. These missing days also mean that I could not possibly cram in exams in those few days, so I am assuming that the rest of school did their exams before the last task and any remaining classes are merely already preparation for next year. (according to HP-lexicon, this was also the case in philosopher stone, where the Hogwarts Express only left like a week after the official end of the year and I guess they still had classes then instead of only hanging around the castle?)

Note to Fivefatducks: thanks once more for always reviewing ^^ I always love reading your comments, even if i can't reply to them!

Much thanks to all other reviewers and readers too for your constant support!

Enjoy!

Chapter 35 -

The last days at Hogwarts were, after waving off the students from the other schools, relatively uneventful until the very last one. A loud pang startled Harry from his dream and it took him a moment to comprehend that once more, Dobby's face was hanging over his.

''Mr. Harry Potter Sir!'' the elf squeaked excitedly even as Harry groaned and tried to push him away. ''Message for you!'' Rubbing his eyes, the teen only gave the elf an unimpressed look, his vision too blurry to make the face out clearly, accepting the parchment scroll that was put in his hand. With a beaming smile, Dobby disapparated again. Harry put on his glasses and took a few seconds to read the scroll, then groaned and let his head fall back into his pillow. Dumbledore, great. He'd already hoped to not see more of the Headmaster until the next school year. How many more memories was he going to see? There had been a total of four now, one about Voldemort's maternal family, one about Death Eaters, and two about Voldemort himself.

Seeing that Dumbledore had set an absolutely insane time for their meeting, Harry sighed and dressed, trying not to wake any of the others. It was only due to the silencing charms on his bed hangings that had kept them ignorant of Dobby's presence. Literally the only good thing about this meeting was that Harry would likely miss the first hour of class. As that was History of Magic, he didn't mind at all. He unfortunately doubted that he could drag it out long enough to also forego the second hour of it. As he went out of the portrait hole, rumbles already came from his stomach. Skipping breakfast was not something he was very happy about, Dumbledore better have some good reason for calling him to the man's office this early in the morning.

''Harry, come in, come in,'' the wizard spoke as Harry shuffled inside, trying to suppress a yawn. Dumbledore stood at the side of the room, his hands cupped around something small. Noticing a pile of ash on the floor around Fawkes' perch, Harry could imagine what it was. ''You came a few minutes late for another heart attack,'' the man spoke, a smile tugging at his lips, reminding Harry of how he'd reacted the last time the bird had burst into flames in front of his eyes.

''Right. Not to be impolite Sir, but why did you call me at this time? You usually wait for an evening.''

''Very true. Come here Harry.'' The teen moved closer to Dumbledore, who took his hand and carefully put Fawkes in the palm. Harry couldn't help but smile at the little chick and started to scratch the phoenix' head. ''We didn't have much time since the whole ordeal with Crouch. I am saddened to say that we neither caught him nor did we retrieve Alastor. I have heard that Sirius informed you about Mrs. Figgs being one of ours. It would ease me if you'd now and then go to her if your relatives will allow it, to ensure that you are still safe. I do not wish to intrude on your holidays too much and the protection around the Dursleys' home should keep you safe enough, but it's better to be safe than sorry.''

''Sir…'' Harry spoke, biting his lips. Somehow, this summons greatly reminded him of the end of his very first year at Hogwarts, where Dumbledore had answered some of his questions for the first time. That also had been at the last day of term. ''About those protections. You told me after the whole ordeal with the philosopher's stone that my mother's sacrifice left behind a sort of… barrier. Yet you never answered my question of why my parents had to give their lives for me. Why Voldemort was after me.''

''Harry, you were far too young then…''

''I understand that,'' he spoke. ''I was, I'd only just been introduced to the wizarding world and knew hardly anything. Now we are three years further: I've faced Voldemort another time, together with a basilisk; I've met my godfather; I've taken part in an international Tournament… Could you answer that question now?''

Dumbledore hesitated, his wrinkles deepening significantly. ''You're still only fourteen,'' he finally decided. ''You've gone through much more than I ever wanted to ask of you. I couldn't possibly add to that burden even more than I was forced to this year.'' Harry's shoulders slumped. A part of him had, for a moment, truly believed that Dumbledore now had enough faith in him to speak of the prophecy. That he was once more left in the dark was disappointing. A surprisingly strong hand landed on his shoulder and Harry looked up into the blue eyes of the headmaster. They looked sad, lost almost.

''Sir, are you alright?'' he hesitantly asked. It was only when Dumbledore moved away that Harry with a shock realised that looking into Dumbledore's eyes had been something he'd been trying to avoid all year. Direct eye contact was the one thing that Voldemort's amulet didn't protect against. Harry's heart thudded in his chest. There had not been any flashes of memories like when Voldemort had sifted through his mind, nor did Dumbledore show any outward reaction. Did that mean that the Headmaster hadn't used Legilimency? Or had he just not found anything since Harry honestly hadn't been thinking of anything odd that moment, only observing Dumbledore's eyes?

The man sighed and moved behind his desk, sitting down. ''I have had to make many choices in life Harry. They weren't always easy, and I regret many, even the choices which I knew were right for the good of the people. I am sure to make many more, some of which will influence you. It is my deepest wish that I will not have to regret any of those.'' Harry gave him an uneasy look. ''Don't mind my musings,'' Dumbledore smiled. ''When you are older Harry… for now, I wish for you to gain a bit more understanding. I called you here this early since I do not know how much time it will take, and I'd hate to take up much of your last evening at Hogwarts this year.'' He waved his wand and the Pensieve was placed in the middle of the desk again. ''I have three, slightly longer memories this time, all very similar. Your task today is to try and spot the differences.''

Harry sat down too, gently putting Fawkes in front of him. Dumbledore had never actually given him a task before, so he was rather curious about it. Curiosity, Harry noted, was quickly becoming one of his less desirable and constant traits. He'd have to be very careful about that. Ignoring his once again rumbling stomach, he watched as Dumbledore dropped a memory into the bowl and gestured for Harry to go first. As he did so, he found himself in a classroom. The transfiguration classroom, Harry saw, recognising a few items which McGonagall still had, although the room itself was in a different part of the castle than he was used to, having a view on the lake rather than on the grounds and being a bit higher up. The much younger Dumbledore that he'd already seen twice before, with auburn hair and a shorter beard, stood in front of the class. He dressed a lot more stylishly than he did nowadays too, having a short cut of robes, even if aubergine was still a rather out-of-place colour. Instantly, Harry also spotted Riddle, who had a seat at the very front. Had he been put there by Dumbledore to keep an eye on? Or had Riddle, as someone who wished to stand out in all aspects, academics especially, chosen that spot himself? He turned to ask the Headmaster, but Dumbledore had already settled down on one of the empty desks in the back and gestured for Harry to move forwards.

He did so, feeling quite odd as he walked in between rows of students of the past, who neither saw nor heard him. Young Dumbledore was explaining the theory behind the transfiguration of surface materials, demonstrating it with the chalkboard, turning it from slate to a scaly texture, then to feathers, followed by a rippling, fluid material that still clung to the wall. Harry stopped next to Tom's desk, looking at the boy with uncertainty. He seemed to be around the same age as Harry, perhaps a tad younger even, it was rather hard to tell. Riddle didn't quite have that look of arrogance on him that his sixteen-year-old self would later have, perhaps because he hadn't been granted a position as prefect yet. Harry kept observing Riddle, who answered any question with ease, although he never once offered his knowledge voluntarily by raising his hand. A defiant look was in his eyes as Dumbledore challenged him, together with three other students, to attempt the spell, turning a smaller slate board into anything they wanted. The others chose for options demonstrated before by their professor. Tom smirked slightly, then changed the surface into a mass of writhing thorns that had Dumbledore pulling his hands back quickly to avoid getting stung.

''My apologies professor, I hadn't meant for them to move so much,'' Riddle spoke, the glee in his voice a tad too audible for his words to be believable. He received a few snickers from the back of class and a piercing look from Dumbledore.

''Come Harry,'' the older version said, ''Time for the second one.'' The scenery changed without them actually leaving the Pensieve. Harry blinked, suddenly in the classroom that he was familiar with as Transfiguration room. ''Ah yes, I forgot that that was the year I relocated. Much more space, plus a few students had managed to turn the tiles of my previous room into a permanent Portkey to Andorra. This was supposed to be a temporary solution until they fixed that particular problem, but I decided to keep it.'' And indeed, Dumbledore this time stood on the same pedestal that McGonagall still used nowadays, giving a lecture on conjuring charms. That must be sixth year then if the curriculum stayed the same. -McGonagall was one of the few teachers who had gone to the length of actually giving them a year-by-year overview of what they would roughly be learning, even if she did revise that sheet at the start of each year for 'those dunderheads' who lost their list or had forgotten it.-

Knowing what was expected, Harry this time instantly beelined for Riddle's seat, which was now, interestingly enough, at the side of the wall and a bit back. ''Is there any reason why he changed seats?'' Harry asked.

''None that he cared to inform me about,'' Dumbledore said, ''though I have my suspicions now.'' It looked that they weren't appointed their seats then, Harry supposed, just like it was now. At the start of each year, they could pick their new spots in all classes. So, sixth year, he mused. Voldemort would have already split his soul once by creating the diary then, considering that he'd made that after his birthday in fifth year. Getting closer to Riddle, Harry could notice the changes, small out-of-place details that hadn't been there in the memory of his younger self before, perhaps because of the part of soul that had been broken off. Riddle looked pale, not as snow-white as his current form or as pasty as in his thirties, but pale nonetheless, like he was sick. His eyes were rather blood-shot too, and Harry realised that he'd perhaps chosen a spot at the wall to avoid attention being drawn to his appearance when sunlight would fall on his face. He hadn't really considered before that of course those changes had had to be so gradual that Riddle's appearance had changed with each sliver of soul that left his main body. Riddle was even less approachable now than before, showing his displeasure openly whenever being made to answer Dumbledore's questions. Considering that Harry had gotten the idea of Voldemort being a rather stellar student, he supposed that Riddle only acted this way in Dumbledore's classes, his real nature shining through.

''So, I would like to see the results of your projects,'' the young version of Dumbledore spoke. ''Miss Blythe, Mr. Farley and Mr. Livingstone made a team, correct?'' he said, looking down on a roll of parchment. ''I'd like to see what you came up with, as well as the team of Mr. Norton, Mr. Oakes and Mr. Everly. And then one more… Ah, Mr. Riddle.'' Dumbledore gave a tight smile. ''Since you told me you could invent a conjuring spell on your own, I'd like to see how far you got.'' All teams -six Ravenclaws and Riddle- stood up and moved to the front of the class. Tom drew his wand, gave Dumbledore a mistrusting look, then concentrated on an empty spot in front.

''Serpensortia!'' he spoke, making the same forward-striking motion with his wand that Harry had seen during his own duel with Malfoy, and for a moment he was flummoxed, ignoring the large snake that slithered past him and had all other students screaming. Voldemort had invented this spell? He almost laughed, then. Of course. Who else would invent a specific spell to conjure up snakes. Had Snape known that before teaching it to Malfoy?

''You do not fear snakes, do you Harry?'' Dumbledore asked behind him. Harry took a moment to answer, observing Riddle's face, which had darkened even further. There was no triumph in his eyes over creating a spell like this on his own. Rather, there was a slight, sadistic smile on his face as he watched his peers as they fled their seats and tried to hastily cast shield spells until Dumbledore stepped in and vanished the serpent. After that, his expression changed from gleeful into contempt.

Harry turned around and shrugged. ''It is rather hard to fear an animal that most of the time likes to laze around in the sun and sleep. Especially when I can talk to them and make sure they don't harm anyone.'' Sure, snakes could be dangerous, but most species that lived in England were absolutely harmless, and the only one that wasn't didn't actively seek out humans, more likely to hide away from them. Other than with spiders, which often came into the homes of people, he couldn't really understand why so many people developed an active fear of the shy animals. From his aunt Marge, Harry knew that each year several thousands of people were admitted to hospitals from dog bites -she'd bragged about that fact to a couple of tourists who had tried to take a shortcut over her ground as a warning and given her brother a long, proud speech about it during her next visit-. Harry highly doubted that the same could be said for snakes. Even Nagini preferred to prey on much smaller mammals and she was a massive, lethal, magical snake that most definitely didn't belong in Britain.

''It looks like your opinion isn't shared by many, and Tom didn't make it much better with his little stunt,'' Dumbledore sighed. ''Well, one memory left.'' Harry looked once more at the teenage Tom Riddle before turning expectantly to Dumbledore. The scene around them whirled once more, even if they landed in the same room again. Last time it had been a morning class. Now, it was so dark that Dumbledore had lit floating candles not unlike those in the great hall all around the classroom to provide some light. Outside, a snowstorm raged through the dark sky. The shadows made it hard to make out individual students for a few moments. Then, Harry spotted Tom again, made easier by the fact that the Slytherin hadn't changed seats again. For the first time, Harry cared to also look at the other Slytherins, wondering how many of those had become Death Eaters. Form Barty's stories, he had heard that Voldemort had already started building up a circle while at school. However, most of those people, like Abraxas Malfoy or Druella Rosier, hadn't actually been in Tom's year. Some of them had even already graduated from Hogwarts and were introduced to Riddle at parties during Christmas or Easter holidays. It might explain why he didn't work together with any of his class mates for projects…

Riddle's appearance had changed again, Harry saw. His skin was so pale now that it couldn't be denied that this wasn't merely some sickness. His eyes were also not entirely dark green anymore, a reddish gleam flashing whenever the candlelight hit them. There were still very few other differences though, Harry supposed that splitting his soul twice as opposed to at least six times -as far as he knew- meant that enough soul was left to not do too much damage to Riddle's body. He still had all his hair at least. This time Dumbledore followed, looking down at Riddle with a sad smile. ''I assume you can see the differences?''

Harry nodded. ''I do… and I remember from the memory you showed me from when he returned to Hogwarts, that his physical changes were much more drastic too. What causes it?''

''Ah, that it for us to discuss after. It wasn't only his appearance that changed though. Tom was always cruel, but over time he became less good at hiding it. Changing things I touched into thorns and conjuring snakes to scare his classmates were only pranks compared to what he came to do in time, after all. Unfortunately, both the headmaster and the other professors didn't listen to me… they did not see the monster that was growing in the castle,'' the man sighed. Harry stiffened at the word.

''But you did,'' Harry softly spoke. ''So what did you do to help him?''

Silence fell over them as Harry looked up at Dumbledore, who frowned. In the background, the man's younger version started speaking about animation of objects. Riddle next to him hardly reacted to the lesson, scratching away on his paper, creating strange diagrams and drawings.

''He was beyond help then,'' the man whispered. ''He'd pushed me away from the very first day… I was trying to minimise the damage he could do to others instead.''

Harry swallowed heavily and looked away, at the boy who was already well on his way to becoming a Dark Lord. In fact, hadn't Magic come to Tom while he was still at Hogwarts? He sighed and reached out without thinking, his fingers hovering against Tom's cheek. ''No-one is beyond help, not as long as they keep reaching out in any way,'' he spoke. ''And he did reach out, by asking multiple times to remain at Hogwarts.''

''Harry…'' Dumbledore spoke, a warning tone in his voice.

Defiantly, the teen turned around. ''Look, I understand that you brought me here to see how Riddle slowly changed and became more and more horrible. But honestly, he's not the only one who is to blame for that. Can you blame someone for hating Muggles after being estranged by them throughout their entire youth? Or blame someone for hating the person who could have gotten him out of all that, yet refused? You said before that you regret making some decisions. I certainly hope that you regret threatening an eleven-year old on the one day he saw hope on the horizon, that you regret not swallowing your pride for one moment in which you could have told him he was special. Because from that day on, he's gone above and beyond to prove to you that he was, leading to this!''

Harry couldn't have picked a worse moment for his outburst, for during his rant, the other Dumbledore had called Tom to the front of the class again for a demonstration. As Harry turned around, Tom showed both his skills in conjuring and transfiguration, a pile of white sticks appearing first and then, slowly, starting to move. Harry swallowed down everything else he'd wanted to say as in front of the class, a human skeleton rose upwards, staring into nothing with its empty sockets, shuffling forwards-

''No matter how things may have started, and how much I contributed to it,'' Dumbledore then said, looking at Tom's creation for a long, hard moment, ''Nothing could have stopped him from becoming what he did. Because other than you, Harry, Voldemort never was capable of empathy, or love. The only thing he ever loved was the darkness in himself.''

The air whirled again and Harry gasped as he landed back on his chair in Dumbledore's office.

Before he had the chance to say anything, Dumbledore raised his hands and spoke: ''You remind me of a friend of mine Harry… he as well, never found a monster he couldn't love or forgive. I still don't agree with him, sometimes it is necessary to push away those who have proven to be dangerous. You should keep this in mind too, especially when it comes to Voldemort. As bad as his past was, it is no excuse for the crimes he committed, even at a young age. I admit to making one mistake however.'' Harry sat up straighter in his chair. ''With your heart, I cannot imagine you to ever choose a path that would hurt other people. Hold onto those feelings, my boy, for they are a rarity in this world. Protect those who are dear to you, and save who you can.'' He leaned closer with a smile. ''But do try not to snoop into the Restricted Section for that too often.''

''I won't, professor,'' he answered in all honesty. The Restricted Section didn't hold a candle to Voldemort's personal collection. He left all Dumbledore's unspoken implications as they were. They both knew how the Headmaster's trust in him had wavered, had spoken it out enough to not mention it again. Harry only still wondered how the man wished for Harry to both stand up to Voldemort and at the same time not hurt people and keep love in his heart. Sometimes it felt like the headmaster wasn't even aware of what impossible and contradicting things he asked of others. ''So, I have already pointed out the differences that I saw,'' Harry finally spoke, taking one of the sandwiches that had appeared next to him on the desk. He only vaguely tasted the tuna salad as he chewed it down, too deep in thought about the impressions those memories had left. '' The physical changes, his attitude… You said you'd tell me what caused it?'' Perhaps he was a bit too direct, but Harry had a burning need to know to what conclusions Dumbledore had come.

''I think it was murder,'' the headmaster answered with a sigh. ''After your adventure in the Chamber of Secrets, I learned that it really had been Tom who'd killed poor Myrtle, and I am almost certain that by the time of the last memory, he'd killed once again. Each time he became a bit less human, as if something was… missing.''

''Missing, professor?''

''From the very first day that I met Tom, he was already strange, dangerous. The stories of the matron who had taken him in and of the other children made me come to the conclusion that he had already a very warped mind. That became worse over time, and started to affect him each time he murdered. That is my theory at least. As if the little humanity he had seeped further away… I'm still developing that theory further.''

''You make it sound as if he wasn't human to start with,'' harry frowned.

''I am honestly not too sure. Can you call someone who cannot feel all human emotions, completely human?''

''To be blunt, professor, that is like saying that someone who was born without legs isn't human because he cannot stand like any other. Also, you've met him when he was eleven years old, eleven years in which he was isolated in a Muggle orphanage, surrounded only by those who were afraid of him. Enough time to become traumatised enough to perhaps not trust the first stranger who comes along with the full scope of one's emotions.''

Dumbledore gave him a wavering smile. ''Ah, Harry, your absolutely positive attitude both lifts my spirit and is devastating at the same time. Voldemort cannot be saved anymore. The only question that remains now is why, and how to end the terror he started. If there is one thing in life that I have had to learn, it is that the dead should stay dead. And he died thirteen years ago.''

''You okay?'' Ron asked as Harry finally got to class. It was apparently the second time that his friend had asked by the look that Ron gave him. Harry's head was still filled with Dumbledore's words and a pounding anger at the man's refusal to even consider the fact that Voldemort was still human no matter the deeds he'd done. Hermione looked up too with concern.

Dumbledore had given him a slip for Professor Binns, but Harry decided that it wasn't worth even bringing attention to as the ghost was in one of his typical rants about Goblins and Harry seriously doubted that he was aware of having students at the moment. He thus slipped into his seat and whispered: ''Everything okay, Dumbledore wanted to talk to me. I'll tell you and Mione all about it in the train tomorrow morning. I doubt we'll have much time to speak before then.''

He was right in that assumption, their lessons taking up most of the day, and packing and cleaning up the few hours before the End-of-Year feast. Harry paid little attention to Dumbledore's speech in favour of indulging in the food, of an abundance and quality he couldn't hope to have in the coming months. After sneaking to the sixth years dorms to give the Twins their promised money, Harry crashed in bed early, having no notable dreams to his disappointment. He hoped he would see Voldemort again sooner rather than later, not wishing to be cooped up at the Dursleys for long, lest he'd be driven insane.

In the morning, he and his friends went to the station together, now and then looking back at the castle they wouldn't see for a while. After a slight debate with himself, Harry decided to also invite Neville and Ginny, though the latter refused, wishing to spend time with her own friends. At Neville's grateful look, Harry was glad that he asked the boy, who had tried his best to help Harry all through the year. Neville might not be the best student, or the brightest, he did have his heart in the right place and Harry felt like he and Ron especially were old enough now to get over the opinion that Neville wasn't 'cool' enough to be their friend. -Hermione never had had a problem with Neville in the first place-. It was due to this that Neville was also informed of Harry's trips to Dumbledore's office, which apparently made his respect for Harry rise about three hundred percent, no matter how much Harry tried to explain that it really wasn't all that great.

Other than Dumbledore and memories of Voldemort, they mainly discussed holiday plans. Ron's family had been quite vague in their letters, mentioning something about not remaining at the burrow for the entire holiday. From Sirius' stories and Dumbledore's plans to call the Order together, Harry had an solid idea of where they would be staying, as he'd already hinted at to Fred and George. While the Weasleys hadn't actually been Order members before, they were avid supporters of Dumbledore now, and Harry was very certain that they'd be asked to participate. Hermione on her part was going to Spain for two weeks with her parents before returning to England again, having no further plans for how to spend the rest yet, at which Ron promptly suggested that she could always come over to his place. Harry kept mostly quiet, already having said everything he wanted to, not feeling like making his lie more believable by unnecessary details, except for when his friends asked him direct questions about it. Since he usually was a bit quiet on the train back to the Dursleys, they were thankfully understanding and left him to his musings.

''Hey, at least you do not have to stay there long this time right?'' Hermione gently told him as she gave him a goodbye-hug after leaving platform nine and threequarters.

''True,'' he replied, an empty feeling overcoming him as he recognised Vernon's car. Not long… but how long exactly, he didn't know. For all he knew, something would go wrong and Voldemort would have more pressing matters on his mind than saving Harry from the Dursleys. He said his hellos and goodbyes also to the Weasleys, thanking Molly once again for being so kind to stand in as family at the last Task, and secretly giving the Twins a thumbs up for their projects.

Vernon narrowed his eyes at Harry as he approached the car with a dreaded feel in the pit of his stomach. Hedwig hooted quietly, even she had learned that screeching around the Dursleys would lead to less food. ''So, back again then?'' his uncle barked.

''It would seem so.''

''Last summer was good with you out of the house,'' the man sneered. ''I've half a mind to send you away somewhere.''

Harry didn't say anything, still having too many doubts about everything working out to make a snarky comment back about sending himself away. He loaded his trunk in the car with difficulty, then sat in the back with Hedwig's cage on his lap, having made sure that the bottom of it was sparkly clean before leaving Hogwarts and removing the last few droppings right after exiting the train. He didn't want to have to put his pet in the boot again, even if now he had to suffer Vernon's constant glances in the rear-view mirror to make sure Hedwig didn't dirty his expensive car. No further words were exchanged during the hour-long ride back to Privet drive, a trip during which absolutely nothing happened, a preview of a regular Dursley day. Once they got out of the car and arrived 'home', Vernon took him aside like he did every year, threatening with his key. ''If anything happens this summer, anything at all, that will make the neighbours wonder what is going on here, you'll be sleeping in the garden for the rest of the holidays.''

Any neighbours that didn't know yet that something weird was going on in a house where bars had been installed on one of the windows, probably wouldn't notice any accidental magic either in Harry's opinion, though he kept that thought to himself. ''Yes Uncle Vernon,'' he muttered, taking Hedwig's cage under one arm and struggling to take his trunk inside with the other, where Uncle Vernon instantly confiscated it and locked it away in the cupboard under the stairs.

Each day here was almost as if Hogwarts had never existed, the only reminder being his wand, which he had hidden under his shirt before even entering the car. Each time he showed up downstairs to do anything other than household chores, he was met with hostile stares, grinding teeth and rude comments from his Aunt and Uncle. Not being particularly interested in being made to feel unwelcome every second of the day, he tried to avoid his family members as much as possible, which improved the general mood in the house. At first he'd pondered on whether or not he should sneak down and at least watch the news to see if anything strange was going on, then dismissed it. There was no way that Voldemort would be going out of hiding anytime soon. Thus, he tried to stay as invisible as possible to at least have a chance of receiving meals and not ruining any chances to get out of here. The only blessing he had was that Dudley had decided he'd outgrown being mummy's little boy, instead running wild with the gang of douchebags he'd gathered to rob children and vandalise whatever they could find on the streets. That left a lot less time for him to hunt and beat up Harry, who wisely stayed inside. The situation was all in all quite ironic, considering how his family had always tried to paint him as being criminal.

It didn't mean that Harry got away completely without bruises though. Dudley was not such a problem anymore, but his Aunt and Uncle all the more so. As much as they tried to tell themselves that their little Duddykins was having tea over at friends, the whispers of the neighbourhood reached even their stubborn ears. Being even meaner to Harry than usual whenever he cared to appear was apparently the only outlet they could find, causing even the slightest sarcastic response to be punished heavily.

Days passed, Harry's only highlights of the magical world being the Prophet and vague letters from Ron that were brought by owls during late evenings. He wasn't entirely sure why they were so uninformative, since it was clear between the lines that Ron and his family had gone to Grimmauld place as he'd expected. And Dumbledore had told Sirius while Harry was there that the Order would gather, with the house as their headquarters. Perhaps it was to prevent anyone from intercepting important information? The teen found that he didn't care much anymore, trying to survive the heat that had already started very early this year and ignored the messages he received. Was he stuck here? Had it been too much to hope for a better place?

Even Mrs Figgs couldn't cheer him up. The Squib had invited him over for tea twice already, but he'd refused. Each time, it felt like a stab of betrayal that he'd never been told before. Someone with ties to the magical community had lived so close, watched over him -spied on him?- all of his life on Dumbledore's orders, all the while leading him to believe that he was a messed up child who strange things happened to. It wasn't that he was completely ungrateful… on Thursday the Dursleys weren't home for most of time, so Harry went to the local supermarket for some ingredients and baked her cookies, putting them on the doorstep of Mrs Figgs with a card. She had, after all, tried to patch him up with potions over the years and given him some away-time from his family, so that was worth something. Harry just didn't think he could face her in person, not wanting to blow up on the old woman with questions.

On Friday, Harry finally recalled the advice Sirius had given him in regards to Dumbledore. He really should get himself to Gringotts and speak with the Goblins about guardianship and all that. The Headmaster may not have much to say about Harry's summer plans as long as the Dursleys let him go, he'd like to see how much influence his magical guardian had and on what exactly. Thus, as soon as he'd prepared breakfast for the Dursleys and gotten an apple and a piece of toast as thanks, he went out of the door with thudding heart. Last time he'd gone to the Leaky on his own, it had been on the run, ending with him staying there after a run-in with Cornelius Fudge. He certainly hoped things would go smoother now. In his pocket, he had a few coins that he'd also saved from the Dursley's prying eyes and hands, enough for the fare back and forth and hopefully a bit of ice cream. He only hoped that the goblins would actually give information about his bank account, since the key to it was still locked in the cupboard.

Harry made as little conversation in the Knight's bus as possible, trying his best to keep upright and not spill his stomach contents. The sole mercy of the bus was the speed at which the experience was over with… Harry stumbled out in front of the Leaky Cauldron and instantly went to the back, not up for conversations with random strangers. He couldn't completely avoid it, people flocking to him now not only for being the boy-who-lived but also a Triwizard Tournament winner, asking for autographs and taking pictures together. One girl especially was visibly upset when he denied hugging her for a photo and stomped away. In a much worse mood than before, he ducked into the bank, grumbling to himself, walking up to the same counter he usually went to, the same one where he'd first spoken to a Goblin with Hagrid. Harry didn't know much about Goblins apart from what he'd heard in history class. As such, he always felt a bit awkward when speaking to the creatures. Perhaps the Ministry would have been a better idea?''

''Yes, Mr Potter?'' the goblin in front of him spoke, leaning over the counter, staring with unblinking, tiny black eyes. A row of sharp teeth was very visible as it spoke.

''I... erhm, it was recommended to me to come to Gringotts for information about guardianship and such things,'' he spoke, deciding that it would be better to be direct about it.

''Vault key?''

Harry blinked. ''No, I didn't come here for money. I don't have the vault key with me. I just want to know who my guardian is.''

The creature sighed deeply and muttered something that sounded very much like a curse. ''Gold is everything, wizard,'' the goblin spoke, clearly angry. ''Or did you think you would get information for free here?''

''Well, it was here or the Ministry,'' Harry said, getting distressed. ''Wouldn't that info be free there either?''

The goblin was silent for a while, then raised a finger in a gesture to wait and got up from his seat, disappearing through a short door in the wall. Harry sighed and leaned on the counter. He should have learnt from his encounter with the mermaids to look up the cultures and manners of other magical beings he would have to deal with. He waited for almost fifteen minutes, already not having any further hope that he'd ever receive help anymore, when the door opened again and the goblin returned. ''Right.'' It said without any apology. Harry somehow hadn't expected one either. ''We can proceed.''

''Wait, I don't need my key after all?'' Harry asked, perking up, shrinking away a bit as he was glared at.

''Don't think that this special treatment is because of your status in the wizarding world,'' it sneered, then muttered softly: ''News can spread fast among non-humans, especially those who have been particularly looked down upon by warlocks. It is known that you freed a house-elf. For that, we shall overlook your ignorance in this matter. We will only require a look at your wand for identification.'' Nodding hastily, Harry withdrew his wand and carefully placed it in the black-clawed fingers of the Goblin, waiting nervously as it was inspected. Without a word, it returned the wand to him. ''Good. Here is all your legal and financial information.'' He accepted the dusty booklet handed to him and curiously flipped it open, only to find empty pages. ''Some blood would, of course, help,'' the Goblin dryly remarked after he stared at it for a couple of seconds.

''Ah, right,'' he said, looking around for anything sharp, only seeing the Goblins' quill. ''As I can't use magic out of Hogwarts, could I…'' he gestured, accepting the quill as it was offered and using it to prick some blood. ''Am surprised that the Ministry doesn't mind this,'' he remarked, as ink started to flow over the pages. ''Isn't blood magic forbidden?''

''Not when we claim it to be goblin-specific magic,'' the creature shrugged. ''So, the first half is financial figures regarding your deposits and transactions, the second half regards your inheritance matters. Guardianship is also regulated there.'' Harry quickly flipped through, numbers dancing in front of his eyes. The only facts he noted about the first part was that information on two separate vaults was available; a trust vault for his money and the main Potter vault for more money and objects. Both of them held a considerable amount of gold of which he instantly swore the Weasleys would somehow, secretly, receive a large sum. He could clearly miss it. Harry would have to look at that second vault at a later date and figure out where the key had gone… For now, he was far more interested in the second section, which only consisted of a couple of pages. It showed a crude, very linear family tree of everyone who had once held either of his two vaults and showed when they'd been set up. Other than that, a single page contained his own data: a brief summary about him that would not have been amiss on a chocolate frog card, wand description, age etcetera. Somehow, he'd expected secret goblin documents to have been a bit more exciting, perhaps showing notable ancestors or artefacts that belonged to him.

The only noteworthy thing was written all the way on the bottom of 'his' page, and Harry had to look thrice to believe what he saw. There, in clear black ink stood:
Muggle guardian: Petunia Dursley Née Evans.
Magical guardian: Sirius Black.

''Sirius?'' he exclaimed in confusion. ''But how… how is that possible?'' he looked up at the Goblin. ''My godfather told me his guardianship should have been transferred years ago. The one who held the key to my vault and personal belongings of my parents was Albus Dumbledore!''

''Our books do not lie, Mr Potter,'' was the only answer he received, in a rather frosty tone at that. ''You have seen enough?''

''I suppose,'' he replied, closing the booklet again and handing it back, the Goblin nearly ripping it away from his fingers. ''Thank you for being lenient, I promise to bring my key with next time.'' Couldn't hurt to be polite after all, even if he had no specific liking towards Goblins.

The being regarded Harry with its odd eyes for a few seconds longer. ''Do that. Degamih i sonlouri''

Harry blinked at the words, figuring they were something in Gobbledegook and awkwardly said: ''Same to you,'' before shuffling away, hoping that the words hadn't been an insult or something similar.

Three more days passed, and Harry had debated a few times whether or not he would just up and go to Sirius, Order be damned, especially now that he needed to speak to his godfather about this whole magical guardianship thing. All of his theories about Dumbledore were absolutely for naught now, no Goblin would have let the Headmaster touch a vault he didn't have rights to. It did irritate him somewhat that the man had made it sound as if he had some semblance of control over where Harry remained during summer. But as much as Harry lay awake from his own musings, for some reason he couldn't really find it in him to move and actually do something. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe the empty hopelessness that had plagued him all week already… He'd even become a lot less responsive to the Dursley's, enduring his underserved punishments with apathy, which made Vernon even angrier since he 'didn't get through' to his nephew.

The doorbell rang: two short, angry shrills that Harry heard more from his opened window than from downstairs. He didn't react, perfectly content to keep lying there, staring at the yellowed ceiling. The rest of the house may be kept in perfect shape, it looked like the Dursleys hadn't touched anything in Harry's room since he'd moved in here… A few angry words from Uncle Vernon that he couldn't quite make out made Harry frown. Not an expected visitor then, were people going around again with advertisements? A heavy slam shook the house, evidently the door had been shut rather abruptly. Harry closed his eyes and rolled over to one side, hoping that his Uncle wouldn't need to let his anger out any further than with yelling. The bell rang again, three curt rings this time. Harry sighed deeply. Some people just couldn't give up, could they?

Unexpectantly, the door was apparently opened again, for he heard people speaking downstairs, then move through the corridor. Curiosity and indifference struggled for control, the former winning after a couple of minutes. Before he could get up however, he heard voices again, much clearer now. ''You stay away from me, you freak! I do not tolerate this in my house. First owls, then a hairy giant, out!''

Harry's heart shot up to his chest at the words and he was running for the door a second later, throwing it open. He didn't particularly care about the fact that he was wearing ugly old trousers from Dudley or a shirt that was at least ten years old, as soon as he saw who had entered, he couldn't get down the stairs fast enough. ''You came,'' he breathed, days of worry washed away as he stared up in the ruby eyes that gleamed from beneath a black hood.

Lord Voldemort himself stood in the pristine corridor of the Dursleys, looking as out of place as Aunt Petunia would have in Knockturn.

The Dark Lord arrives! And with that, summer officially starts for Harry :) I hope you all liked the final talk for this year with Dumbledore and the show memories.
Please Read and Review,
xx GeMerope.