Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This fanfiction is being crossposted on ao3 and wattpad, under the user cariadmiller, so if you see it, don't worry, it's me! Oh, English is NOT my first language, so if you see anything wrong around here, that's why! Also, please, let me know so I can fix it :)

PS: just a reminder that this fanfic is very, VERY self-indulgent, so while I'll be writting some serious stuff, there will be a bit of crack too.

PS²: since there's no way to incorporate strikethroughs here on ffnet, i'll be using underline to let y'all know when a word is supposed to be crossed over, alright?!

7. The dog days are just starting.

Tuesday || November 1st, 1988 - Number Four, Privet Drive.

Dear Ironfang,

I'm at my relatives already (no one batted an eye when I went back to the school, so my confundo seems to have worked perfectly), and I know I just saw you, but I wanted to send this to let you know that I already started the first phase of my plan to get the hell out of here (and I also wanted to test this mailbox, it's so neat!).

I've sent Amelia Bones and Rita Skeeter letters to compel them to start to investigate my living arrangements. I'm hoping that, due to my fame, it won't take too long. Of course, I know the British Ministry is extremely corrupt, so I won't hold my breath for them to solve all of this fast (they never did anything for me before, not sure it will change now, but there is still hope).

Anyway, as I told you earlier, my relatives hate magic and have no idea I know anything about it either, that's why I won't be able to subscribe to the Daily Prophet or any other newspaper, which means I won't know if they're doing something about me or not. Can I ask that you keep an eye around and send me any information you deem necessary, please?

Thank you for all your help today!

Harry Potter

Wednesday || November 2nd, 1988 - Number Four, Privet Drive.

Dear Ironfang,

Sorry for bothering you again, I know you must be busy with all the work you need to do on my accounts, but I needed to let you know that Rita Skeeter was here earlier today.

She came by morning, right at the time I was going to school with my uncle and cousin, so I couldn't stay to know exactly what she gathered, BUT Aunt Petunia was clearly dazed when I came back – maybe confused or obliviated (or with aftershock from veritaserum?), I didn't want to pry with my magic and let any lingering trace, though – so I guess she DID gather something.

Let me know what she does with the information!

Hope you have a good day!

Harry Potter

Wednesday || November 2nd, 1988 - Gringotts.

Lord Peverell,

I am sorry for not answering you sooner, but I decided to take over the investigation on your vaults – since I am your newly appointed Account Manager – because I wanted to have some information to give you about them before writing back, and the fastest way was doing it myself.

We did, indeed, find inconsistencies and illegal permission to heirlooms and items to be taken from the Potter Vaults – no money, though, since the ledger informed the last transition has been made on 19 October 1981 by your father. You will be happy to know that we were able to recall all of the items – except an Invisibility Cloak, which did not seem to answer to the magic of our vaults, unfortunately – and that your previous Potter Account Manager was tried and found guilty, thus, ended executed.

I would like for you to come to the bank as soon as possible, so I can show you the list of all the recalled items since you told me you were not able to see them personally in your previous… experience.

I am glad to know the reporter reacted so fast. If she publishes whatever she finds soon, then, Lord Peverell, I do not think it will take that long for you to be in the care of someone more suitable.

I will make sure to send anything concerning yourself, do not worry.

Have a good day.

Account Manager Ironfang.

Friday || November 4th, 1988 - Gringotts.

Lord Peverell,

It seems Rita Skeeter was more eager than we thought, that's why I am sending you the latest Daily Prophet issue.

I am extremely displeased to know she disclosed this much about your living conditions, but I understand it was your goal – even if it irks me to know she used the suffering of a child to promote herself. If you ever want to try your hand against her for using your image without permission, let me know. I will be most happy to find a good lawyer to take care of this.

That being said, I am glad your plans are being accomplished. Do let me know if you need me to send anything else.

Have a good day.

Account Manager Ironfang.

Sunday || November 6th, 1988 - St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Dear Ironfang,

I'm so sorry for not answering earlier, but I hadn't had the time – or privacy – to read your letters before now. I'm at St. Mungo's at this moment and the only time I'm able to read/write is after the nightly check by the healer – since I have a bunch of monitoring charms over me, they leave me alone during the night, thank Merlin.

I had to use some very sneaky wards to make people not try to enter the room while I'm writing (there are currently two Aurors guarding me at all times and they would be very confused by seeing me with a quill and parchment, I'm sure).

Anyway, as of last Friday, I'm officially free from the Dursleys! (yay) Amelia Bones, Alastor Moody, Kensington, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were at the Dursleys home when I came back from school, and they were pissed off extremely angered by my situation.

It seems Amelia wanted to investigate as soon as she got my letter, but due to something or other (I would bet my money it was the Minister himself) she could only act by Friday morning.

They had already scanned the house and gathered evidence about my living conditions – or lack of – when I got there, so they just finished by interviewing me and then whisked me away from there to St. Mungo's (I had to do a lot of acting to appear an innocent and ignorant child, which was HARD 'cause I wanted to laugh so much sometimes – but it WORKED).

I know I promised I would go to Gringotts to take care of my health issues as soon as I could, but since the DMLE is investigating the situation, they had to scan me, and, due to the results being far from optimal, they started treatment right away, so I'm not sure I'll still need those services.

Oh, I had to take off my lordship and heirship rings before leaving the Dursleys. Mad-Eye was making me nervous by scanning the cupboard where I slept (and stored my stuff) with his magic eye, so I decided to not take more risks and make people wonder why I already have access to it and took them off.

They're secured on my trunk, but I'm not sure I should keep them with me for now, since I don't know if they will make me go to the bank to take an inheritance test and to settle the affairs of my family before Amelia takes me as a temporary ward.

I'll be staying at the hospital until next Saturday – they want to keep an eye on me until I finish my first week of treatment before releasing me – so I'll only be able to write during the night (if that much).

I'm glad to know you were able to recover my heirlooms and items, I'm so curious to know what the old goat had stolen from me – all the knowledge about my family I could never uncover because he meddled. So, as soon as I can, I'll go to the bank so I can see everything.

Also, don't worry about the Invisibility Cloak. It's resistant to magic of any type, I should have let you know about it before, sorry. I think I have a way to get it back, though. I'll let you know if it works.

I wish I had seen his face when he noticed all my stuff had been recalled. It must have been priceless! Please, let me know if he shows up at the bank inquiring about this.

Have a good night, Ironfang!

Harry Potter

PS: I should let you know that my acting skills may or may not end on my godfather's imprisonment being investigated, which means that very soon you'll have a brand-new Lord Black (me or him, I'm not sure if he will want it, but I sure as hell do).

PS²: PLEASE, call me Harry. It's weird being called a Lord when I'm 8.

Sunday || November 6th, 1988 - Gringotts.

Lord Peverell,

It is good to know some wizards can use their brains and be responsible - I was starting to wonder if it was something of a legend.

You can send your rings via mailbox, I will save them for you and, if they do ask for an Inheritance Test, I will provide them back (that is, if you want to let people know about all of your heirships and lordship - if not, we can always come up with something, for a fee, of course).

I still want you to have your health checked by our healers. We can do a lot more in-depth scans than most wixen do - and our potions are better tasting, as I am sure you know.

Madam Bones did indeed ask about your parents' will, and we informed her that we do have the original copy in our possession, which means we will be able to provide a Will Reading as soon as we get your approval. With this we will also be able to bequeath all of the things you, as the Boy-Who-Lived, received - we could not do this before since we did not have the approval of your actual Magical Guardian, which was such a shame, all that money and heirlooms stagnant on our vaults.

Now, about the Black Lordship, you may want to know that Arcturus Black III, the last Lord Black, is still alive. I just do not know in what conditions. He went into exile before the end of the war, years ago. He gave up his Lordship in 1983, for unknown reasons, and that is why your godfather is listed as Lord? in your Inheritance Test and you could claim the heirship ring – which I am sure will make some people very, very mad.

I do not know if you heard about him during your… time, but while he was an advocate of pureblood rights, he never supported the Dark Lord publicity, so you may want to check on him. Arcturus Black would be a formidable ally.

Mister Dumbledore does indeed have an appointment with the bank Wednesday morning to meet with his new Account Manager, which is not the same as yours. I am sure he will try to talk with me about your accounts, though, so be assured you will be informed about any inquiries he may make.

Do let me know if you find your Cloak. And, please, be careful with your magic use. Most wizards are wilfully blind but do remember you have someone very invested in your life. It would be surprising if he does not end up visiting you while you are staying at the hospital.

Actually, I am surprised he did not do it yet. But that may be because he is dealing with a huge backlash after your living conditions were brought to light.

Take care of yourself, Lord Peverell.

PS: We, goblins, pride ourselves on being proper.

Account Manager Ironfang

Monday || November 7th, 1988 - St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Dear Ironfang,

Did you know it's really ominous of you to write… like… this… to talk about my predicament?

FINE then, call me Lord. But I still don't like it. I feel really weird and old, which is weirder because I'm supposed to feel that way, right? Like, older and stuff. But I really don't. It's like when I came back, all of my emotions changed to be suitable as a child.

Not that I'm complaining. It's easier to deal with everything like this.

Being an adult sucked, Ironfang lemme tell you. Everyone wanted me to take care of things for them, everyone expected me to do everything without a care about my own needs. That's why I was so good as a curse breaker – having to choose between dealing with people or cursed ruins, well, there wasn't much of a choice, really.

Anyway, I never thought about Arcturus Black III, I'm afraid. Neither did Sirius tell me much about him, just that he got an Order of Merlin for Services to the Ministry (because of donations). So, I guess I'll wait for him to be around before trying to contact the old man. I really don't want to deal with some kind of supremacist right now. I already have dear ol' Tommy boy for this.

Also, there is a lot of other stuff I need to do first. Like, try not to go mad while imprisoned here.

I heard people are getting suspicious about this room – soon enough they will try to sneak here and I'm really not that impressed by the Aurors Force to believe they will be competent enough to protect my SECRET stay.

I'm sending my rings with this correspondence, as well as my new trunk. I decided it would be for the best to only have some parchment and quills inside my bag together with the shrunk mailbox – they're easier to transfigure and explain anyway.

Well, I guess that's all I have to talk about right now. I'm getting antsy without news about my godfather, but I guess it's par for the course. At least now I have hope someone will actually investigate his imprisonment. Last… time (hah, this is fun) I did not have this luxury.

Thank you for being so patient with all of my letters, I know it must be annoying, but I'm glad. We used to be friends… before (!), so I'm hoping we can be friends again this time.

Have a good day, Ironfang!

Harry Potter

Wednesday || November 9th, 1988 - Gringotts.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not happy.

He had been trying to fix all the things that had gone wrong since the news about Harry was published, but it was not to be.

Howlers and cursed mail were still being sent his way and people kept asking all the wrong questions (or maybe the right ones, but not the ones he WANTED to answer) and being a nuisance, making it difficult for him to actually do something.

Albus tried to free the Dursleys of their predicament with the Police and the Child Protection Services but had no luck either. There were just too many Aurors, and Ministry employees involved with the process for him to go unnoticed.

That meant he needed a backup plan.

A (mostly) legal backup plan.

Now, Albus prided himself at being seen by the wixen population as someone who was above the law, but that never used such power – unless for the greater good, of course. That was mostly true. Except when he needed things to happen the way he knew was the best, even if some laws needed to be bent for such goals to be achieved.

The issue is, right now, he could do no such thing. Not when Madam Bones – a know-it-all, follower of the law to the letter – was involved in such a way that there was no option except to do as she said. It was made worse by the fact she had never been a follower of his, even if he had tried to convince her otherwise during the war.

Sometimes Albus really missed the strict but misguided Barty Crouch Senior as the Head of the DMLE. He was so much easier to deal with, so interested in having a good image that didn't mind doing something or other to harness favors.

Ah, good old times.

Unfortunately, since Harry's location was protected by the DMLE under secrecy oaths and not even the Minister knew exactly where the kid was (Albus had tried his best 'I'm disappointed' glare on Fudge, but the fool hadn't known a thing), he needed to find a way to make Harry be put with a family of supporters.

It wouldn't do to have the savior of the wixen world to stay with a dark family or, Merlin forbid, with someone who didn't like the Leader of the Light.

Albus knew there were people out there who disliked him, and he was mostly okay with it, but he needed Harry to see him as a hero. He needed to be the one to lead him to the right path.

The memory of the darkness he felt after examining the cursed scar on the sleeping baby still made him shiver. To have one so young so marred by such magic was no good – he had tried everything he knew (and that was no small thing) to purge his scar with no success. So, the only way for the boy to not be tempted by the darkness that existed within was to have Harry grow in a controlled environment.

Even if he wasn't the most loved or cared for, at least he would learn humility and have models of people he should not want to be.

Everything was playing exactly how it should… but then that damned Skeeter had to meddle with affairs not concerning her, publishing about the living conditions of the kid – in an exaggerated way, of course – just to make the population go into an uproar.

And now he could do nothing but watch many of his plans be destroyed.

He would, of course, find another way to make sure the boy would be molded exactly the way he needed to be. He was, after all, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Order of Merlin First Class.

But first, he needed to deal with the goblins.

As if he hadn't enough on his plate right now.

"Whatever you mean you are not the Potter Account Manager too? Where is Axeclaw?" Albus was floored.

The goblin, who was old and had a very mean-looking eyepatch on his right eye, looked very unimpressed at him.

"Mister Dumbledore, as I told you in the missive sent to you to inform you about the new developments in regards to your accounts, due to a new policy of our bank, a deep investigation was made on the affairs of the Potter Vaults and we constated that some transactions that had been made were not permitted. Axeclaw was tried for not following our laws and, thus, executed. Now I, Bloodpatch, am the new Dumbledore Account Manager, but the Potter Accounts were given to another, most experienced Manager"

Feeling his gut-churning, sweat starting to pool behind his beard, Albus swallowed before asking "A new policy, you say?"

The goblin smirked evilly.

"Oh, yes. We had an overview on the old policy regarding Vaults of the Noble Houses, changed some rules to better suit the economy"

"I… I see" swallow. "Was it really necessary for Axeclaw to be executed? He was such a good Manager"

"Hmm." Bloodpatch hummed knowingly. "Despite that, what Axeclaw did was unlawful. We do not permit anyone to take anything from any vaults – Noble or not – without the express permission from the owner. The fact you did get your hands on items and heirlooms not your own, and without permission… Well, I think you can understand why is it that the Potter Account Manager is not the same as yours, right? Not that I would ever permit such a thing to happen, of course. I can do my job amazingly without interfering on another account"

"Now, now, Mister Bloodpatch, I'm sure it was all a misunderstanding. The items I got were things the late Lord Potter permitted me to take. I guess his written permission was lost after all this time"

"I'm sure" was all Bloodpatch said, dryly. "Now, on the matters of your accounts, do you have anything you want to discuss? New investments? I heard there is a new Nimbus broom coming up, it may be good to put some galleons on it"

"Sure" Albus agreed, but his mind was far from the conversation. Now there was another thing about Harry Potter he had lost control over. "Well, thank you for the information, Bloodpatch. I'm sure we will work just fine together. Now, I really need to go. There is a Hogwarts matter that I need to tend to"

"Of course, Mister Dumbledore. I'll make sure to send the latest statements via owl to you. Have a good day"

"You too, Bloodpatch," he said to the strangely amused goblin before leaving haltingly the room.

Instead of walking to the Main Hall, though, Albus made his way to the other side of the corridor, where he knew the Noble Houses Managers Offices were placed – the fact that now his Account Manager Office was so close to the Main Hall was not lost on him.

Finally, at the very end of the corridor, he found what he had been looking for. The door had only Ironfang, Account Manager written on it, but the crest of the Potter Family that was craved in jewels and gold on the wood was a dead giveaway.

He knocked once and opened the door.

"My, my, did you ever hear about manners?" the very menacingly looking goblin, who sat on a high chair behind a very adorned table, asked. "I don't remember having an appointment with you, Mister Dumbledore"

Not liking the clear contempt he heard in the voice of the goblin, Albus straightened his spine and glared at the being – who did not look the least cowed.

"Now, Mister Ironfang, I came to the bank to talk with my account manager, but also to settle some affairs of the Potter Vaults. You understand that, as the Magical Guardian of the young Mister Potter, I have the right to talk with the new Account Manager"

Ironfang's eyes narrowed.

"Did you, perchance, Mister Dumbledore, read any papers lately? Because if you did, then you must know about the living conditions of Heir Potter and how the Ministry is taking care of it"

"Of course, but that doesn't change the fact that as his Magical Guardian-"

"Oh, but it does change everything. As of last Friday, Mister Dumbledore, Heir Potter is a ward of the Ministry. Which means you are not his Magical Guardian anymore"

"I am Chief Warlock-"

"And I am the Potter Account Manager, which means that I know what I am talking about" Ironfang cut him again, scathingly. "Now, unless you want to tell me exactly why you thought you could put your hands on heirlooms and items concerning the vaults I take care of then we do not have anything to discuss, Mister Dumbledore"

Now, Albus knew he was a powerful wizard and that, if he wanted, he could end this creature there and then. But he could not have the Goblin Nation as his enemy. That meant he would not win this spar, which left a very bitter taste in his mouth.

"I see"

"Good" Ironfang indicated the door with his very long and adorned hand. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am very busy"

Afraid the next thing out of his mouth would be a curse, Albus only nodded once, glared, and then turned to the door.

"Ah, Mister Dumbledore, before I forget" Ironfang called just as he was leaving, eyes glinting with malice.

"Yes?" forced Albus through gritted teeth.

"I'm not sure you noticed, but if not, you will find that all of the items and heirlooms that had been taken by you were recalled back to our vaults" Ironfang smiled smugly.

Feeling rage as he rarely did, Albus decided the best course of action was to leave before setting the damned creature on fire.

Stomping out of the bank, not caring about being proper or polite, all he could think about was the fact that now, not only the child who had a cursed scar was out of the needed environment, but he would also have access to all the dark books and items he had made sure to take out of his hands to not tempt him.

It was as if someone had it out for him lately, nothing was going his way. It could not stand!

But, apparently, it could indeed stand. And get worse.

Because the moment he apparated to his tower at Hogwarts, an owl flew by the window and deposited the newest issue of the Daily Prophet on his desk. And right on the front page, staring at him as if accusingly, were the grey eyes of Sirius Black.

Now, he was not one to swear, but there were moments when one could simply not contain oneself.

"Fucking hell!"

Thursday || November 10th, 1988 - Azkaban.

He could remember the laugh that left his mouth. The feeling of finally being able to do something. To act. To fill his scattered brain with something other than contempt, other than despair.

He could remember the feeling of his legs burning, magic singing in his veins, adrenalin rushing through his body.

And then, he could remember being hit by a stupid curse. The feeling of floating, like the time was slowing down.

He could remember desperate green eyes looking at him, imploringly, watching as his body floated through the veil.

He could remember the familiar voice screaming his name, desperate, grief ridding.

And then nothing. And everything.

Something other was all around him, touching his very soul, playing with it as if it was nothing. As if it was everything. But there was no pain, no sadness, no feeling. There was nothing. And everything. All around him, filling him with a thrill he never felt before.

Except he did, didn't he?

The first time he turned into his Animagus form. The first time it came out.

The Grim.

The being who was everything he was, but more. That was nothing like him, but the same.

Something other.

He could remember talking about it, only once, to his best friend who only stared at him as if he was insane before telling him they should call his Animagus form Padfoot, like the death omen of legend, and then laughed, easy as that.

And, after the first time, he never felt like that ever again.

Until he went through the veil and then that was everything he could feel.

He had been floating, unfeeling but not, dreaming but not, breathing but not, until someone called for him.

Green eyes, desperate, grief ridding. Wanting, pleading, giving up.

"Does it hurt" the kid, kid, kid! asked.

And right at that moment, everything changed.

Because no, it didn't hurt. And it had been fast. Easy as if going to sleep.

But it hadn't been worth it.

He had left someone behind. And even after being able to meet with his long-lost friends once more, after hugging them, after feeling them, hearing their voices, he could never forget the eyes of the kid he had left, not once, but three times.

Does it hurt? Does it hurt?

Does. It. Hurt?

"More than anything," he said, screamed, thought, for himself.

And at that moment, the veil answered.

"Good. You are ready now"

And the next thing he knew was the feeling of cold stone bellow him, and, at opening his eyes, seeing the very same walls he had stared at for twelve years. The very same walls that once filled his nightmares.

But there was something different about that. Because the cold didn't hurt him anymore. The dementors did not even look at him. And his mind, once scattered, was there. Still filled with grief and trauma and so much guilty, but there.

"What the hell" he croaked.

"Death needs its reaper" the veil whispered as if it meant something.

And it did.

Looking at his own hands, still skeletal, but so much younger than the last time he stared at them; noticing that there were fewer tattoos on his arms than when he finally left this living hell.

It did mean everything.

Because somehow he was back, somehow he got another chance.

And he would do his damned best to make sure he would never leave his kid ever again.

It was those thoughts that filled his mind, the certainty that soon he would be out of there. That soon he would be able to do right by the one he loved. That soon he would be able to fulfill his most precious promise.

And, also, reap the shit out of those who so much as breathed wrong over his kid.

Smiling, he left his mind wander, enjoying the feeling of being sane again, of breathing and living.

It was with his eyes closed and so much hope in his heart – something he thought was lost, but that now filled his every cell – that he heard the footsteps approaching.

Straightening his back, breathing deeply, and smoothing his expression, he opened his eyes.

"Took you long enough," he said to a very surprised Amelia Bones, and a very suspicious Mad-Eye Moody.

"It's your lucky day, Black. We're getting you out of here to have a trial. You better be worth the trouble" Moody said.

Smiling as if he didn't have a care in the world, Sirius Orion Black III stood up, and watched closely while the bars to his cell were opened. Offering his wrists to be shackled by the ever-suspicious Auror, he winked, stifling a laugh at the looks he received, and let them lead him out.

The time for waiting was finally over.

NOTES: Hi, everyone! So, some people asked me about the main pairing on this fic and, at the moment, I don't have a clue. I mean, there are some pairings I would like to try - none of them being the canon ones, of course - but I've not decided yet. BUT as I said first chapter, It may or may be m/m, so if this is not your cup of tea, be warmed. Either way, it will be a looooong way before I start writting anything romantic. I mean, Harry is 8 now! And he is, in fact, a kid. Albeit one with memories of a future/past, but STILL A KID. His emotions, feelings, way of thinking, reactions and etc are all those of a kid. A traumatized and mature kid, but a kid nonethless.

I hope you liked the new chapter! I'll be updating soon! Don't forget to let me know what you're thinking! See ya!