Hey!
This chapter took way longer than I thought, but now it is here. I tried writing a bit more in this chapter and took some writing courses, please comment your opinions and if I should stick to bigger or smaller chapters.
Without further ado, have fun reading this chapter.
This chapter is dedicated to my parents. Thank you for everything.
Harry awoke with a start, his heart pounding not just from the vivid images of his encounter at King's Cross Station, but also from a deep-seated dread that clung to him. Lying on the cold, hard floor of the paved street, the ethereal realm he had just left felt like a distant dream. He lay there for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the fragments of his strange adventure - the meeting with his father and the haunting choices ahead of him.
Despite the weight of these revelations, Harry felt a renewed sense of purpose. His resolve to defeat Voldemort and protect those he cared about solidified, transforming into a driving force that bordered on pure hatred. He was at his limit; too many had been hurt, and the death of his cousin was the last straw for the young Potter. Their relationship, dominated by mockery and bullying, had been a painful chapter in Harry's life. But, in his heart, he knew that even Dudley didn't deserve such a cruel fate.
As the first rays of sunrise crept across the sky, Harry pushed himself up, brushing off the dirt from his clothes. His mind raced over his next moves. He was unsure how long he had been unconscious, but the immediate need to retrieve his belongings and make a strategic return to the magical world loomed over him. Walking into Diagon Alley as Harry Potter was out of the question if he wanted to stay a free man, at least for now. A disguise, a carefully crafted one, was essential.
Stealthily rising to his feet, Harry glanced around, his eyes inevitably drawn to the lifeless form of his cousin. Dudley lay there, a reminder of the daunting fate that had befallen him. For a moment, Harry's resolve wavered as he was overpowered by a mixture of feelings - resentment, pity, and a deep, unsettling sorrow. This was more than the end of their relationship; it was a stark reminder of war's costs, a foreboding to the pain yet to come. With a heavy heart, Harry knew he had to conceal the body. The value of Dudley's body as evidence of the Dementor's attack was too great to ignore, and Harry would have to use this to his advantage.
Harry contemplated using magic to hide Dudley, but the risk of detection was too high; the Ministry would have an easy way to find it. Harry decided that, in his current situation, concealing the remains in a nearby bush would be the best solution he had. Time was of the essence. As he dragged the body, Harry's hand brushed against Dudley's cooling skin, a chilling confirmation of the grim reality that made him shiver. There was no time for proper goodbyes. Harry turned on his heels and fled from the alley, vowing never to return to Privet Drive - a chapter of his life now definitely closed.
Pushing these thoughts aside, Harry focused on the immediate task at hand. He had to act quickly and discreetly. The first step was clear: return to the Dursleys to collect his belongings. It was a risk, but a necessary one.
As he made his way through the familiar streets, Harry pondered the arts of disguise. Hogwarts hadn't prepared him for this kind of subterfuge. His experience in sneaking around had been limited to the invisibility cloak that he hadowned since his first year at school.
It won't help me much this time, Harry thought grudgingly. I need to be able to shop and get gold.
Without his usual method of disguise, Harry considered his options. The Trace only tracked his wand's activity, so anything done without using a wand would be a valid option. But what could he use? He didn't know of any potions that would aid his situation, except maybe Polyjuice Potion, which was way too complex.
Then he remembered Sirius' abilities. He had seen the ex-Azkaban convict use his Animagus ability without a wand. If high-level transfiguration could work wandlessly, then perhaps simpler forms would work as well.
Transfiguration had always been one of Harry's strengths, but this would be different. This time it wasn't just about changing an object's form; it was about transforming parts of his face, something far more complex and risky, especially when tried without a wand. Inspired by the feats of Sirius, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore, and knowing it was his best chance, Harry decided to give it a try.
Reaching the relative safety of a secluded alley, Harry took a deep breath, focusing his mind on the task that lay ahead. He recalled the advanced Transfiguration techniques he had learnt last year at Hogwarts, envisioning the specific alterations he needed to make. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, feeling the familiar surge of magic coursing through him. But it was different, the new, cold part of his magic seemed to pull him in a specific direction.
After a few seconds, the pull went away at a moment's notice. When he opened his eyes again, his reflection in a puddle revealed a stranger. It was not the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy he had thought about. The shoulder-long grey hair he was now wearing hid his high cheekbones, pointed nose and bright, grey eyes. It was a face Harry had never seen.
Who is this? Harry confusedly murmured, but pleased with the feat he achieved. I like it.
Brushing his hair behind his ear, Harry felt a surge of confidence. He achieved a challenging feat of magic on his first attempt. It was time to face the Dursley's home for the last time. As much as he loathed the idea, he needed his invisibility cloak, his broom, and a few other items that would be crucial for his journey ahead.
The house at Privet Drive loomed before him, a place that had never been a home, merely a shelter. Harry approached cautiously, alert of the possibility of a ministry ambush or a watchful eye. He needed to be quick and silent, like a shadow slipping through the cracks.
Inside the house, Harry moved with practised stealth, heading straight to his room on the first floor. Every step was measured, every breath controlled. As he neared the top of the stairway, a floorboard under his foot squeaked loudly, causing Harry to freeze. He carefully lifted his foot off the offending board, listening intently. After several tense seconds of silence, he continued, avoiding the noisy board. In his room, Harry quickly gathered most of his belongings, his heart pounding not just with the rush of the theft-like mission, but with the realization that this was a goodbye. Goodbye to the life he had known, the life he was leaving behind.
As he was about to leave, a small, sentimental part of him urged him to take a last look around. The room, though barren and small, had been both a prison and a sanctuary - a place where Harry's frustrations and dreams grew side by side. It was here that he had d-eamt of a different life, a life of magic and adventure. And now, that life was calling for him, louder than ever.
Harry let Hedwig out of her cage. "Go girl, you will find me," Harry told his companion, knowing that the snow-white owl would be a giveaway. The bird chirped affectionately, landing on the boy's shoulder. Giving his ear a last little bite, Hedwig took off, flying into the dark.
With his belongings secured and his heart set on the path ahead, Harry stepped out of the house at Privet Drive, closing the door softly behind him. There was no fanfare, no dramatic goodbye, just a silent departure into a new chapter, a chapter where he was no longer just Harry Potter, but someone his enemies were to fear, someone who would take them down with all that was needed. He was treading a delicate path in a world both familiar and full of dangers, a balancing act he had to maintain for now.
The Knight Bus was his next destination, as it was his best bet of transportation. Using his broom would have been a high risk and he hadn't yet learned to apparate. Standing next to the street in front of Privet Drive, Harry held up his wand, calling the bus. Mere seconds later a loud bang announced the arrival of the three-story vehicle, skidding to a stop right in front of Harry.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor this-" Stan Shunpike started to talk away, just as Harry remembered it from his first ride with the bus.
"Hello." Harry interrupted dryly, trying to stop the conversation in its tracks, as he wasn't in the mood for small talk. "How much is a ride to the leaky cauldron?"
"In a hurry are ya?" An irritated Stan scolded, seeming more than annoyed with the disturbance. "It's eleven sickles, but you can have-" He started again, trying to sell Harry other goods with the ride.
"Thank you, only the ride will do." Harry interrupted Stan again, knowing the offers already. He didn't like being this rude, but he had to cover his tracks and the risk of slipping information grew with every single word he said. He took a galleon out of his pocket and gave it to the conductor.
"Ok, Ok. Jump in." Stan huffed, pocketed the money and gave Harry his change, leaving the door open for Harry to get on the bus. "An' off we go, Ernie," the unkempt man shouted to the driver in the front seat.
The Knight Bus lurched forward with its typical reckless speed, the world outside the windows blurring into streaks of colour as they sped through the streets of London. Harry held to his seat tightly, his legs keeping the luggage in place that pertained all of his belongings. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of nostalgia; the last time he was on the bus, he was a much different person. He missed being the innocent Boy-Who-Lived, having nothing else to fear than the Dursleys. Now, under the guise of his new appearance, he felt both free and isolated, he was a lone traveller into uncertainty.
As the bus rattled and swayed, Harry's mind wandered back to the tasks ahead. He needed to access his vault at Gringotts to refill his diminished gold supply, gather some basic supplies, and most importantly, lay out his plan. He would need to get books regarding wizarding law and ancient families for that part. His time as a small boy was over, and with it the last vestiges of his childhood. Ahead lay a path filled with danger and uncertainty, but Harry felt ready. The recent events had hardened him, sharpening his focus and resolve. He had to defeat Voldemort, he couldn't live in peace while his foe was still alive.
After what seemed to be an eternity of near-misses and abrupt speed changes, the Knight Bus finally skidded to a halt.
"The Leaky Cauldron," was announced by the conductor, eliciting a happy sigh from Harry.
"Finally," Harry muttered under his breath, as he quickly disembarked the vehicle, eager to escape the chaotic ride.
As he stepped on the pavement, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Was it paranoia, or was the Ministry already on his trail? Maybe even Voldemort's followers? He quickened his pace, determined to stay a step ahead, reaching the door of the pub after a few long steps. The game of cat and mouse had begun, and Harry was not about to get caught.
The Leaky Cauldron, with its dimly lit exterior and the hum of hushed conversations, felt worlds apart from the sterile suburbs of Surrey. The air was filled with a tangy aroma of fresh barbecue food when Harry opened the door. As always, the pub seemed to be filled by only visitors barely trying to disguise their affiliation to the magical world.
Harry approached the bar, keeping his head down to avoid drawing attention. "A room for the night. Keep the rest," he said in a low, unrecognizable voice, sliding a galleon over the counter. Tom, the barman, gave him a cursory glance, nodded and gave him a key, not asking any questions.
Room secured, Harry made his way upstairs, fleeing from the tumult of the pub. Every step felt heavier than the last. The gravity of his situation was setting in; he was truly alone for now, on a path he had carved himself. He would not let anyone get hurt anymore. Nobody will be taken from him, not again. Even in disguise, his new identity also felt like a new beginning, a chance to redefine his destiny on his terms.
Entering the small, spartan room, Harry let out a sigh. It was far from the comfort of Gryffindor Tower, but it wouldn't be his space for a long time anyway. He set his belongings down and sat on the edge of the bed, his mind racing with plans and possibilities. He needed to think strategically, but still be flexible. Every single plan he forged in the past had been scrutinized, torn apart by the reality of his situation. He needed to outplay the plethora of enemies that tried to either kill him or see him rot in jail. Because not only Voldemort and his followers would be a danger to him; the ministry, corrupt and misled, posed an even bigger threat to his current situation. They had almost infinite resources to catch him and could expect the support of the general population.
As he sat there, the weight of solitude pressed down on him. He missed Ron, Hermione and all his other friends. But he needed to be prepared before returning to Hogwarts. Tomorrow, he will venture into Diagon Alley, armed with his new identity. For tonight, though, Harry allowed himself a moment of rest.
He lay back on his bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling. Letting go of the small pull on his magic, that he felt since changing his appearance. Harry could feel his features shift back to a face he was more used to. He sighed, the tension easing from his body as he watched his features revert back to the familiar ones of Harry Potter, his magic relaxing along with him. In the silence of the room, Harry Potter, the boy who had lost so much, closed his eyes. This time not to escape his reality but to brace himself on the journey ahead. It was time to secure his future.
As the dawn broke over Diagon Alley, the cobblestone street glistened with the morning dew. The shops, with their colourful facades and displays, were just beginning to stir to life. Wizards and witches, young and old, bustled through the alleys, their laughter mingling with the chime of shop bells. They chatted animatedly in clusters, waving wands and examining magical wares, their robes a swirl of colours against the backdrop of quaint storefronts.
Among them, a young man with shoulder-length grey hair and bright grey eyes navigated the bustling alley. This was Harry Potter, though no one could recognize him in his new guise. He was blending into the early morning crowd seamlessly, moving with purpose, his mind focused on the tasks ahead. His first destination was clear: Gringotts, the wizarding bank, stood as his immediate goal.
But before Harry could enter the majestic, wizarding bank, something on the Daily Prophet's stand caught his eye. It was his face, staring at him from the front page, with a headline that made his heart sink: "Harry Potter: Wanted for questioning." His gaze lingered on the page, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach. The article speculated about his involvement in recent events, painting him as a deeply troubled boy who tried to break the statute of secrecy. Harry's mind raced with the implications. This meant increased scrutiny and danger - the wizarding world, influenced by this news, would now be on the lookout for him.
Steeling himself, Harry pushed the worry to the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to get distracted now. He needed access to his vault, buy his stuff and leave Diagon Alley as quickly as possible. The danger he was in, was only rising the longer he stayed here. Every step he took, every decision from here on, had to be calculated and precise until he fixed the trouble with the ministry. Under this new pressure, Harry quickened his pace approaching the huge marble building, while avoiding eye contact with the crowd.
Arriving at the imposing white bank, Harry took a deep breath before stepping inside. The grandeur of Gringotts never failed to impress him, with its towering marble columns and the stern faces of the goblin bankers. He approached a teller, trying to keep his voice steady.
"I need access to my vault," Harry announced to the goblin. "It is the number 687," he hastily added, putting his key on the counter.
The goblin teller, with a discerning look, peered at him. "Follow me," it said curtly.
As they walked, memories of his first visit to Gringotts with Hagrid flooded his mind, a stark contrast to his lonely journey now. Harry's mind was racing. They were going a different way.
They walked for a while, before reaching the grand entrance of a goblin's office, Harry's heart was thumping with a mix of fear and nervousness. The door was a masterpiece of goblin craftsmanship, towering and formidable. Made of what appeared to be solid iron, it was embossed with intricate designs that seemed to tell a story of ancient goblin wars, mythical creatures, and long-lost treasures. The reliefs were so finely detailed that the figures seemed almost alive, with warriors brandishing tiny, perfectly shaped weapons and dragons with scales that shimmered in the dim light of the underground corridor.
"Go in, he is waiting for you," the leading goblin instructed Harry in a no-nonsense voice.
With a deep breath, Harry reached out and grasped the handle. The sheer size of the entrance and the wealth displayed cowering him. The metal felt cold and slightly rough under his fingers. He pushed, and to his surprise, the door opened smoothly, despite the weight, and revealed the opulent office in it.
As Harry stepped into the chamber, the first thing that struck him was the lavishness of the room. The walls, hewn from ancient stone, shimmered with thousand small gold and silver scales, reflecting the flickering light of the emerald-encased lamps that hung from the high, arched ceiling. The floor was a mosaic of rare stones, each piece placed into the sprawling form of a dragon hoarding a mountain of treasure. The room was dominated by a massive desk of dark wood in its middle.
Behind it sat a goblin, its sharp features accentuated by the dim light, casting deep shadows across his wrinkled, leathery face. His eyes, piercing and intelligent, flicked up to regard Harry with a mixture of curiosity and caution. His aura showed a distinct seniority, something he never had seen with any other goblin.
"Hello, Mister Potter. I am Garnok, the president of Gringotts," the old goblin introduced himself. "Come join me."
Harry's heart pounded. "How did you know?"
"Goblins, especially old ones, have a way with magical signatures. Yours is unique. It shares a lot with your fathers, but is very distinct," Garnok explained, a frown marrying his face, as if he was trying to figure him out. "Now come and sit," he snapped just a moment's notice later.
Harry nodded, realizing the depth of goblin magic. More at ease, he approached the desk, noticing the intricate details of the goblin's attire - a finely tailored waistcoat adorned with shimmering threads, and cufflinks that glinted with huge rubies. The goblin's fingers, long and dexterous, were adorned with several elegant, gold rings, each set with a stone that seemed to glow faintly in the lamplight. Everything he saw screamed wealth.
"You do not have to worry, Mister Potter," the goblin tried to calm the nervous boy. "We at Gringotts value client confidentiality above all else. We will not divulge your presence here with your ministry."
Garnok's eyes seemed to bore into Harry's as he spoke again, his voice carrying an undercurrent of seriousness. "You are here for more than just a visit to your vault, Mister Potter. You are the last Potter that belongs to this world, and with that comes certain responsibilities and a big problem."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. A big problem? Why did things always have to be difficult for him?
"The Potter lordship," Garnok continued, "is yours by right of blood. However, there is an issue. The lord ring, a symbol of your family's legacy and a source of considerable influence has gone missing. After Lord Charlus Potter's disappearance, the whereabouts of the ring are unknown, and it must be found. Until then you must take up your role without it."
Harry's mind was reeling. A lord ring? Missing? And what about this Charlus Potter?
Garnok, sensing the overwhelm, leaned forward. "Fear not, for there is an heir ring in the Potter vault. It does not possess the magical ability of the lord ring and you won't be able to control the Potter wards, but it holds significant political power. It will aid in solving your little issue with the Department of Justice," the goblin explained with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. It was a sight Harry had not expected.
"Why are you helping me, Sir?" Harry questioned the goblin in suspicion. "What is in it for you?"
The president showed him a huge grin in response, his yellow, uneven teeth reflecting the greenish light of the room. He was seemingly pleased with the question. "That is a really good question, Mister Potter. Especially young humans tend to trust blindly," the old creature sighed, "most don't get less foolish. It gives me hope that you aren't one of them."
Garnok's eyes seemed to bore in his own again. This time he noticed something searching in his mind, prodding and poking on its way through his memories. Seemingly satisfied with his findings, the feeling stopped abruptly.
"I am sorry, I had to do that, Mister Potter," the goblin continued, genuine remorse marrying its features. "I had to make sure that you are trustworthy. Now that I know you are, I can explain."
"At the beginning of the first rise of Voldemort," the goblin started, mentioning the name of the Dark Lord with deep hatred, "he tried to extinguish his most dangerous foes quickly. Dumbledore was out of his reach at that time, staying in the safety of the Hogwarts vault for most of the year. So he looked for another victim. It was my dear friend Charlus and his wife Dorea that he visited. Their research capabilities were too big of a risk for the Dark Lord. So he went to their home and tried to kill them, where they were thought to be safe," Garnok creaked out in pure emotion.
The hate the goblin felt for Tom Riddle was evident, the creature didn't cope well with the loss of its friend. Trembling it continued, "He had broken through the wards, and had already entered the house when they woke up. They had no chance, nothing was left of them, not even the ring. Everything exploded when a wayward spell hit the prototype Charlus was working on," Garnok choked out, his throat seemingly having closed by silent tears running over his cheeks, "it doesn't make sense, these rings should even withstand Fiendfyre ."
Harry's head started to pound with an impeding headache, all the information confusing him greatly. His grandfather had been killed by Voldemort as well. How should he find the ring now?
"I'm sorry Garnok," Harry tried to calm the pained goblin, who was sobbing silently, "I've lost friends as well, I can understand your hurt."
Nodding gratefully, the bank president looked into Harry's eyes. "Thank you," drying his tears, he continued, "That is why I help you. I want Voldemort dead, and I want Charlus's family to survive."
"I will assist you with anything I can within the confines of Gringotts," he explained, his expression turning sombre. "Our relationship with the wizarding world is delicate though, Mister Potter. We cannot risk another war. Our assistance must be discreet, limited to financial advice and the safekeeping of your assets."
Harry understood. The goblin was offering what support he could, but the weight of the responsibility was his to bear alone. He would have to navigate the complexities of wizarding politics, find the missing lord ring, and fight his foe.
Garnok extended a gnarled hand, on which lay a small, intricately designed ring. "This is the heir ring. Take it, Harry Potter, and with it, embrace your heritage and the challenges it brings."
As Harry reached out to take the ring, a sense of determination settled over him once again. He would be Lord Harry Potter soon. It was time to bring the Potters back to the glory they had.