To Ride the Carousel Again

Chapter 4

The rights to the easily recognizable character in this story belong to JK Rowling.
And others.
I make nada, zip, zilch from this writing.

"How did I miss all this the first time around?" he thought

/*

Approx. 6,100 words.

/*

Bemusedly, Harry shrugged his shoulders, walked up the steps, and stepped through the doors into the still-open goblin bank.

"Hmm. Happy birthday to me, I guess."

/*

Once in the lobby, the space looked the same as he remembered from three years ago. His time.

Harry saw the lobby floor was less crowded and with fewer tellers working on the high benches behind their windows sorting coins and jewels then he remembered. He had to wait behind two others before standing in front of a grumpy-looking goblin who looked as though he wanted to be shot of the whole day.

"What?" was the nasty-toned voice from above him.

In fact, Harry had had to stop some distance away from the counter as he was now too short to see the seated goblin at normal adult range.

"I need to make a withdrawal, convert some of the money to English pounds, and I want to see someone about my account."

"Key."

Harry dug for a moment in a robe pocket and handed it to the goblin, who examined it closely.

Handing back the key, he told Harry to sit over on a bench against the rear wall until a cart driver came for him. The driver, he said, would take him to his account manager after he had been to his vault.

The wait was short, and the ride was as much fun as he had remembered from his first year.

After giving his key to the goblin, he watched as with much gear whirling and clanking, the vault door opened.

The pile of gold looked just as large as it had seemed in his first year. When he wondered aloud as to where he was going to carry a mass of galleons, the cart driver sold him 'an official Gringotts money bag, non-summonable, non-switchable, feather-light, and expansion space charmed. Will hold up to two thousand galleons and will not let anyone else remove money from it,' for the paltry sum of four galleons.

Harry handed over four galleons, and put up with the goblin's smirk, as he figured he had just been nobbled, but he didn't want to leave the vault empty-handed.

And soon after shoveling a mass of galleons into his bank bag and another wild cart ride, he was taken along several dark walled passageways to an elaborately carved wooden door made from some type of black wood.

The goblin made a gesture that caused the door to sound as though someone had knocked on it. After a moment, the door opened and without a word, the cart driver waved Harry inward.

As the door closed behind him, he took stock of the room. Many very sharp, and pointy-looking weapons adorned the wall behind the large desk made of what looked like the same wood as the door behind him. The other two walls he could see were shiny black, but plain, and contained the light sconces that brightly lit the office.

An old, scarred, nasty-looking goblin dressed in a muggle-inspired, dark grey pinstriped three-piece suit, was seated behind the desk. The red cravat he was wearing was the only colour in the room. The mean-set, black eyes in the scarred visage seemed to find Harry wanting.

Harry was silently pointed to sit in the right-hand chair of the two sitting in front of the desk.

Without a preamble, the goblin started talking. "My name is Tongueripper. After severe trials against several other claimants, I was awarded the position of Account Manager for the Potter family over seventy years ago. For decades, your grandfather, Fleamont Potter, and I made great strides in accumulating wealth for the Potter family."

The goblin paused. The pause continued as his glare increased. "Unfortunately, when he died fourteen years ago, the family's financial responsibilities fell to your father, James Potter."

Harry was getting worried. The goblin's rant seemed to be gathering steam. Hagrid had said that goblins were not the friendliest of creatures, but this seemed beyond anything even Erzelkendis had said about how goblins acted. The teller at the counter had been rather curt, but business-like.

"Do you have any idea how much Lord Fleamont and I worked, and sweated, to put enough galleons in your family vaults and profits on your investment sheets (Vaults? Harry thought. "Doesn't that mean more than one?) for me to become a Senior Account Manager? Do you have any idea the prestige and financial rewards I reaped from that promotion?"

Tongueripper seemed to try to rein himself in, but apparently failed, as his voice kept rising when he started speaking again. "Your grandfather and I were a measly twelve thousand seven hundred and thirty-two galleons, nine sickles, and 14 knuts away from me being promoted to Overseer Account Manager, which you, in your ignorance, do not know, is a huge step up in both monetary and societal rewards. Most unfortunately he died, and your sire stopped taking my advice, and even delayed taking up his Lordship."

"Then he started wasting his inheritance, giving it away to that feckless group of wand-wavers Dumbledore the Profligate sponsored against the Usurper. Do you have any idea what it is like to have the chance to move up into the Gringotts elite, and then not only have it snatched away but then have the gold in the vaults you invest from sink to such a level that I was demoted back to a simple Account Manager who now has to additionally work on several far less prestigious accounts? DO YOU?!" he snarled.

The by now very angry goblin was standing behind his desk, leaning over it towards Harry.

"Shite," thought Harry. "I finally get away from Vernon and end up with the angry-at-everything goblin equivalent."

From somewhere, Harry gathered up a bit of backbone and said, "I am willing to listen to your advice. But, you are going to have to figure some way to keep me from having to return to my muggle guardians. If they knew I had money available to me, they would steal it down to the last knut. Which would see my account slide further down further even though I have no idea what the account manager levels mean."

"BAH!" hurtled from across the desk. "You're already on thin lava crust around here. You have ignored all the owls I have sent to you for a meeting. And now you say you have muggle guardians? Only Muggleborn have muggle guardians."

"And you, Mister Potter, are not a Muggleborn," came the bitten-off statement from the seriously upset goblin.

"Are you wanting to add the presumption that the man named as your magical guardian has left you ignorant of your obligations as a Lord of House? We do not like Albus Dumbledore in these halls, but even he could not legally keep you in ignorance of the heritage of your family."

"What the . . .? How is Dumbledore my 'magical guardian'? And why did he never tell me he was?"

"True, but he can do it illegally. And he has." The statement just popped out of Harry's mouth.

Harry tried not to quail in his chair as the heavily breathing goblin glared at him balefully.

Slowly straightening in his chair, Harry tried to keep his trembling from showing in his hands as he spread them.

"I have never received an owl message about my account, nor any requests, or demands for any meetings with Gringotts," he stated flatly.

"Your quarterly vault statements all had a note saying I was interested in meeting you along with your guardian," growled the obviously annoyed goblin.

If Erzelkendis had not made it very clear to him that going to Gringotts was supremely important to getting free of both his lard-hog-imitating relatives, and a meddlesome Headmaster who seemed to be able to run all parts of Harry's life, he would have cowered away from the enraged Account Manager and left the office.

However, since his visit to the death lands, Harry had decided to keep the 'Harry with backbone and cheek' personality around. He was tired of being resigned to the Fates seeming to constantly mess with his life. Time to push back.

Harry widened his eyes for that 'I'm innocent' look. "I don't understand. I am here now and available for any such meeting you want to have as long as it is not harmful to me. And I see no reason to include my supposed Magical Guardian in this meeting. Why should I include him when apparently he has not done anything for me?"

It had been a long three days after his return, with Harry and Hedwig trapped by the small-minded stupidity of his relatives. Exhausted as he had been during his mind-numbing chores, it was the first time he had really thought about why he was where he was, and how had he gotten sentenced to the Privet Prison of Durskaban.

He had not liked the conclusions he had come to. Everything he had read from Upper Management, or been told about by Erzelkendis, pointed out that Headmaster Dumbledore had hidden his family history away from him. Had hidden his money away from him. Was controlling who he was friends with, and was it Snivellus, Dumbledore, or a combination of the two, that had him influenced by potions and spells?

Potions and magical-type drugging that as far as he could tell were to keep him ignorant and pliable.

He desperately wanted to talk to Hermione to see what conclusions she would draw. Unfortunately, he did not think she would see the pattern the same as he had. She was only twelve, and Harry remembered at that age she still had her almost unhealthy respect for those in authority. Especially Dumbledore and McGonagall. They were why she talked the hat into sorting her into Gryffindor.

Tongueripper peered at the scrawny, under-fed-looking boy in front of him. If he took the boy at his word, then Albus Dumbledore was not performing his duties as the boy's guardian. The reasoning was thin, but perhaps it would be in his interest to listen and possibly get the young Lord access to his vaults. Perhaps even his Lordship.

The problem would be that it would be easy to get the young Potter recognized as the Heir Potter. But, getting him acknowledged as such would still leave him controlled by his magical guardian, Dumbledore.

Declaring him Lord Potter would be tougher. Much tougher. Gringotts could not just declare him to be the House Lord. But if it were possible, young Potter could become independent of the duplicitous old wizard.

It had become enshrined in treaty law after the last Fight for Freedom that the goblins would become the arbiters of any House that was willing to use them as holders of their succession protocols. If they were used so, their rulings would be held as having primacy during succession disputes.

Most non-gullible Houses would end up using the non-bribable goblin bank as their primary succession dispute resolution. Ministry workers and even solicitors were biddable to change documentation with the proper amount of gold offered. It had to be done very carefully because if the loser wanted revenge, assassination was the preferred method.

The problem he had with young Harry was that there was no Potter succession protocol on file with Gringotts. Additionally, Tongueripper had tried years ago to get a copy of the Potter protocols from the Ministry and had been informed the Potter parent's will and House protocols had been sealed solely on the word of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore.

The goblin's gaze suddenly sharpened as he now stared at the young Heir. The pattern clues were tenuous, but Tongueripper was beginning to believe them. And maybe, just maybe, Heir Potter could activate the Potter vaults, and with their gold available, Tongueripper could start the long climb back to Gringotts respectability.

Harry had no idea what was going on in the goblins' mind, but he saw his eyes had widened just a bit, and he thought maybe he had been successful.

"Mister Potter, it is late, and you have caught me unprepared for a lengthy session. Perhaps you return in the morning and we can start fresh. Is that acceptable?"

Harry thought it was a great idea, but tried hard not to leap at it like a kneazle kitten at a string. "Due to my age, could I get an employee to actually rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron so no one wonders why young Harry Potter is by himself in the Alley?"

"Done, Mister Potter. I will have someone meet you in the lobby."

With that, the goblin pressed a spot on his desk, and after two quiet minutes broken only by the skritch-skritch of some writing tool used by Tongueripper, a young goblin entered the office and took him through the hallways to the lobby.

There, after changing many galleons into pound notes, Harry met a nondescript man in a dark grey cloak, who as they walked down Diagon Alley, told Harry to wait just outside the Alley entrance as he entered the Leaky Cauldron.

Five minutes later after trading two galleons for four sickles change, a key, and a room number, Harry was sitting in a booth wolfing down a thick mutton stew and half a loaf of bread for dinner with butterbeer for washing it down,

Feeling uncomfortably overstuffed when he was done, he casually made sure no one was watching as he went up the stairs to his room. He was surprised to find it was the same room he had, or would have, or now might have, next year after blowing up Marge the Barge.

But as he was not going to be there next summer, he would not have the satisfaction of blowing up the vile woman. Last time he had been terrified he would have his wand snapped and be expelled from the wizarding world. Now he figured he could beat the rap.

Harry had a bad moment as he took his trunk out of his pocket, set it on the floor, and went to tap the lid with his wand to enlarge it. He froze, staring at it on the floor.

This would be performing underage magic. Not accidental magic, such as blowing up Marge, but deliberate use of magic outside of school and under seventeen.

He thought back to several of the discussions that had happened in the common room during his last two years. Finding out the Purebloods could use some minor magic at home because the Ministry made the assumption that it was the adults performing the spells had caused some hard feelings for a while. The Muggle-born participants in the discussion had loudly made their unhappiness with the situation known.

Those from magical households merely shrugged their shoulders and said that's the way it was.

So, now Harry had to decide. Would all the adults here in the Alley, and especially in the Leaky, screen him from however the Ministry tracked his magic?

Being wrong would probably see him back with his relatives again, and Dumbledore would probably tighten his leash.

Harry tapped his trunk, watched it enlarge, sat on the bed, and waited. And waited. After fifteen minutes, the pressure of his worry lifted. As long as he wasn't seen casting magic, he now figured he was safe here in Diagon Alley.

A quick change into his ragged sleep clothes and Harry lay on the bed. He thought he might be too excited to sleep, but he considered he had had a successful day. He was away from the Dursleys and with a bit of luck, he would be Lord Potter, able to tell Dumbledore to stick it where the sun don't (1) shine, and never see his relatives ever again.

That was such a pleasant thought that the exhausted, full of food Harry, was asleep before he knew it.

And once again, dreams of "Kill the spare," while present, were seemingly distant and not quite a nightmare.

Oooooo vvvvvv oooooO

The bright sunshine, coupled with his wand vibrating loudly on the side table, woke Harry the next morning. A quick pass at his morning's ablutions, a hearty breakfast wolfed down, and he entered Gringotts just before nine o'clock.

Harry slowly walked over to a well-dressed goblin seated behind a light-coloured wood desk by the back wall of the lobby that Tongueripper had told him to approach this morning.

"I'm here to meet with Account Manager Tongueripper," said Harry said quietly, working hard to keep any hints of nervousness out of his voice and posture.

The goblin nodded and pressed a symbol on his desk.

Just as Harry was wondering what to do next, a young goblin popped out of a door hidden around the end of the teller counter and after exchanging some goblin speech, turned to Harry and with a heavy accent said, "Folla mye."

It was heavily accented English, but the intent was clear.

Harry had never considered before that English was a second language for goblins who wanted to work at the bank. Apparently, some goblins had problems with learning a second language just like humans.

After following his guide through a series of hallways, Harry found himself in front of a familiar heavily carved black wood door. And again, at a gesture from the goblin, the door sounded as though someone had knocked upon it. As it opened, Harry was gestured inside.

The room was as last night, except the rapidly writing Tongueripper's desk was covered with file folders, parchment rolls, and a peculiar-looking wide, shallow bowl. He decided to sit in the same chair as last night.

In less than a minute, the goblin laid his looked-like-a-dragon-fang pen down and looked across at Harry.

"Mister Potter, today we will go through the parchmentwork needed to have you declared officially as Heir Potter. I also have the accounting of your family's vaults, your Trust Vault, company shares and ownerships, and family properties."

"Come here to the desk. Cut the palm of your hand and put thirteen drops of blood into this basin. Here is the knife to be used. The cuts are painful but self-healing."

Harry stood with the knife poised over the palm of his left hand for a moment. He was no stranger to pain, but doing it to himself?

"Come, come, Mister Potter. Time is money, and this potion has a short potency span."

Harry dragged the glistening, silver knife across the palm of his hand and directed the blood that ran out into the basins' silvery liquid.

As soon as the thirteenth drop hit the liquid, it changed to a bright red. Tongueripper handed Harry a damp cloth, "Hand," that when he rubbed his palm, it stopped the pain, the bleeding, and left no scarring.

The goblin then submerged a pink parchment in the liquid and prodded it down into the potion with a golden-coloured rod until it all was submerged.

Tongueripper carefully pulled the parchment out of the basin by a corner. As he did it seemed to dry immediately Harry noticed. Laying it down on another parchment, the goblin then used a golden pen to write 'Harry James Potter' with golden ink in the lower center.

Nothing happened.

Tongueripper growled out some goblin words that Harry suddenly knew were not for polite company to hear and rewrote the name.

Again nothing.

Inspiration struck Harry. "Account Manager, perhaps if you were to use my correct name, your magical parchment would work?"

Tongueripper whipped his head up to attempt to set Harry on fire from the power of his glare.

"If you write Harald, H-A-R-A-L-D James Potter, maybe then it will work."

The goblin looked surprised, before quickly writing Harald James Potter on the pink parchment.

As Tongueripper sat muttering in goblin to himself, Harry watched hungrily as golden lines began to connect his name to golden script names. First his parents, then his grandparents, then ancestors. The only one Harry recognized, besides his parents, was the unusual name of Fleamont Potter from Tongueripper's rant last night.

But they were all now his family. He had family beyond his spiteful aunt, his abusive uncle, and their baby hippo-sized son.

The generations revealing stopped abruptly at only five generations. At Harry's look, the goblin stated that this particular test was much less expensive than a full test that would run back as far as goblins could trace wizarding bloodlines. This test had already cost Harry fifty galleons (£ 1,750 pounds). Lucky for him the cost of this test would be automatically borne by the Potter vaults. Otherwise, the cost would have been his alone from his trust vault. (2)

A full test, if Harry wanted one in the future, would be two hundred galleons. (£ 7,000.00)

"The bloodline test verifies you are Harald James Potter, son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Evans Potter," stated the goblin formally. For some reason, Harry thought there was a sharper undertone of dislike when he said his mother's name.

Tongueripper handed Harry a small box. "Place the ring on the middle finger of your right hand."

When he opened it, he saw a gold ring with what seemed to him to be a large, rather crudely cut dull red gemstone surrounding a glassy black stone with a gold 'P' set in the black stone.

He placed the ring on the middle finger of his left hand. The band glowed blue for a moment as it resized itself to his finger. Then a swirl of mixed red and gold visible magic flowed around his hand

"Very good, Heir Potter. The family magics have accepted you as the proper heir. After you sign some of the parchmentwork required by the Ministry, I want you to go down to your vaults and find out what your access is. I actually do not know if you can get into all your family's vaults, and if it is possible to perhaps remove some objects. I do not know if you will find anything such as a copy of the protocols or Wills that I badly need. It's possible there might even be wizarding portraits of some of your ancestors."

"I do know you cannot remove any money or valuable jewelry."

At this point, he pushed three pages of parchment toward Harry and handed him a short, black feathered quill to sign with.

"The first sheet is for vault access by the Potter Heir. The other two are Ministry forms that have to be filed to notify them you have become the Heir Potter. And any correspondence they send you should be addressed to Heir Potter, of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter."

"What if I do not want the Ministry to know I have officially become Heir Potter?" Harry questioned.

The goblin Account Manager froze in confusion at Harry's question.

"Heir Potter, what possible reason could you have for not wanting the Ministry to acknowledge your new status?"

Harry paused as he marshaled his thoughts. "Account Manager, as I have said, if my muggle guardians ever found out about my inheritance, they would work very hard at stealing all of it. Secondly, if Headmaster Dumbledore is truly my magical guardian, then he has obviously not been performing his duties properly."

Harry knew he wasn't, but didn't know how to give that information to his account manager.

"You are not happy with Headmaster Dumbledore, and neither am I," he continued. "And I believe that as soon as he finds I have become Heir Potter, he will find some way to restrict my access to my vaults, and probably restrict allowing you to use Potter gold to start investing for profits once again."

Harry then stared hard at the goblin across from him, willing him to understand that having word flash to Dumbledore would likely mean a bad ending to Harry's drive for independence.

"I believe I understand your problems, young heir. There are methods to keep your heirship from being spread about the Ministry. We shall use one." Tongueripper replied thoughtfully. "Another way to preserve secrecy is to hide your Heir ring in public. All Heir rings can be willed into invisibility. Concentrate on making it disappear."

Harry did so and was surprised as the ring faded from sight in just seconds. He could still feel it, but could not see it.

"To make the ring visible again, concentrate on it reappearing"

Harry did, and it did.

Tongueripper grunted, bringing Harry's attention back to him. "Heir Potter, this is called a Blood Quill. It will use your blood as its ink. We use it here for the most important documents to prevent fraud as a magical blood signature cannot be faked in any way. It will hurt briefly when you sign your name with it."

Harry shrugged and went to start signing the first sheet. Suddenly he stopped. If his real name was Harald, how was he supposed to write his signature?

He could see Tongueripper starting to glare at him and raised his hand in the universal sign of 'Stop, I'm thinking'. Nobody knew him as Harald Potter at the moment. The whole magical world thought he was Harry Potter.

Harry focused his thousand-yard stare and found he was peering straight into the eyes of his Account Manager.

Drawing all the adult gravity he could muster, he asked, "Account Manager Tongueripper, as the inheritance test has shown, my True Name is Harald. And that Harry is actually a dum .. a dimoon .. is not my actual name. It is a version like Rick or Rich for the name Richard. To my knowledge, you and I are the only persons alive who know this."

Person? That is an interesting term for a young lordling to use," flitted across the goblin's mind.

"My question is, how do I have to sign this official, ministry family inheritance document and still have it be legal? I do not want my true name to be known by others at this time. For you know, and I know, the Ministry cannot keep anything secret."

Harry carefully placed the quill down and peered at Tongueripper. The goblin meanwhile had something that for the first time was not a look of animosity or anger at Harry on his face.

It took a whole minute of silence before the goblin spoke. "The Blood Quill uses your blood as a magical identification. Unless there is intent to defraud using the signature, it will accept Harry James Potter as your identity. However, to avoid giving Dumbledore any chink in your armour, perhaps you should sign as H. J. Potter?"

"I thank you for informing me of your . . hidden True Name. Upon your ascension to Lord Potter, you will have to use your name as given to you by your parents. I will keep your information private until then."

Harry nodded, picked up the quill, and studied each form intently. They seemed to be what Tongueripper said they were, so he signed H. J. Potter three times. By the last signature, the back of Harry's hand was burning. As the parchment was gathered by Tongueripper, he passed Harry another cloth and told him to rub it on the back of his hand to heal it.

The goblin passed him a flap-closed folder stuffed with parchments. "Try to study and understand as much as you can about your financial records. If you find anything useful, or even possibly useful, in your family's vaults, bring it here tomorrow morning at half nine."

"Your pardon, Account Manager, but I have a meeting planned for tomorrow. The day after, however, will work."

A surly grunt from the parchment-studying goblin was the only response.

A moment later, a cart driver entered the office and Harry followed him down to the cart line and loaded himself onboard for the ride to his Trust Vault first.

This cart driver was a little less polite than the other drivers he remembered. "Key" was all he said before opening the door. This time instead of hastily scooping galleons into his bag as fast as possible, due to nerves or because he felt he was embarrassing the Weasleys, he looked around the vault closely.

Nothing. The vault was bare except for the large pile of gold.

Noting the driver had gone back to slump in his cart, Harry tried something that just occurred to him.

"I am Harald James Potter," he said quietly.

Nothing happened.

Harry shrugged. He had hoped, but actually expected nothing.

A long, swooping ride later, the cart stopped in front of Vault twenty-three. The doors were huge, twelve feet tall at least, Harry figured. And were elaborately carved

This time the cart driver showed Harry where to place his hand to find out if the vault would open for him.

Placing his hand where shown, a small, unexpected sting bit him in the palm. Three seconds later, with much clanking and groaning that bespoke of lack of use, the left-hand door opened partway. Just enough for Harry to edge into the room.

"Well, this is different, he thought. Instead of piles of gold, there were piles of furniture, rugs, tapestries, clothes, paintings, and more furniture. As he looked he noted the piles were sorted into open-sided wood boxes that protected the couches, chairs, and tables from damage from whatever was on top of whichever.

Also, books. Lots and lots of books. "I'd lose Hermione in here for a week," he thought. "And the only way I'd get her out would be by carrying her because she would pass out due to lack of food and sleep."

He noted the lack of dust and absence of rot on the cloths. "Goblin or Potter preservation charms? I wonder which?"

Just in case, he repeated his full name in the vault. Again, nothing.

As an experiment though, he picked up a book to take out. Rather thin, with a brown leather cover. Charms for the Charming he noted on the binding. Hmm, maybe Hermione might be interested in reading it. He made it to the door before the book suddenly flew from his hands back to the desk it had been sitting on.

Exiting the vault, a slightly disappointed Harry let the goblin close the door. After all, he was so small, "Again," he grumped, that he just let the experienced goblin do his job.

The next vault was just around the corner, but from here he could see deeper into the cavern depths and there was a sleeping, whitish-coloured dragon down a level and a couple of hundred feet away.

I come in peace dragon. No fake egg stealing today," he thought.

After getting his hand pricked again by the door, it groaned and clanked while opening. The noise was loud enough that it set off the dragon which spent several minutes roaring and shooting swathes of fire around it to scare any intruders.

"Great, now a roaring dragon gives me a headache," he thought feeling a faint throbbing building in his forehead.

The small mountains of gold were the first thing to strike him. "Tongueripper thinks I'm poor? How can I be poor with this huge amount of gold?"

He started to reach into his pocket where he had put the parchmentwork Tongueripper had given him but stopped himself. He could look at it later.

As he looked closer, he could see chests, some chests of drawers, a collection of shiny, sharp, and pointy weapons that a goblin could appreciate, along with several suits of metal armour, and some that looked like coloured leather, . . . with scales?

"Wonder if that's dragon hide armour?" he thought. "Hermione said while we were studying to save me from the dragons in the first task that one of the uses of dragon hide was spell-resistant armour."

An urge to look deeper in the vault had Harry walk between several wardrobes. There. On a white stone plinth stood a white stone lectern that Harry felt drawn to. Reaching it, he saw a slim, maroon-coloured journal sitting on the lectern. A stylized 'P' was embossed on the cover.

He went to open the cover, he felt a small prick to his finger and a small drop of blood was absorbed by the cover. Before the pages was a folded piece of parchment and a stuffed oversized bulky envelope. As he looked closer, he wondered how the parchment and the over-stuffed envelope let the cover lay flat with all that inserted underneath it.

He shrugged. Magic.

Opening the folded letter, he started reading.

/*

Dearest Harald,

If you are reading this then your father and I did not hide from

Voldemort as well as we wanted.

Since we are dead, it means that we were betrayed by a person we thought was a true friend. We were hiding under a Fidelius Charm, before you were born due to a prophecy about you and Voldemort.

Albus Dumbledore convinced us of two things. First, was to leave the heavily warded Potter Manor and hide in a place where he said no one would know where we were.

Second, as Sirius was too well known, we should use someone else as Secret Keeper

We chose our friend, Peter Pettigrew. Since we are dead, then he is the one who betrayed us. He is/was a rat animagus. Your father says 'kill the rat'.

The point of this is, too many coincidences have occurred lately, and they all involve Albus Dumbledore. Do not put your trust in

the man.

Whichever family you ended up living with from the list in our Wills, be discrete and try not to let AD have too much influence in your life.

With all our Hearts,

Lily and James, your Loving Parents

/*

It was many minutes before the tears lessened, and Harry could see again.

"How messed up is this," he thought. "Thanks to having died seven bloody times, I now know there is a prophecy, I knew Sirius is my godfather, and I already know about the rat. Erzelkendis and Upper Management have certainly implied that Dumbledore is not working in my best interests. I was beginning to think they were right, and now my parents are telling me the same thing from their graves."

Opening the envelope, Harry found a pleasant surprise. The Protocols for Ascension to Lordship of the House of Potter spanned two sheets of parchment. Tongueripper would be pleased. "I hope."

Another sheet had a letter signed by James Charlus Potter attesting to the fitness of one Harald James Potter to become Lord Potter. "Hope that's one of the Protocols requirements."

A fourth sheet had a huge smile break out on Harry's face. "Tongueripper is thinking like an adult, a banker with banker ambitions. This is so much better than anything else in this vault".

And finally, copies of the Potter parents' Wills. "Didn't Tongueripper say that no one knew what was in my parents' Wills because they had been sealed by the Wizengamot due to Dumbledore demanding it?"

Harry stepped on the temptation to start reading all these sheets right there in the vault. The want to talk to Hermione was almost a physical knot in his chest. But to her, this was only after the Philosopher's Stone adventure. She didn't have three more years of the basilisk, dementors, the tournament, and the vivid remembrance of his death, that was colouring Harry's reactions to his life here and now.

She was the most brilliant person he knew. She was the one who never abandoned him. Never.

And now he could not talk freely with her, plan with her, or plot with her. He had to keep a huge secret from her.

Harry suddenly felt more alone than at any point since he boarded the Hogwarts Express as a first-year student.

A/N:

One: Deliberate word choice. The word Doesn't ain't quite as spiteful.

Two: I do not like canon 5 galleons per English pound.

For this story,

1 galleon = 35 pounds (About 47-48 Dollars U.S.)

1 sickle 17s/gl = about 2 pounds (About $2.70 U.S.)

1 knut 29 k/s = about 7 pence (About $0.10 U.S.)