To Ride the Carousel Again
Chapter 9
Disclaimer: I make no money playing in JKR's sandpile.
No fame either.
Bummer.
And the first non-Harry effect is . . .
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Approx. 6,300 words.
*/
Harry woke slowly. Somehow his subconscious must have told him to feel safe in his bed last night. Even though it was early, Harry did not mind. He was used to getting up early and being about his day. Maybe the remembrances of the Dursleys forcing him up early to continue his unrelenting work at their house was not good, but it stood him in good stead at Hogwarts.
Both he and Hermione were among the early risers. Especially after Ron had deserted him when his name was ejected out of the Goblet of Fire, and Harry decided he was under no obligation to make sure the red-headed git made it down to breakfast before classes.
He lay in his bed and slowly made up a mental list of things to do today.
Get a letter off to Mrs. Tonks about finding a Facilitator to do 'things' for him, and keep the managers of the Potter businesses and rental properties honest. Spend some time on a letter to Hermione answering a lot of her unsaid questions about why he was suddenly bad-mouthing Dumbledore.
That thought stopped him suddenly. Why was he thinking of writing her a letter? The answer, she had not asked any questions about the Manor, the elves, or elf apparition in spite of having visited the Manor, been introduced to the elves, and being elf 'popped' to the Manor and back to her home.
This not-demanding to be allowed to scoop from his brain any knowledge he had that she wanted was so un-Hermione-ish, that Harry briefly wondered if he had offended her in some way. S.P.E.W. popped to mind, and her single-minded determination to prove she was right in her crusade for elvish freedom.
Refusing to dwell on something he had no answer to, he switched to deciding if he should try to access those brokerage accounts set up by his mother, and if so, how to go about it. Maybe when the Grangers returned from holiday?
Somehow he had to plow through the accounts to possibly get an understanding of what appeared in his mind to be an ungovernable empire.
And after he got his personal money problems sorted, what was he going to do about, one, Pettigrew the rat, as Scabbers the Rat, and two, the diary and Basilisk?
Oh, and while he was thinking about it, he had better write Ron to keep him from wondering if anything was wrong at the Dursleys. A rescue that found no one to rescue could scupper all his 'avoid Dumbledore's notice' plotting.
At that moment, his seeming all-knowing snowy owl glided into his room as though he had called her.
"Sorry, girl," he scratched her chest. "I'll have to get some breakfast before I start writing letters. Tell you what. Let's go and see how much bacon Peama has cooked this morning. Suits?"
With a bark, Hedwig flew through his door that had suddenly opened for her, and disappeared. "Well, that was different, he thought, staring at the now open doorway. Putting on slippers and donning a dressing gown, Harry walked through the brightening house to the kitchen alcove.
Three fried eggs, some bacon, a couple of bangers, fried potatoes, and some wake-up Darjeeling tea overfilled his Dursley shrunken stomach, and he was ready to start the day. He swore Hedwig ate as much bacon as Ron would have.
Later in the library, he wrote his letter to Ron, saying that he was slowly doing his homework, his muggle relatives were being nicer, and he would see him for shopping in the Alley before school.
He tied it onto his eager owl's extended leg and watched her glide out, headed for the kitchen and the owl post window. Apparently, she really wanted to go on a mail delivery fly.
The letter to Solicitor Tonks he decided to write in the formality of the Lord's study. There he found copies of letters to a solicitor firm, Scroom, Wedid, and Howe. Having Ypres bring him his backpack, he looked at his Diagon Alley business map. He searched the index and the little cul-de-sacs leading off the alley, but never saw the firm mentioned.
However, the letters gave him the form of how to write to Mrs. Tonks inquiring about the possibility of vetting and hiring a House Facilitator. He decided to push the name of Remus Lupin, 'a close friend of his parents for the post. However, he stated he did not want the House of Potter mentioned to Lupin.
He had no idea if being the House of Potter Facilitator would interfere with his being offered the DADA teaching post next year, but Harry decided he needed someone who would believe him about Sirius besides Andromeda Tonks.
When he was done, Ypres popped in and coached him through how to seal an official letter using his Lord's ring. As a sudden thought struck him, Harry asked if there were any House Potter mail owls.
"There used to be, young Master, but with no mail to carry after your parents left, they turned feral and left one by one. There are none left."
"Oh, well, I guess I'll just have to wait until Hedwig returns," Harry said, mild disappointment in his voice.
"There are other ways, young Master," returned his majordomo. "Mistress Lily was not a conventional witch. For example, there are other ways to deliver wizards' mail besides an owl. You can open a floo connection and pass the envelope through the fire to another person's hand. There are pay-to-deliver owls in Diagon Alley, but they are mostly for long international mail that would exhaust a regular mail owl. Lastly, you can have Peama or I deliver the letter to its recipient.
The dignified elf paused for a moment. "She also taught us how to send and collect mail from the muggle Royal Mail Service. Someone has kept paying the rental on a post office box in the city of Bristol. I remember she was sending and receiving one, sometimes two non-magical letters per day just before she and Master James moved to their hiding place.
We have only emptied the box when we had the energy to pop over to Bristol," the ashamed elf said, looking down at his feet, embarrassed that they had somehow failed Harry and the Potter family.
"We are supposed to take any letters received and place them on a special table in her office room. The table makes letters in the month of November from magic. The letters tell the receivers to sell small amounts of something worth about five galleons and send the muggle money to a muggle bank."
"She said it was to keep the greedy government from taking over the accounts due to lack of activity."
Harry looks at Ypres, Ypres looked at Harry, and neither had any idea what her statement had meant.
"Would you go and check the mailbox now that you have recovered most of your energy sometime today?" Harry asked kindly. "Not now, later perhaps. If Hedwig doesn't get back soon, I'll have you deliver this letter to Mrs. Tonks."
Harry had missed the fact that a long trip to London would take more energy than a short 'pop' over to Bristol.
At that point, Peama popped in and announced, "Time for a filling morning tea, Master Harry. You are going to have to eat more so you can grow as big and tall as your father. Those bad people you lived with did not feed you enough. Come now."
And with those words, she started towing him out of the study towards the kitchen.
Harry spent up until lunch working on his Gringotts accounts. When that had him tearing his hair out, he suddenly found himself missing Hermione desperately. And she hadn't even left for holiday yet. To yank himself out of his developing funk, he switched to his mother's journal.
Ypres informed him that his letter had been delivered to Mrs. Tonks.
The journal was becoming his guide to the world that had been hidden from him before. How much of that hiding was deliberate on someone's part, and how much was by accident, was the question. With only Hermione and Ron as his close confidants, he was handicapped in learning much about the society he had only learned even existed when his Hogwarts letter was delivered by Hagrid.
The whole Weasley family seemed to regard the Pure-Blood part of society as something to be ignored unless it directly affected them at the moment. In fact, when they used Ron as a guide, most of his facts were right, but unless directly pressed for an answer, he never volunteered any information about the wider wizarding world.
Harry grimaced as he thought about the "You'll be next, mudbloods" satisfaction rant from Malfoy that was due this upcoming Halloween. And that reminded him that he would have to get the diary away from Ginny before it sank its evil into her mind.
Grabbing a biro and a pad of paper out of his backpack, (He needed to find another desk to work at. The Lord's study was just too stiflingly formal for him to feel comfortable in.) he wrote down all the dates that things happened this year.
Diagon Alley trip, (Oh, Great Merlin! This was the year of Gilderoy Lockhart!) Halloween with Sir Nicolas' Death Day and THE message on the wall, having his arm de-boned, Colin being petrified, being outed as a parselmouth, Finch-Fletchley and Nearly-Headless Nick petrified later. Ugh, the acromantulas. Then worst of all, Hermione, and what's-her-name, oh yeah, Penny Clearwater were the next victims just before the quidditch match against Ravenclaw. He figured he could ignore the Slytherin match rogue bludger from Dobby. They were working together this time, right?
The basilisk. What was he to do about the basilisk? Let it be? Try to kill it? Get the Ministry to kill it? That would probably get a lot of people killed, but Riddle would never be able to use the snake for killing again.
Harry loathed to admit it, even to himself, but the basilisk made him afraid. With his restored memories from Erzelkendis, he now remembered it had killed him once and Harry knew it had killed him again. Did he really think he was going to do better the third time? Maybe a bigger question was would the hat and Fawkes be there to save him? What did Man Mountain mean about a bore (1) spear? An Engorgio?
Harry wrote all this down and suddenly realized that he didn't want loose sheets of paper lying around in his trunk or desk. Calling Ypres, he asked if there was a blank journal in the house. Upon being told 'there is not,' he decided to get one.
It would appear that a trip back to Diagon Alley was in order.
No sooner had Harry decided on that trip, than Hedwig glided silently into his study, a parchment tied to her leg. Harry was surprised Ron had answered him.
On opening the letter, he saw it was from Hermione. How did she …? Harry twisted to look at his owl perched on the back of his chair and apparently ready to read Hermione's missive over his shoulder. She then shuffled impatiently and double barked at him in an obvious 'Get on with it.'
Dear Harry,
I find I am short of a travel reference or two about Italy.
So, I want to ask a huge favor of you.
Can you take that monstrous purple bus here tomorrow and then show
me how to get it to take us to Diagon Alley Thursday, late morning?
And then back to my house?
I will buy us lunch and ice cream at Fortescue's as bribery payment.
Your friend,
Hermione
P.S. Where does Hedwig put all that bacon she eats?
Is Ron her mentor, or something?
Harry had to chuckle at her Ron reference. In spite of alternating between missing his first friend and wanting to dislike the 'right foul tosser' he would/had become, Harry suddenly realized he was feeling lonely. And with Hermione leaving, it was only going to get worse.
He wrote a quick note back and after more bacon pulled-from-under-stasis bribery, the snowy owl took flight out the kitchen window.
It was late enough for afternoon tea, which he had in the garden, under the shade tree. The peace and quiet helping to settle his thoughts. He was not surprised that his thoughts settled on Hermione and then realized he was smiling as he thought about her.
Harry re-read his notes for the year, then spent the last of the afternoon working on his potions homework. His reasoning for doing it was, it would please her that he was actually doing it, and it seemed to make her happy to check and correct his homework.
Although, with almost three extra years of potions classes tucked away in his brain, he figured she would find little to correct.
/*
Thursday morning, Harry was up early, had a filling breakfast, talked with Ypres on the Diagon Alley plan, put a final polish on his homework, and made copies of his homework for Hermione to edit before having Ypres elf pop him to where he now considered his Knight Bus stop. Briskly walking to Hermione's house, he knocked and waited.
He was still surprised when as soon as the door was opened, he was gripped in a firm hug.
"Thank you for coming, Harry. I do want to get some books to take with me, but I also wanted to see you again before I leave."
They stood for a moment longer before Hermione reluctantly let him go. As he followed her into the house, Harry explained why they would need a light, open cloak to blend in with the Alley crowd better.
In fact, he stated, he wished he knew how to apply a disguising glamour to himself. He could see that his friend was skeptical about his saying how people reacted to him.
He also was losing some of his fear of discovery. But he still asked her to change her distinctive hairstyle to maybe a bun, or something?
Taking a few minutes to go upstairs and twist her hair tight against the back of her head, she gave him a 'will this do?' look and a twirl as she returned.
Checking to make sure that she had not eaten in the last hour, Harry led her to his designated bus stop and after donning his wizard cap, he raised his wand.
Within fifteen seconds, the great purple triple-decker bus came to a hissing halt next to them. Three sickles (almost 11 pounds) later, and a destination of Diagon Alley, Harry hustled Hermione into the bowels of the bus, cramming both of them into one armchair.
"Harry! What are you doing?" she exclaimed in her 'I'm shrieking, but doing it quietly' voice.
Harry didn't get a reply off before he wrapped his right arm around a grab pole and the other around his suddenly squirming friend.
The squirming and quiet shrieking was replaced by an eardrum-piercing yelp of pure terror as the bus took off with its requisite 'Bang'. Harry was now wrapped up by a land-going octopus.
He had to work at separating the sensations. Her head was buried in his neck, her panting breath hot against his collarbone. Both arms were clutching her to him like the mentioned octopus, and her jean-clad legs were clamped around his left leg.
A minute later, the bus slammed to a noisy, steaming halt, and an elderly wizard staggered off. Hermione was just becoming cognizant of the quiet and lack of motion and had started to loosen her terror strength grip, when with a 'BANG' the bus was back in its insane motion, straining Harry's grip on the pole that kept them from flying backward with the other furniture and re-activating octopus avatar Hermione.
There were two more stops before the not-Stan Shunpike conductor announced "Leaky Cauldron, all out for the Leaky Cauldron."
The pair joined half a dozen others in disembarking on shaky legs onto Charing Cross Road.
They trailed everyone else into the pub and let those not needing a tipple to ease the trauma, enter the Alley first before pulling out their cloaks, and 'wizarding' up.
By dint of sheer guilting his friend about having to carry her books the whole trip, Harry managed to get some writing supplies, order another two sets of 'muggle' clothes from Madame Malkin's, stock up on owl treats at Eyelops, and then almost silence Hermione for the rest of the trip by having his friend Mr. Wettlesgate demonstrate a three, four and five compartment trunk for Hermione.
The shock of not knowing about the possibility of having one's own small apartment in a trunk left her brain awhirl.
It must have been quite a whirl, Harry reflected as she never noticed him pulling out his Alley guide and taking her to a pair of small bookshops off the main alley that had the travel books she was looking for, and he found a pair of books on Occlumency.
He knew what was occupying her usually able to multi-task brain to the virtual exclusion of all else. It was the dream of having a private study space all her own. No need to put up with the noise and interruptions in the common room or the library.
Hermione did not come out of her introspection until Harry sat her down and pushed her chair in at a table at Fortescue's.
After ordering a banana split, no sprinkles, (she was a dentist's child after all) and Harry ordered a three-scoop strawberry boat, WITH sprinkles, he said smirking at her.
He got no reaction to his teasing back.
"Must be her brain has returned to thoughts of endless solitude in her trunk with endless books available," he thought.
"Nope, that was wrong, passed through his mind as he closely peered into Hermione's eyes. Right now, they were preternaturally calm as she looked back at him. Now that he was looking closely, he also realized her eyes looked tired, as though sleep had been hard to come by for a couple of nights.
He should have realized she was taking everything he had done that did not fit into the 'Hermione knows Harry' universe from last year, and distilling it down to questions for him.
What had Harry totally puzzled was that she had not demanded immediate answers to what she had observed. That was so unlike his Hermione of four years that he had first been puzzled, then relieved, and was now bewildered as she was acting so out of character.
Harry was fighting mightily to keep from showing his panic. What he had been dreading for a week was finally happening. Just not in the way of his wildest speculations.
Yet unlike last months Hermione, she was not glaring at him and demanding answers in that oh-so Hemione-ish, I-know-what's-best-for-you way that was second nature for her.
"Interesting," she commented dryly. "Usually by now you would be literally looking over your shoulder for a way to escape me and my questions. I almost always can get you to tell me what you are hiding, except for how your relatives treat you. And even then, what you don't talk about is informative."
Now absolutely dumbfounded by his friend's calm behavior, Harry kept trying to get his brain to sort out what had suddenly changed Hermione's behavior between the first two days he had seen her and today.
Sunday had been pure as-he-knew-her-at-twelve Hermione. Tuesday, she had been a trifle off her usual behavior when faced with a new Harry Potter situation. "Yeah, she didn't demand immediate answers," he thought. "Well, she's doing that today."
Or was she? She hadn't berated, nearly bullied, him into supplying answers. In fact, it occurred to him, she was still silently watching him closely, yet without a hint of irritability that he was not spewing forth every secret he possessed.
Playing for time, Harry asked, "What exactly do you want me to confess to?" He actually winced as he rambled. That was so-o-o- lame!
Without saying a word, she raised an eyebrow at him, calling him on his silliness.
Harry tried to speak several times, yet nothing came out of his mouth. He couldn't tell her the truth, he had been given a Higher Powers imperative that he could not speak about it to anyone. Anyone.
"Except my supposed soul mate," he thought. "Whoever and whatever that is. Upper Management is just like every other flipping adult in my world. They never give me any information or answers."
Hermione was still gazing at him from across the small table. Suddenly he thought of a lifeline. More like a small thread, but he would take anything he could get right now.
"You're right, Hermione," he said slowly, thoughtfully, and quietly. "I have learned a lot of things besides my money and investments that Gringotts has shown me I have."
He scrunched up his face as he looked her directly in the eye. "Remember, if Dumbledore or Snape ever looks you in the eye as I just did, they could, and would, read your mind of whatever you were thinking about. If you were thinking about me, then they would know my secrets that you know. I can't afford for them to know my secrets. And I will confess that there are more secrets than you have probably listed in your mind. I'm sorry, but until you can block them from your mind, I have to keep my secrets."
The look of disappointment on Hermione's face just about broke Harry's heart.
He could not take it anymore. His soft voiced, "Hermione, there is one thing I can tell you. I discovered that I was dosed last year with a wit-dulling potion and a curiosity suppression charm. I don't know why I'm being a target for these attacks and I do not know for sure who is forcing them on me, but, the fact that I am no longer under their influence is one of my secrets."
He looked away from her. "Perhaps you could help me find a solution to keep whoever it is from giving them to me again?"
Still keeping her face expressionless, she gave him a curt nod.
Seeing he was not thawing in her ire, he tried one last ploy. "This book will help you with the mind-obscuring magic I told you about," he said, handing her a copy of Mind Arts for the Artful. "You have two weeks where this could be part of your nightly reading."
Her expression did not change as she took the book and casually flipped through a few pages.
Harry was back to fighting rising panic now. Hermione Granger did not casually flip through the pages of a new book that promised new magic to learn. This was not the Hermione he was used to after four years. Maybe after one year, he could have shrugged her attitude off as puberty, a 'female thing', or he just didn't know her outside of school. Yet, his mind circled back to Sunday's visit to her house. That had felt like pure twelve-year-old Hermione.
"Maybe you can sit down and answer my questions while I am gone. Writing one's problems out often clarifies the problem. Perhaps by the time I get back, you will be able to tell me what is going on, or why you cannot tell me what is going on," she quietly proclaimed in the most adult-sounding voice he had ever heard from his friend.
Harry's throat was so tight he could not talk, so he nodded in what he hoped she took as agreement and as a peace offering, silently handed off a sheaf of parchments with most of his holiday homework to her. She just as silently tucked them into a pocket.
"I think I'd like to go home now, Harry," she said standing up and turning towards the Leaky Cauldron. Harry followed her.
/*
Harry woke Friday morning without the usual contentment that he had gained in only a few short nights spent in sleep at Potter Manor. He had trouble falling asleep and had been restless all night as his brain refused to quit thinking about his strangely acting best friend.
"Of course, I've been acting very strange also this week," he observed to himself.
Again, his thoughts drifted to Hermione. Hermione had told Harry of her family's driving schedule, and from the height of the sun, he guessed that the Grangers were about ready to board the ferry to France.
He wouldn't see her for over two weeks. He was ambivalent about that. The bad news was he was missing her already. The good news was she was not there to badger him about the changes she had seen in him.
With a sigh, he rolled out of bed to start his day.
After a filling breakfast, Harry was seated at a table in the manor's library, once again trying to make sense of the mass of parchment from Gringotts. He finally, he thought, had imposed some understandable order on the information.
Investments, talk to the Grangers. Rentals, concentrate on payments and double-check with Tongueripper that the payments are as agreed. Ownership agreements were going to need Tongueripper to simplify some of the contract language to fit Harry's education level or become very good at explaining the complicated contract language. Loans and mortgages. That was the current part of his income he had the most trouble with. Again, maybe Tongueripper might help.
His mother's brokerage and gold investments in the normal world were a real sticky problem. How was he going to prove he was Lily Potter's heir? He had no idea and finally concluded that Solicitor Tonks or Remus was going to have to help him. Harry was willing to bet a large bag of galleons that Tongueripper and Gringotts would not be rushing to his aid for this problem.
Time for another list.
New trunk—check
New clothes-half check
A place to live-BIG check
Getting his money sorted- sort of check
Everything else was unchecked. Soulmate, horcruxes, and new friends was going to have to wait for school to start.
Even reminding himself that it had only been a week since he had left durance vile at the Dursleys, he was still depressed.
Walking around the castle had always been a good method of coping when he was depressed, so Harry decided on a manor tour.
He dropped into the kitchen for some fortifying tea and biscuits, then started walking. He sort of remembered where everything was from his tour with Hermione.
He carefully toured the Dining room, Banquet Hall, and the two 'visitor' parlours. He was working on figuring out how many people he could fit in each when it occurred to him that his two elves could add room, or subtract furnishings as needed.
Crossing the entryway, he spent some time examining the 'Gryffon under glass' as he had named the realistic-looking bas-relief under the transparent covering in the floor.
He then ambled into the cavernous Ballroom with almost a score of round tables and a huge wooden dancing floor with a band platform on the left. He was left shaking his head at the four parlours available for guest use. Who would ever throw a party big enough to need all this space?
He was startled by the industrial-sized loos in two of the parlours. The one meant for women was much larger than the one for males.
He next hiked up the marble main staircase and explored all the guest rooms and ensuites and sitting rooms, trying to commit the layouts to memory.
The Lord's Study and the library, he gave a pass.
Third floor. Over the north wing were the family bedrooms. The Master Suite and two heir bedrooms overlooked the courtyard. On the other side of the hall were another four bedrooms, all with en suites and a pair of large suites for?
The south wing was a hodge-podge of guest suites, nurseries, play and game rooms, art and sewing rooms, and what looked to Harry, after a close examination, to be a tapestry creating room.
The attic seemed to be merely a larger space than the attic at the Dursley's house. It was just as filled with junk, though a lot less dusty.
He had journeyed to the top, now to go to the bottom. The basement was a dark, gloomy place until Ypres popped in and showed Harry how the lights worked.
Harry could see a small armoury with old-time weapons, an archery range, what looked like a gym, and a dueling platform. Walking deeper, he found practice rooms for weapons and dueling, complete with what seemed to be animated practice dummies.
He pondered the weapons on his way out. He had the feeling he was forgetting something, but could not pull it to the forefront of his mind.
The afternoon he spent on his homework, as he hoped something would happen to otherwise occupy his time later. But if he didn't have his homework done for Hermione to check, he would be the target of her 'displeasure'. And frankly, Harry admitted to himself, he did not want to add any more actions that would get further on her bad side anytime soon.
He soon finished his potions homework with some help from the library. That ledger search book was great! He made a note to buy Hermione the three books that had glowed bright purple at Flourish and Blott's while gathering his student supplies in Diagon Alley.
/*
Four days passed with Harry proudly finishing up his homework, getting some spell practice in the basement, donating more blood to the wardstone, and getting impatient with the way time crawled while Hermione was gone.
His calming, safe feeling of sleeping in the manor was slipping away as scenes from the fight in the graveyard with Riddle started invading his dreams.
Not even having a lunch chat every day with Ypres and Peama about his parents and grandparents was enough of a distraction. Sure, he was learning all sorts of things about his parents that Lupin had not mentioned when he was the DADA professor. And Sirius had not had very much time to talk during their few encounters, but he was missing HER.
The fact he had not pursued this new information about his parents for three years after he was given the photo album by Hagrid was now grating on him. Curiosity Suppression Charm, eh? Who did he know who kept fobbing off his requests for information with vague platitudes that he would accept because it was the mighty Leader-of-the Light pronouncing them?
In desperation, he wrote short, 'Hello, my summer has been busy, how has yours been?' to Neville and , of all people, Susan Bones. He figured the odds were fifty-fifty as to whether the Bones heiress would be interested or suspicious about his motives for writing her.
He was somewhat short of sleep today, as last night he awakened after a memory nightmare of the long fall before dying from the sudden stop as he hit the ground of the quidditch pitch with the damned dementors chasing him down the whole way.
He much preferred the memory of passing out during his fall and waking up in the infirmary. This dual memory stuff truly sucked.
Then an owl passed through the wards.
Seeing it Harry figured it was from Solicitor Tonks. Harry had learned how to set the owl intent wards to accept mail from Longbottom, Bone's, Gringotts or Tonks owls, and Hedwig.
Apparently, specifically granting certain people permission to owl contact you allowed their owls to deliver mail to you, even through mail re-direct charms and the Fidelis charm.
The letter was from Solicitor Tonks and was to inform him that she had made contact with Mr. Remus Lupin and there was a meeting set for tomorrow in his office at ten o'clock in the morning, and Mrs. Tonks wanted him to be there.
The work on Sirius Black incarceration was going as slowly as expected when both secrecy and entrenched interests were involved. She also wrote that someone had tipped her off that Lucius Malfoy would be very interested in knowing if anyone was attempting to investigate Sirius Black.
Harry called Ypres and told him what was happening tomorrow, and for him to pick a robe set for him that was casual but of good quality. Also, there is a good chance that they would have a visitor soon who would be staying at least until the start of school.
Ypres also reminded him that he had not looked at any of the mail delivered to Mistress Lily's postal office box, and with a snap of his fingers, several envelopes appeared on the desk he was using in the library.
"Is this all?" he inquired. "I would have thought that ten years' worth of mail would have . . . well, more mail."
Ypres again snapped his fingers and suddenly a pile, a large pile of envelopes, appeared on a table that appeared next to his desk. The pile was so large that only magic was keeping the envelopes piled on the table, rather than in a heap on the floor.
Sighing, Harry looked at the smaller pile of most recent post on his desk. Checking postmarks, he opened up the oldest letter in the not-inconsiderable pile of just this year's mail. It was from an investment firm called Goodfellow, Stromberg and Purz. There were several sheets of paper inside that were a mass of big, financial-people-are-the-only-ones-who-understand-them, words.
However, there were also three graph-type charts. One showed a gain of over fourteen-thousand pounds in the account over the past twelve months, another showed the account had more than doubled from one-hundred-thousand pounds to almost two-hundred-two-thousand pounds since nineteen eighty-one. Another was a chart on yearly return on investment since nineteen-eighty.
Great Flame Farting Merlin," he thought, "If Mum's other accounts had done as well, I could have somewhere near two-million pounds sitting in various places in the muggle world!"
He started to rip the next envelope open when a sudden thought struck him. He had given Hermione and her parents a mass of documents and financial statements, and it had taken an afternoon to sort it all out before anyone could start working on making sense of the stacks of parchment.
He was going to have to be smarter this time. This time he would be dealing with probably a dozen or so account managers, not just one grumpy goblin. And to the muggle world, he would be a twelve-year-old kid, not a Lord of a distinguished House.
Again, he looked at the massive pile of decades of post to his mother. "It is going to take forever to get this sorted by account or firm," he thought.
Suddenly, inspiration struck. It was the inspiration of desperation he realized, but still . . .
Calling Ypres, he indicated the pile on the table and asked, "Can you sort these by the company that sent the letter? Can you maybe put them in a long, shallow box sorted by company and date sent? And put the newest letters at the front?"
"Of course, Master."
Ypres seemed to pause for a moment as though gathering his magic, then raised his hand and gave two finger snaps.
Suddenly there was a flurry of envelopes swirling around. But through the swirl, Harry could see long, shallow boxes filling with neat rows of post. Suddenly, the swirling mass was gone, and with a few tapping sounds the last few envelopes fell into place.
With a bow, Ypres was gone. Harry looked at the tabletop. There were now thirteen rows of mail in their own box trays, some trays shorter than others. It took Harry a moment to realize that the number was probably deliberate. Thirteen was considered a powerful magical number by wizards and witches.
He could foresee a muggle shopping trip in his near future as he had no idea of how to magically sort large masses of paper in a way non-magicals' could use. He was going to have to purchase over a dozen, thick three-ring binders, subject separators, and a paper punch so he could organize the boxes into something that might be familiar to the Grangers.
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A/N:
An interlude, connection and "Oh, wow. I have more money" chapter.
I just cannot write "Harry spent four weeks talking to goblins, making sense of his accounts and doing his homework, before boarding the train September 1st, and going off to kill the basilisk"
And another faint Hermione foreshadow.
Yes, I know the pace is slow, but not-in-school Harry is perceived as a scrawny twelve-year-old with many secrets to hide and many enemies to hide from. And if he gets 'busted', all his plans go up in smoke and he knows he'll be forced back to the Dursleys. And that's the best outcome.
Are you paranoid if THEY really are out to get you?
And to the Guest review on Chapter 8, May 27th who wrote he didn't want fluff and angst, I recommend switching to some other fics instead of this one. For non-stop, slam-bang action I suggest Dodging Prison and Stealing Witches by LeadVonE, Wind Shear by Chilord or I'm Still Here by Kathryn518.