Harry wakes to the midday sun with a groan. His face is slimy from the dragon's meat and his back and ribs ache from the blows and sleeping in a wooden chair. He looks longingly towards his bed, but a tapping at his window draws his attention. He curses as he stands, slowly shuffling to the window of his dingy apartment. Everything is covered in grime, but he grew up in worse conditions. Hell, it is basically luxury compared to his time on the run from Voldemort. At least I only have to worry about vindictive goblins now, he thinks with a chuckle and he has long since learned to operate with minimal regard for possessions. The tapping at the window grows more impatient, and Harry gingerly cracks it open. A midnight black owl glares at him, giving him the impression that it is looking down his beak at him.

Harry snorts, Even the goblins' owls hate me. He opens the letter as the owl takes off.

Thief,

Your gold prospers, untouched and untouchable. Such wealth, wasted on one so reckless. The Weasleys prosper too—for now. Cleopatra and the others await. Deliver what is owed.

Bloodtooth

Chief Teller

Gringotts

Harry snarls as the letter turns to ash in his hands. They dare threaten the Weasley's. He takes a deep breath, before walking to his bed and sitting down. He looks at the photo of Ron and Hermione he keeps on his bedside table. He wipes some of the dust off and looks longingly at the photo. His tears fall on the frame and he puts it face down on the table. Soon. Bill is too good of an employee to actually kill his family. Harry thinks to himself. He's not sure he manages to convince himself, but he holds onto the thought desperately.

Harry walks to the mirror in his one room apartment and stares at himself. Blood, dirt, and grime cakes his face, his left eye is the yellow and purple color of a healing bruise. His green eyes stare blankly back, long since replacing his glasses with contacts after losing his glasses in his first attempt at information gathering. His face is gaunt, scars litter his chest and neck. He turns away and shuffles to the shower, turning the hot water all the way up. He sighs as he gets under the still cold stream. He quickly washes himself, missing the luxuries a simple wave of the wand could bring. He feels the water warm to slightly above freezing as his anger increases. He still is in disbelief of what Kingsley had done. He casts his mind back to the hours after defeating Voldemort.

He is almost to the Gryffindor tower where he had plans to sleep for a day or two when Kingsley's gruff voice halts him. "Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, and I assume Mr. Potter is there under the nifty cloak of his."

Harry sighs as he pulls it over his head. "Hey Kingsley, anything you need."

"I need to speak with you for just a moment, I want to give you an update." Harry nods to him and turns to Ron and Hermione. "Go on to bed," he urges while giving them his cloak, "I'll be right there. Who knows when we last slept."

They reluctantly nod their heads and trudged up to the Fat Lady, Harry watches as the door swings open and lets them in. He turns back to Kingsley after the door closes, "What can I do for you, Kingsley?"

"I've been made temporary Minister of Magic," he says with an abashed grin.

Harry smiles, "That's great. You are exactly what this country needs."

Kingsley sighs, "I could use your help with some things. I could use your support to go after the death eaters, and I have a solution to your goblin problem too."

Harry frowns and silently urges Kingsley to continue. After a moment, he does. "They want all of your heads, but they are willing to allow you to keep all your gold and not even go after Ron or Hermione if you agree to do a few jobs for them."

Harry nods slowly, "They won't go after Ron or Hermione?"

Kingsley nods, "All you need to do is sign here."

Harry, barely keeping his head up at this point, agrees. He takes the quill from Kingsley and frowns slightly as he feels the familiar twinge of pain from a blood quill. He looks up at Kingsley, who has his outstretched hand in front of him. "Your wand, Harry. I will need it now."

Harry shakes his head in disbelief as his magic fights his will, forcing his hand to reach into his pocket and hands it over to Kingsley. "What have you done?" he shouts.

Kingsley shakes his head, "It was the only way, you saved a lot of people tonight. This was the only way to save them from the goblins." He hesitates before continuing, "I've arranged for a safe house for you. Here is a portkey" He hands over a chain with a house key on it and visibly shudders before he points his wand at his head and mutters "Obliviate." He shakes his head before looking at Harry with a grimace.

"Harry Potter, by order of the ministry, you are hereby exiled from Magical Britain. You may not carry a wand, you may not enter our lands, you may not contact our citizens until the terms of your agreement have been reached. I'm truly sorry, Harry. It was the only way." With Kingsley's last words, Harry feels the familiar hooking sensation behind his navel.

Harry shakes his head, and turns off the water in his shower. He looks around the same apartment he had landed in a little over a year ago. His eyes settle on the book he acquired the night before and the notes he had taken. He had work to do if he was ever to see his friends again.

Cleopatra's Tomb was the stuff of legend. Every curse breaker's dream was to find it. No one ever had. If the rumors were true, it was somewhat sentient like Hogwarts. Harry shudders at the gruesome description of traps mentioned in some of the other tombs in Egypt, let alone the most important tomb of the ancient world. Rumors spoke of a labyrinth that shifted with the sun, of traps that devoured the unworthy, and of whispers that drove treasure seekers mad. The tomb is said to consume the unworthy, twisting their magic against them. Harry wasn't sure if the goblins wanted him to succeed or not.

And not only do I need to find the untraceable tomb, conquer its traps, but I also have to find and recover the gift the goblin's gave to the queen, Harry thought. Easy enough. Harry looks at the task list set out by the Goblins and growls. It was time to head to Egypt.

He looks around the apartment he had lived in for the last year. He'd learned to stitch his wounds, to fight without magic, to survive with nothing. It wasn't the life he'd chosen, but it was the one he had. Blood, mostly his own, stains the dark wood floor, his sewing kit and bandages sit next to the sink ready to be used after a fight. His collection of throwing knives hang on the wall, Harry took a shine to them after finding them in a vault he had plundered. His hat was on the table and his small collection of galleons in the locked trunk next to it. At least he would be able to use the galleons he had collected when he was in Egypt. He had found the backpack that Hermione had created an expanded compartment in for him when he had broken into the Dursley's house one day. He often practiced his lockpicking skills there. They never did catch me, and I was able to feed myself and steal some money from them, he thinks with a smile. Serves them right.

He slowly walks around the room, putting his medical equipment both magical and muggle, his money, his extra set of clothes, his notes, and his recently acquired book on Cleopatra's tomb in his bag. He then dressed in his favorite pair of black jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. He picked up his hat before walking to the wall of knives, storing a few in the compartment in his hat before placing the others in the sheaths he had sown into his jacket and shirt sleeves. He finally donned his hat and looked in the mirror one last time. He looks slightly like Indiana Jones, a movie he had seen in the past year. He smiles grimly to himself and glances around the room one last time, the stains and scuffs telling a year's worth of stories. It wasn't much, but it had been his refuge.

He thinks of Ron and Hermione, determination settling over him. He takes a deep breath and spins, disappearing from Britain.