chapter one

Harry stared at the phoenix incredulously. The bird simply hovered in the air, his wings dancing like flames in the air and his tail feathers melting the snow beneath him. Harry was close enough to the slightly flaming bird that the chill in the air didn't penetrate his warmth.

"Do not simply stare at me, child," Fawkes chided, his bright eyes staring into Harry's, reminding him of the white glowing center of a fire instead of the black beads they had once been.

"You said 'alternate universe'," Harry said slowly. Fawkes nodded and Harry blinked at him slowly. "Why would you bring me to an alternate universe?"

"Look around you, child," the phoenix said softly, making Harry cringe at the carnage around him. "Your home is in ruin and all you know is dead. You could gain your family again."

"But they would not be my family, would they?" Harry asked bitterly, a lump forming in his throat as he refused to look anywhere around him. The castle was destroyed, bits and pieces of rubble were littering the ground. The roofs of the towers were smoking and Harry could see a flicker of flames out of the corner of his eyes. This was not as worrying, however. The castle could simply be fixed. What could not be fixed, however, were the bodies littering the ground.

Death Eaters and Hogwarts-goers alike laid dead on the ground, various injuries and spells having been their downfall. Before Harry had fallen to Voldemort's spell, he had seen more people fall to the Avada Kedavra curse in a flash of green light. Of course, others fell to werewolves while some fell to Nagini. Then, there were those who fell to giants and the Death Eaters who took pleasure in using various illegal and illegal Dark spells, some Harry knew and some he did not.

"But they could be," Fawkes said in his melodious voice, the first one Harry heard after he woke from Voldemort's second backfired attempt to kill him. Harry was beginning to suspect that he couldn't die. God knew how many times he should have died the past year and a half.

"They could be..." Harry muttered. "But they won't know me. And it's not like my mum and dad would be alive, would they?" Harry's voice was tinged with hope and that hope dissolved at the phoenix's sad head shake.

"But others are," Fawkes said. "Have you made your decision, Harry Potter?"

Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he looked down at the ground. Should he take the chance to see his family again? Should he take the chance to save them? He didn't know anything of this world, this alternate universe. Fawkes said that he had been killed as a baby there when he should have died in this world. Did that mean that Voldemort was running around at his full power? Did that mean that numerous others were dead? Had the man created horcruxes in this world? He had a feeling that the answer was yes, but that Voldemort hadn't created more than seven horcruxes. Seven was a magical number, after all, or that was what Hermione said anyway.

"Can you tell me anything about his world?" Harry asked. "Other than the fact that me and my parents are dead?"

"Perhaps we should do this inside?" Fawkes asked. Harry then shivered. The wind had picked up and it had begun snowing sometime during his thinking. Even with Fawkes hovering in front of him, the warmth radiating off him like an open-flame, didn't do much for the biting wind. Harry nodded and he barely had a second to react when Fawkes grabbed ahold of his arm and took them somewhere. Harry let out a litany of curses in surprise as he stumbled. That had felt like a mix of using the Floo, a Portkey, and apparating.

"No need for such language, my boy," a familiar voice said, causing Harry's head to snap behind him. He blinked dumbly at Dumbledore, who sat in a gaudy but cozy chair inside a portrait frame above the fireplace from across the Headmaster's desk. Harry's mouth worked open and closed before he shut it at Fawkes's prompting.

"H-Headmaster," Harry greeted, sending a glare to the snickering phoenix who sat on the desk. "Why did you take me here?" he directed at Fawkes, who straightened at the question.

"I suppose he has a reason," Dumbledore said, staring at Harry behind half-moon glasses, his eyes somehow managing to twinkle despite being a painting (and a rather good one, at that). "It has been some time since I have last seen you, Harry. I must say, I like what you've done with your hair. Oh, and you're no longer wearing glasses." Harry ran a hand through his no doubt dirty and tangled hair self-consciously. He hadn't had any way to cut his hair properly since he didn't know any cosmetic charms and he hadn't been about to attempt a cutting charm to chop it off, especially after experiencing how painful they were. So, it had grown well past his shoulders, stopping at mid-back. He had also managed to find some sort of ritual for his healing eyes while reading through Sirius's library at Grimmauld Place (in which all books sat in his undetectable expanded dragonhide backpack that also happened to come from Grimmauld Place).

"Ah, sorry," Harry grimaced, scourgifying his hair and clothes to remove the dirt, water, blood, and other disgusting matter. The spell did nothing about the unruliness of his hair, nor did it mend the rips and tears in his cloak and clothes, the burnt hole in his chest in particular which displayed an open wound.

"No problem, my boy," Dumbledore said. Harry fought away a scowl. The "my boy" bit had gotten a bit old sometime between fifth and sixth year after Sirius had died. "Do you know why Fawkes brought you here? Do you need some information regarding Tom?"

"Not really," Harry said blandly, "considering he's dead." When he spotted Dumbledore about to congratulate him, he also added sharply, "Along with everyone else." It went silent in the Headmaster's office. All of the other portraits from previous Headmasters and Headmistresses were somber and horrified at this news.

"E-Everyone?" Dumbledore said before collecting himself. "Surely someone else survived."

Harry shook his head and pursed his lips, swallowing thickly and pushing back the burning of his eyes. "Fawkes offered me a chance to redo things, so to speak. He wouldn't have offered if even one person who fought was alive, right?" Fawkes nodded and Harry closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose as his nostrils flared. A few tears fell and it took him a few minutes to collect himself and to wipe his eyes.

"You should take a seat, Harry," Dumbledore said softly.

Despite the grief starting to take over him, Harry cracked a mischievous smile and looked over his shoulder. "Can I sit in your chair?"

"By all means, do so," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the rather large red plush chair behind Harry. Harry grinned and turned to eye the worn fabric. It looked deadly comfortable, and when he sat in it, he realized that it was very comfortable.

"I can see why you didn't want me to destroy this chair," Harry murmured, remembering what Dumbledore said after he threw a rampage in the office after Sirius died.

After a few seconds of letting Harry settle in, Dumbledore questioned kindly, "What did Fawkes tell you about this 'redo', Harry?"

"Not much," Harry admitted. "That was the reason he brought me here. It was to tell me more of this 'alternate universe' and how he could take me there." His voice then turned quiet and he messed with a thread on the arm of the chair. "He said it would give me a chance to save everyone and maybe get my family back."

"They wouldn't know you, my boy."

Harry nodded. "I know that. But the chance to see those people again? Alive and safe and happy? How could I refuse? Fawkes said that Voldemort's killing people in that world and the me there was killed. I could save them. I know how to kill him this time." Harry's had turned to steel and he looked from Dumbledore's pale blue eyes to Fawkes's flame ones.

"It seems like you have made your choice, child," Fawkes said.

"I... think I have," Harry told him before looking down again. "It would be good to probably get some things, though, before I go. I've got a ton of stuff from Grimmauld Place before it was burnt down, and I've got my cloak and the Elder wand since mine's broken. I can probably fix it or something. I wouldn't be able to use my vaults at Gringotts in the other world. Well, not until I've killed Voldemort and I've proven through a Blood Rite or something that I'm the Potter Heir." He frowned in concern. "Would it even say that I'm a Potter?"

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and pet the portrait version of Fawkes, who trilled to his living counterpart. "Yes, I believe it would, Harry. You are still Harry Potter, whether you are from this universe or that. Your blood would be the same as it had been in that one. And while the you in that world is dead, you are still you, and you are a making of your mother and your father. Their blood runs through you, as do their family's. Perhaps during your Blood Rite, you'll learn that you are more than a Potter." Harry blinked slowly at the vaguely evasive and mystifying words.

"Oh... kay..." he murmured underneath his breath before he grimaced as a thought came to him. "Shit, how am I supposed to go to Gringotts, though? We kinda... broke into it for one of Tom's horcruxes."

"I will take you to the chieftain of the bank to for you to explain your actions," Fawkes told Harry, who gaped at him.

"They'll kill me!" he exclaimed. "You want me to go there?"

"You are the savior of the Wizarding World, child. The goblins may have remained neutral, but they will accept that should you not have stolen from them, that Voldemort would have remained alive, dwindling their customers."

Harry's mouth worked before he managed to say, "That kinda makes sense. But are you sure they won't kill me? I did steal from one of their most prominent customers along with unleashing one of their dragons."

"You unleashed a dragon?" Dumbledore asked, blinking at Harry from behind his glasses.

"We rode it out of there," Harry said bluntly.

"Hmm..." Dumbledore murmured. "I wish I would have gotten the chance to ride a dragon. I've had Fawkes fly me around a few times though I suppose riding a dragon would be completely different." Harry just blinked at the old man and accepted the statement as it was. That wasn't the first odd thing that Dumbledore's said.

"Should we go now?" Harry asked Fawkes, turning to him.

"Allow the world to discover the death of Voldemort," Fawkes said. "I still have to inform you about your alternate universe. But first, I believe that you should have a rest. When was the last time you've slept in a bed?"

Harry blinked and his exhaustion finally showed itself. He hid a yawn behind his hand and forced himself to blink. he really was tired and his injuries were starting to hurt. He suspected that he hadn't felt them due to adrenaline and shock, but now that he was coming out of it (or reminded, Harry supposed), the injuries were catching up to him.

"You can sleep in my quarters," Dumbledore piped up, obviously seeing Harry's exhaustion.

"Hasn't Professor McGonagall been using them?" Harry yawned with a furrowed brow.

"I'm afraid she could not bring herself to do so," Dumbledore stated sadly. "My quarters have been empty for a few months now. The house elves have cleaned it on occasion and some clean robes and clothes should be up there. I assume when you mentioned that everyone else was dead that you also meant the house elves?" Harry nodded, too tired for his grief to rear its head at him. "Well, go ahead and sleep, Harry. You have much to do tomorrow." Dumbledore motioned for a set of stairs and Harry stumbled up them, barely listening as the portraits of the other Headmasters and Headmistresses began to discuss all that they had learned today. He barely managed to shed his clothes and pull on the clean heavy night-shirt before flopping into bed.

Harry woke up to the scent of bacon and eggs, causing his stomach to rumble. He sat up slowly and rubbed the crust out of his eyes, blinking slowly at the silver tray of food on the nightstand.

"... How?" he murmured, remembering seeing the dead bodies of house elves near various bodies and bloodied cutlery.

"I believe Hogwarts wished to keep you healthy, child," Fawkes said, making Harry jump. Harry pushed himself against the headboard of the bed and he stared at the slightly flaming phoenix who sat on a large elaborate perch. The fire on the end of the bird's feathers only gave warmth, however, instead of catching the bedroom on fire.

"The castle?" Harry asked after clearing his throat.

"Hogwarts," Fawkes corrected, "is more sentient than anyone knows. I believe she identifies you as an heir."

"Heir?" Harry asked while pulling the steaming plate of food onto his lap. The cup of what Harry identified to be tea didn't even slosh the liquid inside, which made Harry wonder what kind of enchantments had been put on the rather large mug. He sighed after a sip of the drink, it having been at least a few months since he last had anything other than wand-conjured water to drink.

"Of at least one of the Hogwarts Founders," Fawkes informed Harry just as he took another sip of tea. Harry spluttered as he inhaled a bit of the hot liquid and he began coughing, making his eyes water. Fawkes added after a second's thought, "No, she identifies you as the heir to two of the Founders." This time, Harry learned his lesson and he didn't spit out any more tea.

"Two?" Harry rasped, blinking furiously and wiping at his eyes before he managed to calm down. "Who?"

"She says that you're related to Godric through your mother's side, and I must say she did look rather like him, and although you are distantly related to Salazar, you gained heirship mainly through conquest and due to the fact that you are Riddle's closest distant relative. His cousin, I believe."

"My mum was related to Gryffindor?" Harry asked, amazed. "But I thought she was Muggleborn."

"She was a Muggleborn. All Muggleborns have to have magic ancestry in order to have magic. That is why many of the oldest wizards, such as Nicholas Flamel, who died at six-hundred and sixty-five years old, are astonished at blood purity ideals numerous pureblood families have. They should all know that in order to be a witch or wizard you have to have magical blood. Many 'muggles' that have magic children are, in fact, very distant Squibs that have no way 'tap into' or use their magic. The only reason their children have magic is due to the fact that their ancestors all had enough trace magic to the point where it was strong enough to fully manifest in one of the children. In fact, many Muggleborns' parents are on par with a Squib's magical powers. If they had known that they had magic, they could have learned to utilize it."

"Was Voldemort's mother a Muggleborn?"

"She was more of a Squib," Fawkes informed him after some thinking. "That, I suppose, is due to the number of inbreeding purebloods do. They believe that they are preserving their blood and magic and are making themselves more powerful; but they are, in fact, doing the opposite. Magic needs new blood to flourish and grow. All they are doing is allowing it to weaken and siphon away. It is the same with animals and humans; inbreeding with blood-relatives will cause birth defects. The magic in your blood removes most of those defects, allowing most witches and wizards to remain 'pretty' and functional, but it is also causing them to become sterile in a warning to let them know that they need new blood. Many do not understand this warning, and thus they continue to struggle with breeding. Your father was an only child to an elder couple, and it is due to inbreeding that caused them so long to gave children. It is rather fortunate that your mother was Muggleborn or you would not be so powerful."

Harry blinked at Fawkes, his breakfast long forgotten. "Are you saying that half-bloods are more powerful that purebloods?"

Fawkes ducked his head. "In a way, they could be. Did it never occur to you that the three most powerful wizards of your time are half-bloods?"

Harry frowned and thought. "Voldemort, Dumbledore, and who's the third?" He looked up at the phoenix and he could have sworn that the bird rolled his eyes at him.

"You, Harry, are the third. And do not deny so, you have destroyed one of the most powerful Dark Lords in existence." Harry opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Fawkes ordered, "Eat your breakfast, child. You will need your strength." The bird then flew out of the room, leaving Harry with a bounty of thoughts and his still, somehow hot, meal.

It didn't take him long to finish breakfast and to pull on a set of rather traditional wizarding clothes (not robes, however, a formal-looking set of trousers and a shirt with an elaborate green and silver dragon-skin cloak that he wouldn't mind keeping) that fit him perfectly. Harry couldn't help but think of Hogwarts and how she was apparently sentient (he had heard as much from Dumbledore before and now Fawkes) and identified him as an heir to not one, but two of the Founders. And, depending on his clothes the castle provided, he could only agree with Fawkes that he was the heir of Gryffindor and Slytherin. The two houses that were widely known to having conflicts in and out of the castle.

Harry hissed in pain when he tugged on his shirt and he prodded lightly at the brand new scar that was forming. It was in the shape of lighting, but instead of a single bolt like the one on his forehead, it was actually shaped like a naturally-occurring smattering of branches that covered his heart. There was a slight flare of what Harry could only describe being magic before something flashed in the corner of his eye. Harry had his wand (the Elder wand) out in a second before he realized that it was just a small jar of what looked to be paste as well as a vial of sorts. He frowned and looked at them; the jar was an ointment and the vial was for pain.

"Uh, thanks?" Harry called out hesitantly. Harry got the vague sense of "You're welcome" and he shuddered. That felt odd.

After downing the pain potion and dabbing some ointment on his chest, as well as dressing completely, Harry trekked down to the office where Dumbledore was speaking with Fawkes (real-life Fawkes, not portrait Fawkes) and could apparently understand the melodious chirping and trilling sounds.

"Harry, I must say, you look like a proper heir!" Dumbledore stated joyfully when he spotted Harry.

"Thanks?" Harry said, looking down at his clothes. "The cloak's kinda cool. Lighter than I thought it'd be and it's warm but I don't feel hot."

"Ah, Slytherin's cloak, I'd assume," one of the other portraits said.

"What?" Harry said flatly. "This is his cloak?"

"Whose did you think it was? The clasp is a snake." Harry blinked down at the clasp and realized that it was a snake. A very pretty silver snake with emerald eyes.

"Oh, cool," Harry said, still looking at the snake clasp. He blinked when he realized that he was talking in Parseltongue.

"That's interesting," Dumbledore muttered. "I could have sworn that the only reason you could speak to snakes was due to having part of Tom's soul inside you and gaining some of his powers. Though, it does make sense as you are Slytherin's heir."

"Okay," Harry said loudly, "we're getting off track. I've still got to go to Gringotts—and hopefully not die in the process—and grab everything I can from my vaults. I've also got to get Fawkes to tell me everything he knows about this alternate universe so I'm prepared when I get there."

"'Prepared'? Not very Gryffindorish of you," the portrait of Phineas Negillus Black sniffed.

"Well it's a good thing I'm also Slytherin, then, isn't it?" Harry snarked back with a scowl he learned from Snape. The portrait laughed loudly and Harry's scowl deepened.

"I see I was correct in assuming that you would do well in my house," Phineas said hauntingly. "I have no idea why that blasted hat put you in Gryffindor."

"Probably because I asked it to," Harry muttered loud enough for the portraits to hear. "And, to be fair, he did want to put me in Slytherin. I just didn't want to be in the same house as Malfoy."

"Enough, enough," Dumbledore called, immediately gaining order. "You said you wanted to go to Gringotts, Harry?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Harry murmured, using his Occlumency skills to hide the colouring of his cheeks and to calm himself down. "Fawkes, should you take me now? What time is it?"

"It is nearing eight in the morning, child," Fawkes said, and at Harry's baffled expression, he continued, "You were quite physically, emotionally, mentally, and magically exhausted yesterday."

"Exhausted enough to sleep twenty-four hours?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"You should have slept longer," the phoenix informed him, much to his surprise. "I have contacted the chieftain of Gringotts and he has agreed to an audience with you. After you've explained himself, he will then inform you as to whether you are allowed to empty your vaults or not."

"It's a good thing I bagged a few thousand Galleons before all this hit, isn't it?" Harry asked as Fawkes landed on his shoulders. Thankfully, when he landed on the ground again, he did not stumble. He suspected that was Fawkes's doing.

Harry looked around and noticed that he was in an office, which was currently occupied by an elderly and regal looking goblin. When the goblin noticed him, Harry straightened up immediately and threw up his Occlumency shields just in case.

"Ah, Mr. Harry Potter," the goblin, Rookgott according to the nameplate on his desk, greeted Harry with a nasty look. Harry, having read something about goblin politics, vaguely remembered that goblins tended to bow as a sign of respect, and so he did. Rookgott merely nodded and gestured to a seat, which Harry took. Fawkes settled himself on the back of the other chair without damaging the valuable-looking and worn dragon-hide. "Explain yourself for why you decided to rob my bank and for why I shall not have you branded as a thief."

Harry mentally winced. "I have a good explanation for that." And he did, so Harry began to weave a story of Tom Riddle and his Horcruxes. Rookgott merely listened, and the only emotion Harry had spotted was the subtle widening of his eyes when Harry revealed that Voldemort had made seven intentional horcruxes, not just one. (He didn't mention the fact that he, himself, was the seventh horcrux.) When Harry finished explaining why he entered Bellatrix's vault, Rookgott merely stared at him.

"You do realize, Mr. Potter, that if Ms. Lestrange had still been in Azkaban at the time, that, as the heir to the Black line, you could have taken it upon yourself to enter her vault legally?" Harry merely blinked and hid his shock behind his Occlumency shields.

"I do now? But I couldn't get into her vault because she was out of Azkaban, right?" Harry decided to ask.

"Correct." It was silent for a few seconds before the elderly goblin sighed. "I shall inform my employees that you are pardoned from any wrongdoings as you had reasonable cause and that you are allowed access to your vaults."

"Thank you," Harry said softly but sincerely. Rookgott merely nodded and wrote something on a piece of paper before placing it in a tray where it promptly burst into flames.

"I assume that you would like to be taken to your vaults?" Rookgott asked.

Harry nodded before he thought about something. "Uh, sir? I don't have the keys to any of the Potter or Black vaults beside the trust vault key."

"I can craft you new ones but it'll cost you." Harry simply nodded and provided a few drops of blood when prompted to create his new keys. And a few hundred Galleons lighter and free to roam the bank, Harry proceeded to push as much gold as he could into his bottomless and feather-light bag as possible. He mainly left the Black coin vault alone as he knew that Andromeda was the only remaining Black, he thought with a pang toward Tonks and her dead unborn child. The main Potter vault also had quite enough money in it to last at least a few lifetimes without work. As he shoved book after book into his bag, now into the non-coin vaults, Harry prompted Fawkes to tell him about the alternate universe.

"From what I gather, it is near exactly the same as this world. The only difference is the fact that you died on the night you survived in this world. Voldemort was once again pushed into a near-wraith status before he somehow regained health and a body and began taking over magical Britain again. All I know is that the stone failed, the diary was never handed off to Ginny Weasley or any other student, meaning the basilisk is still alive and was never unleashed, the ritual you unwilling participated in your fourth year also didn't happen as Voldemort had no way to gain Albus's blood, his main enemy there, and he only recently gained a body.

"However, his tactics into taking over Britain are different. It is not as direct as it was here. Voldemort is merely having his followers scare the world by occasionally attacking areas such as Diagon Alley, though rarely there, mainly-wizarding towns, and Hogsmeade on occasion. He has only shown his face a few times, one of those dueling Albus, who is also not dead in this world."

Harry nodded and sat back, looking around him. He left the jewelry and jewels and most of the armor here since he didn't have a need for them. This was the last vault he had to look through as it was quite easy to spell all of the Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts into his bag. He only had three non-coin vaults to go through, one of them for the Potters, and two of them for the Blacks. The Potter vaults he mainly left alone as he would have access to them in the other world soon enough, but he did shove all of the library and a few cool-looking trinkets into his bag to look at later. The first Black vault was filled with Dark magic. It was to the point where even if Harry hadn't learned to sense magic, he would have felt it anyway. Many of the items were left there, save for a wicked set of swords and daggers. The second vault was more or less a library along with some harmless but gaudy jewelry, old clothes and tapestries that he didn't care about, and some furniture.

"Is that all you know?" Harry asked Fawkes as he stood. His limbs were aching slightly from moving so much and he not only felt exhausted but also hungry and in pain. He rubbed his chest slightly and reminded himself to dab the remainder of that ointment onto the cut. It seemed that Dark curse scars didn't heal as any other scars did. That was probably why the scar on his forehead hadn't healed immediately when he was a baby.

"I'm afraid it is," Fawkes said. "I could only gain so much information or else you'd be at too much of an advantage. As it is, you already know too much. Sending you back with anything more that you cannot simply learn will hinder you, I'm afraid."

Harry nodded though he felt slightly annoyed. He supposed it was a rule of magic or whatever so he didn't push it.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked instead.

"Go as in leave this dungeon or go as into the other universe?" Fawkes said, flying over to him and placing his claws on Harry's shoulders. Fawkes wasn't as heavy as Harry expected and he wondered if Fawkes was somehow making himself light or if it was natural for phoenixes.

"Well, both," Harry said. "But I mean leave the vault."

Fawkes took them back to Hogwarts and this time Harry stumbled. He glared at Fawkes, now knowing that he had been the one to stop him from stumbling in Rookgott's office.

"How was your day?" Dumbledore asked. "It must have been eventful, it's practically night!"

Harry's eyes jumped to the large windows on the deck behind the office and his eyebrows rose, seeing that it was practically pitch black. "No wonder I'm hungry," he murmured before addressing Dumbledore. "Well, the chieftain of Gringotts didn't kill me for stealing Hufflepuff's cup from Bellatrix's vault, so that's good. And he pardoned me from any of my wrongdoings after I explained about the horcruxes and whatever. Other than that, I spent most of the day tossing a few million coins and a few thousand books into my bag." Harry held up his bag, which, despite having a featherweight charm on it, felt weighed down. "Now, what's been going on at the castle?"

Harry took a seat at the Headmaster's chair again and grinned when a tray of food appeared in front of him. He sipped his wine and made sure not to spit it out when Dumbledore mentioned that the Minister and others had shown up at the castle, only to spot the massacre and the ruins, as well as Voldemort's body. Newspapers had gone out about the defeat of You-Know-Who and everyone was both saddened that the Boy-Who-Lived was nowhere to be seen but happy that the war seemed to be over at last. There were also people currently outside cleaning up the bodies and informing the remaining living family of the deceased. Apparently, however, they were also trying to decide what they were going to do with Hogwarts as there was not one member of faculty left alive and they had no funds to even begin repairing it, let alone open it for school next year.

Harry frowned and he sat back, his dinner having been flashed away when he was finished with it. "Do you think I should donate all of my vaults and most of my money to clean the place up? I don't really need however much I've got and there's also the vaults in the next universe. I may be leaving this one but it'll still be here trying to fix up after the war."

"That is a great idea, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "Do you have an idea as to how you are going to go about it?"

"I left the money in the Black vault alone for Andromeda since she's the remaining Black and I don't really want it. So why don't I just dump some of my own money in the entry-way with a note stating that all of the funds have been donated to the school and the clean-up, as well as for donations to helping families who were ruined due to the war? I should probably give my keys to Gringotts to hold onto with a note giving my permission to keep some things for themselves and to give the rest to the Ministry strictly for the clean-up and for the families. I could probably also mention that it's the last act of the 'Boy-Who-Lived' who died oh-so heroically after slaying Voldemort?" Harry suggested the last sentence sarcastically.

Phineas, who had been listening in, let out a mad bark of laughter that reminded Harry slightly of Sirius. Family resemblance? Harry thought with a pang of grief. "Good grief, lad," the portrait said with a large grin.

"If you will write that letter to Rookgott, I'll deliver it," Fawkes said. Harry nodded and summoned a piece of parchment and a quill, swiftly writing one letter to Rookgott as to what he wants to be done with the Potter estates, and that Andromeda Tonks, the last remaining Black, and her husband will be given access to the Black vaults and the money there. He then wrote a letter for the money he's going to leave in Hogwarts stating what he wants to be done with it and that he, Harry Potter, only just about managed to do all this before he died.

"I'll just finish this before going to sleep," Harry said, handing Fawkes the letter. It was easy to dump a few thousand Galleons and other coin onto the ground as all Harry had to do was think of the amount he wanted to leave with the bag held upside-down and all of it dumped out without letting anything else go.

"Goodnight, Harry," Dumbledore said as Harry headed toward the stairs.

"Goodnight, sir," he replied.