13)Up in Smoke

*** This was all formerly published in my Everybody Else mix and match. I've gotten a few comments asking me to pull it out into one full story. So. understand, if you're new to this, that the pieces of this did not come to me all at once, but I think it flows in original order. Let me know.

~~ le start ~~

When Arthur Weasley got a message back from Harry Potter, his eyebrows went nearly to his forehead.

"…If just one of you could come, it would be best. I don't have a great deal of things to bring, and my relatives are uncomfortable with magicals..."

The stories he'd heard, or overheard, about the Potter lad's upbringing, along with this letter, led Arthur to access his very rarely utilized common sense. He'd not try to floo. He'd not try to apparate. Instead, he'd use this opportunity to take a tixi. Or was it tuxi? He was sure they also called it a crub. Whatever, he'd use some of the money Albus had given them to house the Potter lad for this trip.

He believed he probably owed the child, since it was using the Boy Who Lived cache that scored so many tickets in the Minister's box… though he doubted young Harry knew that.

When he knocked on the door to Number 4 Privet Drive – wondering all the while how these people knew which house was theirs? They all looked alike to Arthur's eye – he caught the Dursleys by a bit of surprise.

"Good afternoon?" the rather thin woman asked with a pinched expression. He wondered if she had some muggle ailment that made her look as though she smelled dogs' droppings.

"I am Arthur Weasley. I have come to take Mr. Potter for the rest of the holiday? He did speak with you?"

Petunia noticed the taxi-cab waiting outside the premises behind the almost normally dressed man in front of her. One eyebrow pitched as she made a moue of distaste. She heard her husband approaching the door and prayed to whatever gods there were that there would be no confrontation with this freak.

The summer had gone surprisingly well after Vernon had laid into the freak. The gardens were stunning; the house hadn't a speck of dirt or a mote of dust anywhere (except, perhaps, dear Didders' room. But boys will be boys!)

Vernon looked at the man on the stoop. The not-quite-right clothing told its own story and Vernon's eyes glowed with happiness. The freak was leaving! "BOY!" he bellowed, but without rancor.

The child in question came down the stairs carrying a rucksack – where had that come from? – but nothing else.

"Hello Harry!"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley!"

"Haven't you packed your trunk, then?"

"Oh, my trunk is gone. The Dursleys burnt it up when I first got back from the train."

Arthur paled then reddened.

"Don't you say a word. The boy deserved it. Blowing up my sister. If he didn't have freakish things then he couldn't do freakish things." The revenge had been sweet in Dursley's memory. Dudley had, of course, rooted through the trunk before. The freak had pictures of his parents and other things that had come from friends. The freak shouldn't be allowed to have friends. The freak shouldn't even be alive, but without him, the house itself would be unprotected. So, it had been the best of both worlds. He got the protection from freaks, but he didn't have to put up with poison in his own home. Making the little freak who looked so much like his pampered prick of a father miserable was just icing on Vernon's conflagration cake.

Arthur, on the other hand, was thinking of ramifications. He knew that at least one priceless Potter heirloom had been in that trunk – Albus had warned him the boy had the invisibility cloak just in case of mischief. And the firebolt. That alone was several years' salary for Arthur. And what of Hedwig? That owl… so beautiful, so irreplaceable.

Harry saw the triumph in the whale's eyes and the tragedy in Weasley's eyes and decided to nip hostilities in the bud.

"Oh, don't worry, Mr. Weasley. Hedwig is the most important thing and I left her with Hermione for the summer. I thought the Dursley's might be a bit reluctant to have me back and they've taken that out on Hedwig before. My wand I tied to my arm before I got off the train and had Ollie transfigure a wrapper into something that looked like my wand. Uncle Vernon only thought he burned my wand."

Arthur took a deep breath to contain his Weasley temper. "Well, it will be tight but Molly can buy everything you need tomorrow while we're at the match." He didn't mention needing Harry's key as he really didn't want these people knowing Harry had some money.

"Oh, no, Mr. Weasley. I don't need anything, I don't think. You remember Dobby? He's working at Hogwarts. I had him go through the lost and found. He's replaced just about everything I need. I didn't even have to pay for it! Some of the books are written in but they're still fine for me." Harry was very proud that he didn't look directly at Uncle Vernon's face as he said that. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rotund man's color rising, and the feeling of satisfaction at that acknowledgement (Harry Won!) put a big smile on Harry's face.

"Well," Arthur said stiffly, "we should be going."

"I'd like to say goodbye to my relatives in private, if you don't mind," Harry asked. Arthur paused, and then decided the boy had the right. He nodded and walked to the taxi.

"Thought you'd got me, yeah? You burned a bunch of useless stuff. I've got better now. You lose. Again."

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner. You will respect me," his skin turned an unhealthy shade but his voice didn't bellow. Wouldn't want to alert the freak at the curb, after all. "We've given you a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your belly…"

"Not much of any of those, if you're truthful, and not nearly what the substantial monthly stipend from the Potter Trust would have paid for, Uncle Vernon. I do wonder what the auditors will say about how you've spent the money meant to raise me."

Putting the cold fear in his stomach aside – how did the boy find out about those payments? – Vernon glared at Harry. "You and your freakishness – no one wanted you. We've given you a home when no one else could be bothered."

Harry quirked an eyebrow, his visage cold as the arctic.

"This is not my home. This has never been my home. This will never be my home." Vernon's eyes widened in panic, remembering parts of the letter his Pet had stressed to him. The only reason the bad freaks didn't kill them is because the little freak considered Number 4 Privet his home.

Harry smiled grimly at his uncle. "I see you have a small clue what that means, dear Uncle Vernon. I know some truly evil freaks. I'm going to make sure they know this address. I'm going to make sure to repay your… kindnesses. They'll probably torture you almost to death before they light this place on fire. Think, all you had to do was leave me be. But you never were content with that, were you? Well, have a good year! With any luck, I won't be seeing you!"

Harry skipped off to join Mr. Weasley, putting his Gryffindor façade back on. Wouldn't do to have them think he might be sneaky, because then they might think he'd thought ahead about the important stuff, like he'd thought ahead about Hedwig. Wouldn't do for them to know he'd had Dobby put his broom and other sentimental things in a charmed box (the lost and found at Hogwarts had LOTS of stuff) now stored in his Gringott's vault, or that Dobby got him a mokeskin bag for his thought-to-be-destroyed cloak and map.

Wouldn't do for them to know he'd brought down the wards on that stupid torture chamber on purpose.

Harry had enemies, but by his way of thinking? He now had at least two fewer.

~~ this is an AU where Harry is very slytherin. The impetus for the change into sneaky harry is defined in a later chapter. ~~

15) Up in smoke part 2 – a green eyed monster?

~~ begin~~

"Hello the house!" Arthur chimed, lacking a bit of his normal enthusiasm to his wife's ear.

"Dad!" "Hello, dear." "Harry's here!" "Mr. Weasley!"

Various replies echoed throughout the burrow and footsteps started down the stairs. Harry popped out from behind Mr. Weasley, getting his stomach back after side-along apparition.

Molly was wiping her hands as she came from the kitchen to the drawing room. "Where are Harry's things, then? I've put him in with Ron again."

"Well, you see…" Arthur trailed off, not wanting the children to see what would be Molly's obvious reaction to how the muggles treated Harry.

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley. There was a bit of an accident. Do you mind if I call a house elf here?"

"Not at all, dear."

"Dobby!"

"Master Harry calls Dobby?" The elf popped in.

"Hey, Dobby, could you get the trunk for me? I'm going to be staying with the Weasleys til we get to Hogwarts."

"Dobby gets, Master Harry sir." The little elf popped out and then popped back in a few moments later. "Dobby puts up in Master Harry's Weasel's room. Sir."

"Thanks, Dobby. Anything I can do for you in exchange?"

"Dobby good now, Master Harry, Sir. But Dobby let Master Harry, Sir know."

The elf popped out again before anyone could ask a question. There was a beat of silence, as the horde of Weasleys (and one Granger) tried to make sense of what they'd seen. And then, they all started asking at once.

"Stop, please!" Harry interrupted, then sighed. "That was Dobby. He was Malfoy's elf until I freed him. Now, he does stuff for me if I pay him. Hermione, thanks for taking care of Hedwig. I was right about how the Dursleys would be this summer. The first thing Vernon did was burn my trunk with all my stuff in it. I've had Dobby going through lost and found at Hogwarts to get me replacements for everything I need. I had him keep it at Hogwarts unless I was doing homework because I didn't want Vernon to burn another trunk of stuff."

"They. Burned. Your. Things." Molly was normally a shouter. That her tone was quiet and slow was a warning that she was beyond angry. If she knew where the Dursleys lived, Harry might fear for them.

Or he might cook popcorn for the show.

"It's okay, Mrs. Weasley. Really. I've had the summer to mostly come to terms with it. I've never really had stuff before, so this is nothing new to me. It's just stuff. They didn't hurt me. They could have." Unsaid, but understood, was that they had, before. "So, who can tell me what the deal is with the World Cup? I've been cut off from news, yeah?"

Understanding that Harry didn't want to dwell on his lost possessions, the twins started on a highlight tour of the playoff competitions. They kept the conversation quidditch-centered until after supper. Harry, Ron, and Hermione decided to walk to the pond after supper. Ginny wanted to tag along, but Molly held her back.

The trio was silent until they were out of range of the house.

"It's all gone? The map? The cloak? Your photo album?" Hermione knew, instinctively, what mattered the most to Harry.

"Everything that was in the trunk is ash. I was able to get replacements for most everything I need for school from lost and found, though. I even have some groovy muggle clothes from the 60s I think."

Hermione gathered that Harry didn't want to talk about the lost connections to his family. She should have offered to keep his stuff for him, too.

Water under the bridge.

"Isn't that weird? Wearing clothes someone else left behind?"

Harry shrugged. "I've always worn cast-offs. The weirdest part to me is why would whole wardrobes and trunks get left behind? I try to tell myself it was some pure-blood acting out against his family, wearing muggle clothes. They left them at Hogwarts so they wouldn't get caught. The alternative…" shaking his head, Harry trailed off.

"What's the alternative, then?" Ron asked, still thinking about that invisibility cloak going up in a muggle fire. That was a lot of money, a treasure!, just gone.

"The alternative is that they were muggle born that somehow died." Hermione was already tired of Ron's obtuseness, and she'd only been at the Burrow since lunch. "I wasn't the first to almost be killed at Hogwarts. Muggleborn disappear from there often enough, and that time period had You Know Who running around killing people. Can you imagine what Lucius Malfoy was like in school?"

A sneer formed on Ron's face. "Malfoy. At least you consistently beat him at what matters… The Firebolt!" Ron interjected as if in pain.

Harry sighed, "I reckon I'm off quidditch now."

"What? You can just buy a new broom," Ron brushed off Harry's obvious frustration with the situation.

"Brooms are expensive. McGonagall bought my Nimbus with funds from my trust vault; I can't afford to do that again."

"Oh, come off it. You've got piles of gold in that vault. And then you've got the main Potter vault."

"I have piles of gold in that vault. They will be used to pay tuition and fees for 7 years at Hogwarts and then, hopefully, an apprenticeship. That's all it will cover."

"It's more than I've got," Ron snapped back resentfully.

"Yeah, but you've got parents who will provide your tuition as well as a roof, food, and clothing for you - whatever you need whenever you need it. I don't. That gold is just enough to get me on my feet as an adult… hopefully. It's not enough to waste on another broom."

"Come off the pity party. You've got the Potter main vault to dig from, eventually."

Harry laughed without mirth. "Yeah, that's what a lot of people think. My dad actually pretty much emptied it for the war effort. There might be some there, but it's used to fund the Potter Trust, and by the time I get to majority, what my father left will be long gone."

Ron shook his head. "You're still the Boy Who Lived. You can make money off that for the rest of your life."

Harry looked at his friend as if seeing him for the first time. "You think I make money off that?"

"Well people pay gold for the books and dolls and stuff, so yeah!"

"Not one knut has been added to either my vault or the Potter main vault from that stuff. Whoever's making that money, it's not me, Ron."

"Whatever, you'll still get something off it. Stop acting like you have it so hard."

"Ronald!" Hermione was exasperated with the boy.

"You know I'm right. He gets whatever he wants because he has that scar. First year on the quidditch team. He does magic at home – twice! – and the minister himself lets him off. Now, he gets box seats to the World Cup because of his fame. We wouldn't even get to go to the game if it wasn't for that scar."

Hermione was aghast. "You think money or fame fixes everything? Look at Malfoy. He has everything. New clothes, new books, best broom. Now look at his dad and mum. Would you trade? Seriously?"

Ron swung in her direction, anger and something ugly covering his face. "Don't act like you understand. You're rich and you have great parents even if they are muggles. You've never had it hard. Either of you, really. Never mind."

Ron stalked back to his house. Hermione and Harry stared after him, silent in their reactions.

"You know he's just upset because…"

"Because what? I'm not rich after all? Don't look at me like that. You heard the same thing I did."

"But you don't seem surprised by it."

"Ron's always been obsessed with things. You should have seen how he looked at the invisibility cloak. I could practically see the pound signs in his eyes. To me, it was something of my dad's. To him…"

Harry looked off to the distance.

"Your comparison to Malfoy wasn't far off. When I get mad at Malfoy, it's because he called you a mudblood, or Ron a blood traitor, or Neville a squib. It's because he insults my friends. But Ron hates him because Ron wants to be him. Truly."

"Harry, you're making Ron sound awful."

Harry looked at Hermione. "Hermione, Ron CAN BE awful. He's usually a bully. Think of how he treats you, treats others. This one's a slimy snake, that one's a lazy puff, the other is a nerdy Claw. Your parents are just muggles…"

"Then why, for heaven's sake, are you friends with him?" Hermione asked, clearly confused and almost angry on Ron's behalf.

"At first, it was because he was my first friend. Then it was because I didn't want the twins to come after me. Now, it's because it's just easier than confronting him. When you were frozen by the basilisk, and other people started to treat me a bit normally again, I started to hear things. He'd say stuff about me when I wasn't around. That kind of thing. He got SO mad when I switched last summer to runes and arithmancy instead of divination. And surely you noticed how he kept trying to get me to stop studying last year when he was mad at you… about MY firebolt?"

"But," Hermione wanted to protest, but she didn't really have it in her. Ron could be fun, but he had a mean streak a mile wide. More and more in recent times, he'd been mean.

She didn't want to think about it anymore. Sighing, she closed her eyes and sought to change the subject.

"I am so, so sorry about your stuff. Maybe we can get Hagrid to get more pictures for you?"

"Maybe," Harry replied, but there was none of that anger or hurt that he had when the Nimbus had been destroyed. He sat stoically, looking at the pond in the dimming summer evening. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Did your album get destroyed?"

Harry sighed, turned, and looked at Hermione. "I will never, ever be able to hide anything from you, Hermione Granger. No. Everything that was in the trunk was burned up. But, as I told you when I asked you to keep Hedwig, I had a bad feeling. So, I had Dobby hide anything that was really important to me. I had him take my broom, cloak, map, picture album, the presents you've given me, my Weasley sweaters, and some other stuff and hide it in my trust vault."

"But…! Why would you lie?"

"I haven't lied! Look, I know you must have some inkling of what the Dursleys have done to me in the past. They really did burn my trunk. And now, no one thinks I have anything worth stealing. Well, you know, but you'd never steal from me or have my things taken from me. Except the firebolt… and you were right about that. Have I ever apologized for being a douchebag?"

Hermione smiled at first, "Language, and apology accepted." But then she thought more about what he didn't say. "You think Ron would steal your stuff?"

"He takes stuff from my trunk all the time. Or he did. He won't be able to get in anymore. But yeah, he's 'borrowed' the cloak and map and even my broom without telling me before. My old money bag that wasn't secure? It was 2 sickles lighter by the end of the year. I wasn't allowed out of the castle. He was able to buy Honeydukes on his pocket money even on the last Hogsmeade visit. Somehow, I doubt Neville was digging through my stuff and stealing my change. Ron's incredibly jealous of me – I started to see it last year when I started doing better than him in classes. If he decides to really turn? I wouldn't be surprised if he ruined something like the photo album just to hurt me."

"Oh!" Hermione's sense of loyalty was being challenged. Ron was their friend! Well, he was Harry's friend anyway. Wasn't he? She had to think.

"Have you heard from Padfoot?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah. I think he's somewhere warm. I hope he's ok, but it's hard to tell. He told me to get to Gringotts – he has something there that will let me talk to him. Do they have mobiles in the magical world? I saw that Dudley and his friends upgraded their pagers to mobiles this summer."

"Really? I suppose the shakedown business has its perks?" she snarked before becoming serious again, "I've heard of floo and paper-aeroplane-like memos. But nothing like a mobile."

"Well, I've got to find a way to get to Gringotts. I don't have much to buy but I do need ink – all the stuff in lost and found was dried out. Mr. Weasley wanted to send Mrs. Weasley while we're at the game, but I imagine I can con them into letting me go pick some of my own stuff. Lost and found pity points."

"I can't believe you've raided lost and found."

"Hey, the stuff only goes in there if it doesn't have a magical signature. I asked Dobby to give me stuff that was at least six years abandoned, meaning anyone who left it isn't even at Hogwarts anymore. You know, I don't know why it took me until third year to ask about lost and found; it's how I got a lot of stuff when I was in primary. The Dursleys certainly wouldn't buy me biros or the like. Why let that stuff go to waste? The clothes are ten times better than these rags, there's even trainers without holes!"

Hermione laughed slightly as they turned back toward the house. Perhaps Ronald had cooled off a bit. If not, this whole trip portended disaster. She barely tolerated quidditch at the best of times, and usually then only when Harry was playing. She'd thought hanging out at the world cup with friends would be a grand experience, but Ron had the ability to ruin it if he didn't come out of his funk.

Time would tell.

~~Yes, this is a Ron Bash. When I was writing this, I really really didn't like Ron. I still don't like the character much, but I understand the need for him. This fic exacerbates his worst qualities and accentuates Hermione's best qualities. It's fic, and I can do what I like lol. Onward with fourth year...~~

14) Veritas ex machina – up in smoke part 3 ish?

~story starts here~

"This is Bartholomew Blather with the WWN, live from Gringotts, London. I'm here, in a truth room, to interview one Harry Potter, also known as The Boy Who Lived and currently, the youngest Triwizard Champion. Mr. Potter was, up until today, thought to be missing as he has not been seen since before Hogwarts' winter break. Good afternoon Mr. Potter, and may I say it is very good to see you both alive and apparently healthy? Many of us were quite worried."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Blather. I assure you; I am fine. I feel better, actually, than I have… ever? Anyway, could you explain what a truth room is? Thanks, by the way, for agreeing to the interview here. I imagine many reporters wouldn't."

"I must admit it was strange to be asked to report from a truth room. For our listeners, truth rooms can be rented from Gringotts. Nothing said in this room can be a lie. Of course, one could refuse to speak or only give part of an answer, but anything said today will be truth."

Though the audience couldn't see it, Bartholomew was quite surprised by the Potter lad's sly grin.

"I do retain the right to refuse to answer some questions," Harry stated. "But let's start with your monikers for me. The Boy Who Lived. Why do you all celebrate that so? I find it pretty… distasteful."

The interviewer was taken aback. "Your defeat of the Dark Lord You Know Who signaled the end of a terrible war, Mr. Potter."

"My defeat? You're joking, right? I understand that you all were very… enthusiastic about the disappearance of the Dark Twit, but I'm fairly certain I did nothing to accomplish it."

"Everyone knows Voldemort attacked your family. You …" there was a long pause as the interviewer attempted to state the truth as he knew it.

"Yes. You can't finish that, can you? It's not the truth. Everyone knows that I survived. My parents died. Oldy-twerp disappeared. It's thought that we were the only ones in the house, but I'm betting he had at least one follower with him – perhaps Peter Pettigrew? The death eater spy that betrayed my parents?"

"But Sirius Black…"

Harry waited and smiled again. "Nope. Sirius is my oath-sworn godfather. He pretended to be the secret keeper, but in actuality, it was Pettigrew. Pettigrew is, by the way, a rat animagus. I saw both him and Sirius last year. Pettigrew admitted both to betraying my parents and to killing a dozen muggles or so when Sirius had pinned him down."

There was a long silence as the interviewer tried to get his feet under him again. Harry took a bit of advantage of the lull.

"Anyway, let's assume that my parents, Mork-from-ork, and I were in the house. I figure my parents, both really wicked with magic from what I've heard, probably did something to save me. Heck, I'd be more likely to believe that your Dork Lard mispronounced his curse – kind of like Odrick the Oddball – than that I did anything. Except maybe wet my nappy."

"Yes, well… before we go on, why all these silly names? I realize you are just 14, but you should be wary of taking such direct jabs at You Know Who. If nothing else, you could be seen as being disrespectful to those of us who lived through the war."

Though it didn't show over the radio, Harry shrugged.

"The name that makes you all shudder? It's made up – just the letters of his real name moved about. His real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Riddle: that's not a wizarding family, is it? Anyway, if he can make up a fake name, then I say go for it. We learned last year that to defeat the boggart – which is powered by your greatest fears – you have to use the Ridikkulus spell and laugh. Laughter defeats fear. So, I call Who Flung Poo funny names. Make them up when I'm bored in Binns' class, actually. I don't mean it as disrespect to anyone but the Dim Jerk and his merry band of men. And women."

"I understand, I suppose. But as far as names go, I still don't understand why you are bothered by your own bestowed title?"

"Besides the fact that it illustrates disrespect for my parents – dismissing both their accomplishment in beating him and their murder – it puts a great big target on me. I wasn't even raised in the magical world! I'd never heard of any of this stuff 'til I turned 11! And when I get here? I have fans and enemies I'd never done anything to deserve! It's really weird, and I don't understand it to this day."

"You were raised muggle?" the astonishment came over clearly in Blather's voice.

"Yes. I was raised by the Dursleys - my maternal relatives – in Surrey. Went to regular primary and everything. Whoever had charge of me figured out that my mother's magic had formed some kind of shield around me. That probably had a bit of something about how I lived when the Vile-and-dark attacked? I mean, that lightning bolt on my head? Probably the rune: sowelu as the last step in keeping me whole. Or maybe eihwaz? But it looks more like sowelu…" Harry trailed off as if in thought.

"Are you saying your mother did a sacrificial rite?" The dumbfounded interviewer blurted. "Those are illegal in Britain!"

Harry's eyes narrowed and grew cold.

"Dig her up and put her in Azkaban, then. Yeah?" the interviewer looked ashamed. "If she did a blood or magic – or both! – sacrificial rite, then she didn't break the law until she was already dead. Is suicide illegal in Britain? Anyhow, the person who placed me with my relatives noticed that my mother had placed wards around my relatives' house. That person tied the magic around me into those wards to make them very, very strong."

"Your magic powered the wards around a non-magical house that was unconnected with ley-lines?"

"Yeah. According to the healers, it made my magic a bit wonky. Took forever to get through my first maturation, and it looks like I'm starting the second maturation early."

"Healers? I did notice that you look quite a bit different than Rita Skeeter described you, or even how the pictures in the Prophet showed you to appear, just a few months ago."

Harry looked at the interviewer stoically for a moment. He took a deep breath, thinking how to answer.

"Well, here it is. My relatives' house had those wards, and - coupled with my mother's protection on me – they made quite a strong overall barrier toward Riddle's spittles. No matter how much they wanted to kill me, they couldn't. But my relatives are really intolerant. They hate magic, hated my mother, and hate me. I'm not exaggerating when I say that. I made it to Hogwarts alive, but not really that healthy. Last summer, when I spent a bit of time in Diagon Alley, I met up with a healer. They told me that if I wanted to… recover any of the lost health, I'd need to address it between magical maturations. Wait too long and the growth plates are closed. Try to do it while your magic is wonky and you can damage your core. My only real time to address it was this winter solstice."

A light of awareness was shining in Blather's eye. "Which is why you disappeared from Hogwarts and missed the Yule Ball."

"I didn't disappear. I never signed up to stay. No Hogwarts student is required to stay over winter break. Besides, the Yule Ball is not a requirement for this stupid tournament. A stupid tournament I didn't sign up for. Note that, will you. I stated it in this truth room. Anyway, only the three tasks are required to satisfy the contract that was forced on me. Being healthy is more important than going to a dance where I would surely embarrass Hogwarts and Britain with my lackluster skills. Anyway, I did what was necessary for me."

"You are a bit taller and more filled out. And you're not wearing glasses?"

"Seven inches, almost two stone, and yeah, my eyes are all better. I took part in a ritual cleansing, purification, and healing."

"Cleansing and purification?"

"There was still some dark magic around my scar."

"Your scar seems less pronounced now? I can barely see it."

"Yeah. That magical residue had to be gone before the healing could work."

"But wouldn't that have removed your mother's protection, also?"

Harry sighed. "I don't have my mother's protection in my magic anymore."

"Well, at least you won't have to live with the muggles that quite obviously did not take care of you. Any idea where you'll live now?"

A small smile appeared on Harry's face.

"If I knew, I wouldn't tell your audience. Some of Riddle's fans are still out there, and I'm only 14."

"One might say you've been hasty in dismissing those wards, then."

"One might. But the choice was mine. Live safely until I'm 17 but die most likely before I'm 40 – yeah, that's how bad my health was. Or live in good health from now until that fake title you guys gave me gets me killed. I chose the latter. It was my choice, after all."

"And your guardian approved?"

"My guardian? The muggles who harmed me in the first place? They don't have the right to deny medical treatment in the UK."

"No, your magical guardian. If you were raised muggle then you should have had a guardian assigned in the magical world: someone to teach you what you need, especially since you will be head of an ancient family?"

"I've never been introduced to any guardian; I've never been told anything about the Potter family by any witch or wizard of my acquaintance. Hagrid bought my stuff with me before first year and Mrs. Weasley – she's the mum of some fellow Griffs – has done some shopping with me twice. Otherwise, I've been left on my own. If there is a magical guardian, he or she has been so lax that they don't deserve the right to advise me on anything, let alone anything so personal as my own health."

"I see your point," the interviewer murmured, thinking on yet another story that was waiting to be discovered from this interview. He could hardly keep his inquiries and thoughts straight at this point.

If he knew that Harry had sprung all these surprises on him on purpose, to keep the interview in the direction Harry himself wanted, he would wonder how Harry had not ended up in Slytherin.

To give himself time to jot some notes, Blather asked, "Is there anything else that you felt you needed to tell the audience, Mr. Potter?"

"Actually, yes. I do want to thank all your listeners who have wished me luck in the tournament or, indeed, at any time in the past. Please understand, I never have received any of your mail," Blather stopped writing and looked up again, wide-eyed. "I apologize if any of you have sent me anything and not gotten a response. I was apparently under some extreme mail wards. They're gone now, but I have new ones in place, and all incoming mail is now being processed by a service before it gets to me. Thank you for your patience in this matter.

"I would also like to apologize if anyone purchased 'official Potter paraphernalia', as much of it was entailed to my estate. I performed a ritual of return and retrieved any number of items that I'm sure others thought of as treasure. Please understand, these were my ancestors' things. I know you paid gold for them, but they were not for sale. No gold for these items was ever put into the Potter vaults. They were stolen items. In fact, there have been several changes made to the Potter vaults over the last few weeks. I do apologize for any inconvenience these changes cause, but I was merely returning them to the pre-war strategies that my grandfather employed."

The reporter's eyes narrowed, knowing there was much more that wasn't being said. But

the young snake-in-lion's-clothing looked at a wrist watch. "You'll have to pardon me, sir. I only rented this room for 30 minutes, and our time is up. I wouldn't want to run afoul of the goblins! Thank you very much for helping me get some truths out there."

"Of course; perhaps we could schedule another of these?"

Harry smiled enigmatically.

"I'll be back in school and then I'll most likely be in hiding. Sorry."

With that, Harry turned and left. By the time Mr. Blather had signed off of the broadcast and exited the room, Harry was gone.

~~ I think I did add a little to this one after I posted it. Slytherin Harry continues to confuse people. The numbers at the beginning of each "chapter" is the number the plot bunny got in my plot bunny file. So you see, they didn't come to me in order. Silly muse.~~

17) Up In Smoke Prequel/postlude

~~How did we get here? The first part of this takes place at the beginning of POA, when Harry's on the alley ~~

Harry rubbed his eyes as he sat in front of Fortesque's trying to finish his summer homework. The glasses that his Aunt had got for him just didn't work right anymore, and he got headaches all the time. He didn't even know if he had enough money in his account for a health visit – Did the magical world have NHS? But the words were blurry and he was tired of trying to make it work.

He packed up his derelict satchel and headed to Gringotts. It couldn't hurt too much to ask, right? Well… they were goblins…

Heck, he'd killed a basilisk. He could do this.

He stood in line to see a teller. As the line got shorter, he got more nervous.

"Next," the goblin growled, and Harry quickly made his way to the desk.

"Well?" the goblin asked, gruffly.

"My name is Harry Potter. I'd like to get an accounting of the money in my vault, sir," Harry stated quietly and politely.

"Key," the goblin demanded. Harry sighed, wishing he could just hand it over. He'd tried to get it back from Mrs. Weasley after the shopping trip the prior summer, but she'd insisted that Headmaster Dumbledore needed to hold it for Harry. Harry relayed that information to the teller.

"Wait," the teller commanded, and two guards with pikes stood to block any exit Harry might try to make.

After a few moments, the teller returned. He had a strange needle-like piece of metal and a piece of parchment. "Your wand hand," he demanded.

Harry held out his hand and was amazed it wasn't shaking. The goblin jabbed him in the pad of his middle finger, holding the metal in his skin until it turned blood-red. Then he placed it on the parchment where it dissolved into a slew of words.

The goblin watched the words form and grunted. The guards went from attention to rest and then went back to wherever they had come from.

Harry let out the breath he was holding.

"Your account manager is Grimsneer. You will go to him now. Come." The teller came out from behind his desk and opened a door for Harry to pass through. Harry did so with all alacrity.

He waited only the merest of moments after the teller knocked on a door that was marked in strange lettering – he supposed it said Grimsneer.

Harry walked into the room as the teller indicated he should and heard the door shut behind him.

Unsure of himself, Harry did a short bow from the waist. "Account Manager Grimsneer, umm… I am honored to make your acquaintance?"

"You don't sound sure, Heir Potter."

His shoulders slumped slightly. "Sorry, sir. I've never learned how I'm supposed to not insult you? I… "

Grimsneer chuckled. "You're fine, sit." He indicated a chair that had very strong truth runes on it, though Harry didn't know it.

"So, Mr. Potter, what brings you here? Striff indicated you wanted an account balance?"

"Um, yeah. I need new glasses. I don't even know if there's doctors that do that here but why even look if I don't have the funds?"

Grimsneer nodded. "Sensible. Your guardian hasn't taken you to a healer?"

"Aunt Petunia? Only if the school makes her. But I was in the hospital wing just at the end of term. I got bitten by a snake…"

"What kind of snake?" Grimsneer demanded. The aura around this child pulsed with suppressed pain and poison. He pulled out a parchment and sent an urgent note to the lead human healer on staff.

"Umm, a basilisk? But Fawkes, Headmaster Dumbledore's phoenix, cried on the bite. So I'm okay."

"Where did you come across a basilisk?" As it hadn't been reported, it was obviously illegal. This could be the key to getting Heir Potter away from the terrible guardian who controlled the Potter vaults. He received a transmission that the healer would be in his office momentarily.

"Umm, it was Slytherin's basilisk, sir? I had to kill it."

"You slew a basilisk? Where is the corpse?" No one had noted basilisk skin or heart strings or venom on the market. He'd have to listen closer.

"It's still in the chamber. You have to be able to talk to snakes to get there," Harry offered. There was a knock on the door and Grimsneer ordered them to enter.

"No matter, so you want money for new glasses. You were bitten by a basilisk, and you do not appear to be at peak health. This is Healer Panakos. He's going to perform a diagnostic spell on you. This will tell us what is wrong with you and what would be needed to fix it."

"Basilisk venom. Phoenix tears," the healer muttered. "Throwing off the spell. Hold on a tic." He redid the spell and a parchment started filling with information. He could tell by the look on the healer's face that some of it wasn't so good.

Harry blushed. He knew he was the smallest in his year. It wasn't his fault the dumb Dursleys never fed him enough. He was always hungry. And he'd never really got over burning Quirrel up last year, either.

When the quill dropped from the parchment, the healer sighed. "You have numerous old injuries, malnutrition, curses, and potions that need to be addressed. Your magical core is also destabilized. You've not finished your first maturation yet. I would advise when you finish your maturation – perhaps in a year? Strange it's so late – you should have a major healing and cleansing ritual done. The dark magic alone desperately needs to be removed, though you do seem to have it contained in that scar."

"Sir, I don't even know where to get a ritual like that done. I wanted to just go to an eye doctor and get new glasses."

Panakos nodded. "Understandable. But if you don't address your health issues, they could have long-term consequences."

"But if I go to the hospital in the magical world, people will talk. I don't want people to know…"

"Gringotts could organize the healing. I'm not sure if you have enough to cover it," Panakos didn't even look at Grimsneer, "but we can check." Grimsneer knew the boy didn't have nearly enough, though he should have. But this was his chance to try to steer the Potter Heir in a manner that would even the scores, just a bit.

"Thank you for your assistance, Healer Panakos," Grimsneer dismissed the healer who took one last look at the Boy Who Lived before shaking his head and leaving the room.

Grimsneer pulled out a few ledgers. Leafing through them, he grunted and shook his head, noting the worried look on the boy's face.

"It appears, Heir Potter, that you wouldn't be able to pay for a ritual – even at St. Mungos – because the Potter vaults are just about empty."

"Vaults?" Harry asked. "More than one? There are vaults?" This level of ignorance was quite surprising to Grimsneer.

"There is your trust vault, the main Potter vault, the investment vault, and the Potter Trust vault. Though most of them are losing money."

"My family had money at one time?" Harry was intrigued. He'd never had a thing to claim as his own. Why had no one ever mentioned this to him?

"Oh, yes. Between the two blood wars, the Potter vaults prospered. My own father tended to them with your grandfather; it was stunning work, to be sure. Investments in muggle and magical world alike, made when the market was low but with an eye to what would be needed. Property that had lain fallow or abandoned purchased and improved for tenants. It was a time of great success for the Potter vaults." He pointed to a balance that, even though Harry had no idea what was really worth, had several more numbers in it than the current amount.

"Your father changed the investment policy during the war: all investment income – and that is substantial – was diverted into a fund for the war effort. I alerted your guardian to this fact, but he deemed changing that policy back – putting the income back into the Potter vaults - unnecessary. Rents are covering just a bit over half of the Potter trust – the rest of the trust comes out of the main Potter vault and is steadily eating the principle of the account."

He pulled another open ledger onto the desk in front of him, his gnarled finger pointing to a column of credits.

"Rents themselves are stagnant. Your steward was fired by your guardian. No one is enforcing the rent increases that were to occur on a semi-annual basis. In fact, some of your tenants have simply stopped paying rent. Those tend to be friends of your guardian, placed onto your properties by him.

"By the time you reach majority, the accounts will be empty and the trusts that fund parts of St. Mungos hospital, Bainbridge Magical Primary, and Cloverhill Orphanage will be defunct. The latter two will surely close. Hogwarts will, of course, lose its part of the trust, but as the account your income is supporting is managed by Hogwarts, that is where it is being spent."

Harry knew that Grimsneer wasn't talking about Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. He had a guardian in the magical world, and they were robbing him blind. But maybe, just maybe they were doing it for the right reasons?

"Does my guardian use any of that money for him or herself?"

The goblin chuckled humorlessly.

"He does in many ways. He uses some of the funds as what we call discretionary – his Twilfitt and Tattings bills are delivered directly to this account. But the bigger piece is the favor he buys with your income. The scholarships that he awards – many think he funds them himself, and he has never discouraged this thought. He's never given the Potter trust credit. He also has a bit of a free hand in the Wizengamot – the legislative portion of wizarding government. Aside from voting your seats as your guardian, and the seats of Lord Black, your rightful guardian, he buys votes with your money. His account manager is quite proud to have such a swindler for a client. I am your account manager, and I consider him a thief."

Harry swallowed. He had a good idea of who this guardian was, and it was breaking his heart.

Was there not a single good person in the magical world?

"What would you do if you were me?"

Something like a wicked grin passed on the goblin's face. The child had worded it exactly right – what would a goblin do? Not what should he do, as then Grimsneer would have to advise within human custom, primarily that of the accursed guardian. Now, he could give the advice he truly wanted to give.

"Assign me or a solicitor to get ready with papers to go after anyone who has made money from your name or image. Your guardian has done nothing about this and it could refill a good part of the Potter vaults." Harry nodded. He hated the 'Boy Who Lived' crap and how people treated him because of it, but he'd never really thought about the money those books and stuff were making. Or where it went. Grimsneeer made note that he had approval to move on that.

"Also, have me or a steward start getting ready to evict those who have not paid rent at all and put in place full increases for those who didn't honor their bi-yearly increase." Harry again nodded in agreement.

"Prepare for the ritual of return to get back properties that have been stolen."

"Ritual of return?"

"Anything entailed to your estate will magically be returned to you. Your family pensieve, famly ring, grimoire, library, silver, jewelry… most of these have been… relocated." Harry saw red. People were stealing money, that was bad. But stealing his parents' things? When he'd never even seen them?

Grimsneer saw the disgust on the Heir's face and knew that the child would be building his resolve. This was good, as none of these moves would be popular.

"That basilisk bite – where is the animal? Give the nation permission to harvest it. The smallest basilisk is worth quite a bit of money, if it was Slytherin's basilisk, it was undoubtedly huge and is worth a small fortune. Put that money in a trust between you and me – your guardian will not even know it exists. This way, you can pay for ritual healing next yule."

"Do you have a way to speak snake? I will tell you the passwords…"

"We have a team going into the castle to do a ward check next week – apparently the board of governors overrode your headmaster on that as Sirius Black has escaped and is supposedly headed to the castle. Your guardian will be at an ICW meeting in Belize that week, so he will pose no threat to the claim." This casual statement confirmed that Dumbledore – and Harry'd never think of him with an honorific again – was his guardian in the magical world. Grimsneer brought his thoughts back to the processes at hand. "I'll record you saying the passwords and get a team into this chamber. We'll scour it and see if there's anything else of value for the Potter Vaults, though if Tom Riddle was there, it has surely been ransacked already."

"You are staying on the alley?" Grimsneer wanted confirmation, though he'd heard rumors.

"Yeah, I blew up my Uncle's sister with magic. They'd probably kill me if they saw me again this summer. I don't know why I have to live there. Dumbledore told me I had to. Said I'm protected best there. I guess he's just trying to get me killed so he can take what's left of my gold, yeah?" The bitter voice of the small boy in front of him was regrettable, but necessary. This child probably would have followed that megalomaniacal puppet master, just as his father had. Dumbledore had a way about him. Most swindlers did.

"Your guardian erected powerful wards there if he believes they keep you safe. He is quite good at magic."

Harry nodded, "Supposedly based on my mother's protection."

"Blood wards, then. Give me the address. Perhaps we can find a way before we do the healing and cleansing rituals to harvest your mother's protections and the wards at your current abode."

"So we can put them somewhere else? But I don't have anywhere to live."

"We can alter them – make them a personal ward that could be reabsorbed into your magic after your final maturation."

The goblin looked down at the list he had written then back up at the boy.

"Now, I have quite a bit of work to do. Preparation for most of this can be done by me and will cost you nothing extra. A solicitor or steward would need to be paid and though you have the funds, you cannot ensure that they do not tattle to a certain thief, for the 'greater good.'"

Harry, who had been attempting to absorb all they had agreed upon, looked up with narrowed eyes. "You can do all this?"

Grimsneer smirked, ignoring the insult that was implied. The child was more muggleborn than mageborn; he wouldn't know what goblins could do.

"I can, and it would both amuse and satisfy to do so."

"Then, let's do it."

~~ this is a scene break, and the next takes us back to where we left off in the last chap ~~

Harry decided that he needed to be more active in his own life, as it seemed like everyone was taking advantage of him. He talked to several shop owners and found that his choices of electives – at least divination – would cripple him in the future. He wrote to his head of house and changed his electives.

When he got to Hogwarts, as Madame Pomphrey checked him over for effects of dementor exposure, he asked if she could fix his glasses. She did so easily, and he wondered why she'd never done so before. Not aloud, of course, as he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

His third year passed quickly, even though there were the requisite murder attempts. He avoided interaction with Dumbledore and managed to run into that weird elf – Dobby – in the castle. They got to talking – well he asked questions and Dobby answered – and Harry ended up bonding Dobby into his house.

Harry decided, being proactive again, that he needed to do a better job protecting his stuff, now that he had stuff to protect. Bad that people were stealing things he never knew he had. How stupid would he be to allow the cloak or map or his new broom to disappear? He'd noticed that Ron got into his trunk with regularity. At least half the chocolate frogs he'd got off the train disappeared before he could eat them. Same with the candy he got for Christmas.

And when he thought about how he'd left the Dursleys last year… he wouldn't be surprised if they destroyed his stuff, just to make him unhappy. But he didn't want to replace everything – his funds were tight enough!

He needed to get new stuff, and protect it, without paying for it… And he could! How often had he taken pens, hats, all manner of things from the lost and found at different places? He asked Dobby about the lost and found in the castle and together they scoured it until they found a trunk that was big enough, in good shape, and he could lock with his magic. Then they found clothing and books and things – he'd not have to buy supplies for the next school year. He had Dobby put the new-to-him trunk, full of supplies and his most precious possessions, in his vault.

Deciding to be super-pro-active, the morning they were to go home, he holstered his wand (he'd found some holsters that made your wand unsummonable and invisible in the come and go room!) and had Wood make a copy of his wand out of some old parchment. He also asked Hermione to house Hedwig until he could see how things were at the Dursleys. She didn't think her parents would mind, and they weren't to travel that summer.

The summer passed, and when Mr. Weasley picked him up for his parole from Dursley Prison, Harry sneered at his soon-to-be-former guardians. It felt so good to tell the whale off. He'd meant to just warn them the protections would fall, and then they had to go and burn his trunk. Sure, it was just junk in there, but they didn't know that. They thought they were destroying his only possessions in the world.

During the World Cup that Harry attended with his ever-distancing friend Ron, the goblins harvested his mother's protection from the decaying wards on Privet Drive and put into crystal that he wore on his wrist. He felt better just knowing the last of his mum was with him.

~~ this is a scene break, returning us back to the fallout of the interview ~~

It was supper when the confrontation began. He'd been back from holiday (and his interview with the WWN) just a few hours – ignoring all the staring of the students – when the deputy headmistress told him the Headmaster wished to see him. He looked to the head table where that man sat.

"Is this about school, sir?" Harry asked.

"No, Mr. Potter, this is about the Potter Trust," the headmaster answered with cold eyes.

"Aah, in that case, Professor McGonagall, I'd like you to be my witness to this conversation, but as you can see that the Headmaster is approaching me on a personal matter, you will refrain from correcting me as to my behavior, yes?"

The stern-faced woman looked between her employer and her student. What on Earth had caused the anger she was seeing manifest in both of them? She determined if nothing else, she would stop them from coming to physical or – gods forbid – magical blows with her presence.

The trio went to the Headmaster's office in simmering silence. When the two men had taken opposing seats, and Professor McGonagall stood back to watch the proceedings, her hand surreptitiously on her wand, the Headmaster's furious blue eyes met the student's cold, green, unwavering gaze.

The fact that Harry was so steadfast, not even flinching under the weight of obvious disapproval, did not bode well.

Dumbledore began the conversation with a quiet, stern voice, confronting Harry– thinking, perhaps, to cow the younger man.

"Mister Potter, though I understand your frustrations with your placement in the tournament, you have used this as an excuse for reprehensible decisions. You revealed the Dursleys' name for all of the magical world to hear. As if that would not be challenging enough to the protections I cast, you then dismissed those ancient magics out of hand. It will be all I can do to save the lives of your family. Additionally, you may not be aware, but your actions with respect to the Potter vaults have put people into the streets! You are endangering the schooling of several of your classmates, including your closest friends, the Weasleys. I do not even know if I can contain the damage you have done. What were you thinking?"

The clock ticked as the pendulum swung. The phoenix was quiet on his perch. After a silent, almost deadly beat, Harry leaned forward, drilling his eyes back into Dumbledore's.

"I was thinking that anything you recommend is almost certainly not to my benefit," Harry replied, coldly. McGonagall gasped at this statement. Harry wasn't finished, though. His voice was quiet and stern which lent much more truth to his vicious statements. "While I was starving, you were enjoying food purchased from the fat of the Potter investments, and you were eating it off a golden place setting while I cried from hunger, locked in a boot cupboard. While I was cold and barely clothed, you used my estate's income to buy your hideous robes at exorbitant prices. While I got beaten up and called a freak, you used my family's money to buy prestige for yourself. That's done. It's all done."

Dumbledore sat, his face pale. He'd honestly thought he had the lad's respect. This speech proved nothing could be further from the truth. He believed he could justify much of what he did… but not now. Not in the face of the Potter ire contained in the Evans cold fury. And young Harry was not done.

"You forced me into this tournament. I swore a magic-bound oath at Gringotts that I didn't enter myself; someone else must've entered my name. As my guardian and headmaster, you could have called for a cancellation and redraw in the first twenty-four hours." At the headmaster's widening eyes, the only sign that the jig was up, Harry shook his head. "Yes, I got a copy of the rules. You could have kept me out of this. You didn't. I was able to use that fact, coupled with my health report, to strip your position as my guardian within Gringotts."

Harry looked over at his head of house, "You know, they have policies about child abuse?" he asked rhetorically. Then he returned his accusatory gaze to Dumbledore.

"Anyway. Since you didn't protect me, at all, yet again, you can see the results of my work as quite your own fault, really. But to summarize, do I know what I have done? I have reallocated the income you were – though legally, quite immorally – taking from the Potter investments. I'm suing you for mismanagement and theft to get back what you haven't already spent. I've put the rents up to where they should be for properties in the Potter holdings, and your free-loader friends who never paid a sickle in rent are losing every knut they have for neglecting to pay their rents over the last decade. I rehired the steward that you wrongly let go – what, you needed those galleons for your lemon drops or something? Most of all, I've ensured that three charities will continue even if they don't give Albus Bleeding Dumbledore a good reputation. Hogwarts won't see a knut until you are gone from here. Since the Hogwarts trust got all of the Potter investment income for the last ten years, it should have plenty stored, yeah?

"Now, this parchment is your formal notice," Harry stood and handed a copy of said document to McGonagall and dropped one on Dumbledore's desk, as though even handing a parchment directly would dirty his hands. "You are to stay away from me and from my accounts. If there is something that has to do with schooling, my head of house should approach me. I am never to be in a room with you alone again. You are not to speak directly to me again. More importantly, it is a warning that if you don't follow these directives, I will declare blood feud on house Dumbledore. Leave me, and my vaults, alone, you disgusting thief."

Harry turned, nodded to McGonagall, who stood, silent and white-faced after witnessing the confrontation, and left the room.

Chapter 4 UiS - The Fallout

There was fallout. Of course, there was fallout. The goblins released a statement the day after Harry's interview explaining that several people who had failed to pay their rent to the Potter vaults would be pursued for those payments now, with interest penalties. The makers of the "Boy Who Lived" paraphernalia would be required to pay a percentage of their back profits, and cease and desist orders were established on all production until contracts could be put in place for disbursement of profits (if production was allowed at all).

The managing directors of three separate charities came forward and thanked the goblins and Harry for ensuring their continued operations – allowing most people to understand that Potter galleons were the primary support of those charities.

When some tried to push back in the Wizengamot, suing to not have to pay or to pursue what they considered "stolen" heirlooms they had purchased in good faith, or to retain the right to inhabit Potter properties or… full documentation was released by the goblins. The defrauding of the Potter accounts, with no permission from the Potter family, was astonishing. Heirlooms sold to the highest bidder but no payment to the Potter vaults. Leases gone for nothing. No recompense for the Boy Who Lived items. The list went on and on. And the source of the malfeasance?

The chief warlock. Rapidly, a "former" was put in front of that title.

People were angry, and at first, they wanted to blame the "spoiled" boy-hero, even though they now knew he had a rather terrible childhood. Even though it had been revealed he hadn't entered himself into the Triwizard tournament, statements of his "preferential" treatment at Hogwarts started to gain credence. Harry's newly hired lawyer put paid to that almost immediately. When the details of the abuse perpetrated by some teachers and Hogwarts "encounters" came to light? The blame went straight back to Dumbledore.

Not all was sunny for Harry. He'd survived strife before, but this storm was quite a lot for the boy hero to weather. When the Weasley tribe were pulled from Hogwarts for inability to pay, others knew no favoritism would buy a scholarship from the Potter vaults. Like many others, Ron and Ginny and the twins ended up at Saint George's academy – for lower income magicals. This was fine for the twins – it was better than Hogwarts in many ways because the education at Saint George's was more practical than esoteric. Ron had a much easier time guiding himself with that curriculum but was still quite bitter that Harry hadn't made an exception for him, after what they'd gone through together.

Harry, though, knew Ron was a fair-weather friend at best. He'd have been more likely to help the twins than Ron. Ron had tried to turn the school against Harry for months. When Harry beat the dragon, Ron offered a crap apology that Harry didn't accept.

"You know what?" Harry asked rhetorically to his former mate. "I think we're better off the way we were. You keep talking shite about me, and I'll keep ignoring you. You keep trying to steal my things, and my trunk wards will keep giving you burns." Ron quickly put his now-scarred hands into his trouser pockets as his complexion reddened further and the other champions looked on with interest. "Literally nothing has changed since this morning. I am still, in your mind, a cheater. But I'm popular again, and you want to be my mate? In muggle terms, Ron, you're a loser. And we're done."

Hermione had looked on, aghast. Since the summer, when Ron had thrown a tantrum upon finding out that Harry was poor, things had been strained. When Harry's name came out of the goblet, Ron had shown his vicious side. And it was pretty obvious that Harry was done with being treated like crap. Harry wouldn't accept Ron's apology, and then he had gone and disappeared over break.

When she'd confronted him – asking why he didn't tell her he was leaving for break and what he was doing, he replied that he didn't trust her not to tell. And if she'd told, the consequences for him would be dire. Being honest with herself, she admitted she probably would have told Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore if she'd known that he would leave over break. And if she'd done that, he would have lost his entire family legacy, he would lose the ability to be healed… it was a nightmare. From that point on, Hermione checked her instincts to tattle a whole lot more.

Learning from her mistakes, she asked Harry why so many were being pulled from Hogwarts. Sighing deeply, Harry decided to tell Hermione all of it. It was nice to have a friend to confide in.

Hermione was absolutely horrified at what the headmaster had done to Harry. She wondered why the man would stoop so low, as most agreed he was a wizard of the light.

Harry nodded. "It's almost like he didn't expect the Potter family to survive," Harry said. "Like he figured, since I was bound to die, at least he'd use my family's resources for his greater good crud."

Hermione chewed on her lip for a moment, wondering if that really could justify the perpetual abuse, the theft, the misrepresentation. But also knowing that Harry needed some way to excuse his former hero. "That sounds logical. He believed Voldemort would come back, and he knew Voldemort would aim for you, whether for revenge or some other weird reason. The headmaster has just used what he figured would go to the pureblood government if he didn't use it himself? In any case," she sighed, "there's really no justification for keeping you in an abusive home, for not correcting things like your glasses, for goodness's sake, let alone not making sure you had enough food. If he had a justification, he'd have brought it forward when Gringotts released the statement about the changes to your vaults and showed that Dumbledore and his friends had been defrauding you for a decade."

Harry shook his head. "Aside from my personal issues, it's really hurt the cause of the light – if he's their leader, then they all must be crap. The worst part is that I have to kind of commiserate with Draco these days."

"Tell me." She rolled her eyes. "The uproar in the Wizengamot – they want someone to blame, they want to blame Dumbledore, but they let him seal the will. They let Crouch throw innocents in Azkaban. They are to blame, too, but Dumbledore's getting the blame, and it's all just ridiculous."

"At least Sirius is free now. He's talking to me most every day on the mirror and he's finally getting medical aid. They never would have found Pettigrew and that Voldieturd thing if Sirius hadn't sued Crouch. I can't believe that Moody – supposedly Dumbdork's best pal – was really Crouch Junior, under Polyjuice."

"Well, no matter. Both Crouches, Pettigrew, and that baby-thing all took a one-way trip through that thing they call the 'veil of death.' It was a rush judgment, if you ask me."

"We couldn't have the regular man in the streets thinking or questioning too deeply. Crouch threw at least 10 people into maximum security without trials, but kept his own sprog free-ish. The level of privilege in the pureblood class is scary."

"There're a lot fewer of them making laws, now, though. They all got squibbed when the unspeakables threw Voldemort through the portal."

"Portal. Huh." Harry's unfocused eyes stared into the distance. "Maybe it's a portal to somewhere else, and it's like Magic's Australia. All our worst criminals get shipped to some poor, unsuspecting dimension."

"Well, that's a horrifying thought. Maybe," she bit her lip in concentration, "now that the neutrals rule the Wizengamot, maybe some of the more stupid laws will get repealed?"

Harry chortled. "A politician? Doing something for other people without getting paid off? I love that you've spent four years here and still think that's possible."

"Well, there has been a lot of change, already. So, so much was uncovered, just because you went to the Goblins. No one will be holding more than one key position, ever again. No one will be allowed to seal a will, ever again. Muggle born and raised kids will get checkups now – and orphanages are going to be scanned regularly, just in case."

"Yeah, they're lucky I didn't go evil like Riddle. They know it. And Dumbledore will be leaving all his positions - even Hogwarts – to live out what's left of his stupid life in obscurity."

"Did you listen to his public apology?" Hermione asked, curious.

Harry shook his head, rolling his eyes. "No. He's a word gymnast. He probably said things that could be interpreted in so many ways… But his arguments have very little way of making way around the truth. Between the revelation of how he spent my family's investment income – and man, some of the rich purebloods wanted to crucify him for that alone, thinking he could do the same to their families – how he let my belongings be sold, how he let his friends never pay rents… I guess I probably should make a statement." Sighing, Harry kicked at a clump of grass.

"A statement?"

Harry nodded, looking into the distance. "That I don't blame the scholarship recipients. There are some who have already graduated. I feel kind of bad that Fred and George and Ginny can't be here anymore, but I can't make an exception for them and I can't afford to send everyone to school. The orphanage and the rest home are supported almost in total by Potter funds."

"Did Dumbledore know that?" Harry noticed that Hermione had dropped the headmaster's honorific.

Harry shrugged. "He was approached by Grimsneer when my Dad died. He ignored Grimsneer. He liked the status quo."

"Well, he probably didn't trust the goblins were telling him something that would benefit humans. Like most wizards, he didn't trust them. For all his talk, he's as xenophobic as any."

Harry shrugged again with a dry chuckle. "I didn't have much choice. Every adult human I knew had betrayed me. I figured if the goblins screwed me over, it would be no surprise. Instead, they healed me, they fixed my vaults, and they stood by me when I was vilified over it. I think they appreciate how I trust them. I don't know that anyone else of my standing truly does. I know they believed if Riddle came back into power, Riddle would kill them. That being trusted no one but himself."

"And your ability to trust put an end to him. Serves him right."

And though no one knew it, a prophecy orb had gone dark as Voldemort's soul.

~~ fin ~~

There you have it - the whole shebang in one file. Once I get this up, I'm removing the separate files from my junk drawer fic. Sorry it took me so long to do so, but I kept thinking maybe I should change the order or flesh it out... but I think it works like this? Anyway. Later, gaters.