Don't own it, don't want to.
Neither can live while the other survives. Harry couldn't help wondering if the prophecy Dumbledore showed him in the pensive was edited or cut off. Neither can live while the other survives? Since Sirius' death the very portraits all seemed to have their eyes on him. The DA, the teachers, except Snape, and the fifth year dorm was suddenly cleaner than ever before. This morning he had intentionally left something out each time he went to change books, and each time everything was back to perfect.
The only good thing about Ron and Hermione being laid up in the infirmary was that they weren't watching him constantly too. As long as he spent the majority of the time he had free (since the post OWL variety classes were canceled without notice), the eyes would roam a bit after his visit. Today he chose to grab a blueberry scone from the kitchen and walk rather than eat in the infirmary. The portraits were still abnormally silent as he passed, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing at some of the younger portraits frantic attempts at stealth, eyes darting and sliding from one side of the portrait to the other.
He tickled the pear on the portrait, and didn't need to call for help as Dobby skittered to a halt in front of him. "Morning, Dobby."
"Good morning, Harry Potter, sir. Youse up early today."
"A whole half hour before breakfast in the Hall, but 6 is a good time to catch the end of the sunrise. So could you get me a blueberry scone, Dobby, I want to go for a walk."
"Yes, Harry Potter, one blueberry scone." Dobby dashed around the corner of the kitchen, nearly knocking over other elves in his haste, and then popped right back in front of Harry. "Here, Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter needs to be careful not to wander too far Master Dumbledore saying Harry Potter needs to have a close eye on."
Harry hid a grimace. "Thank you, Dobby. Just need to get some fresh air." Harry took the scone, and quickly made his way outside, though still managing to avoid the passages most preferred by professors. He walked down to the lake, munching on the scone, and scattering the crumbs from his shirt every so often. He savored the taste of the warm blueberries dissolving in his mouth, and the freedom to let there be crumbs to fall, let alone to allow them too. At the Dursleys', he never knew what meal might be his last for some time, so he always ate even the burned bits, and more than once, had eaten the scraps left on the dishes before he washed them.
The last of the scone gone, Harry licked the lingering stickiness from each finger, as he contemplated the dew hanging from the blades of grass. He stopped here, near the shady side of the lake, the sun was already burning away the dew on the other side. With a quick spell, he conjured a blanket, and sat down, staring at the last bits of the sunrise reflected in the lake. So many things had gone wrong this year, no longer was Hogwarts safe.
He was only 15. He had already been close to death a dozen times or so, mostly here at the 'safest place in the Wizardry World'. Why hadn't anyone ever suggested he go abroad? All Voldemort's lackeys were based here in Britain, and Eastern Europe – wouldn't it be safer for him anywhere else? But of course, then Dumbledore couldn't lock him in his office. Harry sighed, and focused back on the light flickering across the lake.
Soon, a he became aware of a tawny owl butting its head against his leg. He glanced at the sun, reminding himself for the umpteenth time to buy a new watch. The owl butted his leg again. "Hang on. You caught me outside so I don't have any treats for you." He carefully untied the letter and set it on the ground in front of the blanket, then pulled out his wand from his sleeve. The wax seal looked like it was from Gringotts, but it was past time he learned something from Moody, so he used a spell to open the letter.
Though I was never wise enough to plan for my own future, I felt I owed you a better map than was given to me by my parents. If you receive this letter, the goblins will globes have registered me as missing or dead for at least a week. I'm sorry I'm not going to be there for you, and I beg you to forgive me for not being able to be there for you. If Voldemort or his men got me, please place the blame where it belongs – old snakeface.
I love you, and as your Godfather I owe you so much more than I have been able to give you. You are a more honorable man than I have ever been, and I only wish I could have given you the childhood you were cheated out of. Instead all I can leave, is all I had. There is no password to happiness, but you should spend all the Black fortune on jokes, clothes, butterbeer, and whatever the newest broom is.
You'll receive more from the Goblins. They'll probably be a million papers for you to sign, and you'll need to find yourself a neutral lawyer. There should be a good directory in the library. Make sure you check out who there previous clients were. If you can find someone who beat the Malfoys in a civil matter, that would be a good start.
Don't grieve for me too long, I'm probably playing pranks on your parents right now. All those who love you want you to be
happy, you've been failed too many times. I'm sorry, I couldn't give you a childhood. I love you.
He cried. When his nose was clogged with snot and his eyes were fuzzy; he grabbed the corner of the blanket and used a corner of it to wipe his face then blow his nose. Conscious of the increasing noise, probably signaling the release from breakfast, Harry quickly evansecoed the blanket. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good." He tapped the letter, which then morphed into a box.
He quickly glanced around. No one was nearby, though there looked to be a pick-up game of quidditch starting over on the pitch. Harry opened the box.